David Minerva Clover

David Minerva Clover

Bio

David Minerva Clover is a queer and transgender writer, covering everything from parenting to why dinosaurs are awesome. His work has appeared in The Washington Post, New York Mag, The Establishment, and many other places. He lives in beautiful Detroit Michigan with his spouse, one child, and an embarrassment of animals. Check out his blog at Postnuclear Era or follow him on twitter at @dm_clover.

David Minerva Clover Articles

This lady looks way too happy to vomit.

What I Learned About Myself From My Miserable Pregnancy And Birth

A human being does not go through an experience like that without getting to know themselves really, really, well. I learned more about myself than I could have ever imagined. Today, I am going to share some of those lessons with you.

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None of us follows any one parenting philosophy to a T; we’re all making split-second decisions about what is and isn’t dangerous.

Why We Practice Just-Keep-Them-Out-Of-The-ER Parenting

None of us follows any one parenting philosophy to a T; we’re all making split-second decisions about what is and isn’t dangerous.

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The whole concept of salaries for stay-at-home moms reveals both the classism in parenting culture and what we really think about poor people.

The Problem With Calculating Salaries For Stay-At-Home Moms

The whole concept of salaries for stay-at-home moms reveals both the classism in parenting culture and what we really think about poor people.

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What I love, what I’m most interested in (at least in terms of written and spoken word), is the telling of stories.

Selling Yourself For Scraps: Why I Love Personal Essays

But what I did write, and write constantly, were diaries and journals. I kept notebooks and three-ring binders filled with observations about my life that I thought were interesting. Sometimes I worried that these personal stories were too naval-gazing, but I still held on to them, hoping that someday someone would want them.

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The baby is on the outside. Image: Thinkstock.

The Shower, PTSD, And My Traumatic Labor

[CN: PTSD, pregnancy, birth] Something snapped inside me and I was transported backwards in time.

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No one has ever explained to me what “be careful” means in this context. (Image: Thinkstock)

Why Are Men Always Telling Me To Be Careful?

I’m not scared on the street very often, but y’all, this time I was scared. But if there’s one thing I know, it is that you do not answer these guys, because that only makes it worse. So I held my breath and hoped that if I didn’t engage, he’d drive off eventually. I felt for my cell phone in my pocket, wondering how quickly I could get ahold of someone if I needed to.

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In this family, those figures traditionally made of three snowballs stacked atop each other — they’re called snowpeople.

In This Family, We Say Snowperson 

People might raise their eyebrows when they hear me say “snowperson” for the first time. But it makes perfect sense. A man is just a kind of person.

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My epidural made me stop wanting to die. Image: Thinkstock.

Whether Or Not Someone Gets An Epidural Is None Of Your Business

We compare birth stories like war stories. Twelve hours of labor, 32 hours of labor, three hours of pushing, we fall into the trap of trying to one-up each other. So yes, I can see why, to a parent-to-be who is enthusiastically anticipating pain relief, the refusal of an epidural might seem like a bit of a hero complex. And maybe for some people it is! But it’s none of your goddamn business.

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When you hold travel up on some kind of pedestal, you sound classist as hell. Image: Joshua Earle/Unsplash.

Your Obsession With Travel Sure Feels Classist To Me

I don’t get out much — and it’s not because I don’t have a sense of adventure or don’t care about learning about the larger world: It’s because I’m broke.

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"Can you be a parent and still be a person? Can you still have whole and complicated experiences? Maybe the answer is yes." Image: Thinkstock

Dispatches From The Camp-Out Punk Festival To Which I Brought My 1 Year Old

For those of you just tuning in, my wifespouse wanted to go to this weirdo punk festival in the middle of nowhere, and I, a chronic pessimist, decided it would be a good idea to go as a family. That means me, her, our 1-year-old child, and one incredibly intense weekend.

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