Lamaze Delivers

"When will you discover who you really are inside? Follow any other reason and you won't be satisfied" -- Matthew Sweet

I spent four quality hours Friday with my new wig. The hair just makes all the difference.

All in all, a pretty good week, on an even keel emotionally. And with that came a great desire to be one with Leslie. Not in the usual catch-as-catch-can throwing together of a few femme items. No, I wanted the whole enchilada. Didn't get it; I never seem to have time or opportunity to do makeup. But I came close enough to satisfy the craving.

I dressed, I danced, I strutted, I frolicked (Or was it cavorting? I forget which). I wore a blood-red lace lined minidress. With the wig, I just felt so complete, so real. I spent a lot of time gazing at myself. I can feel my confidence growing. The new hair softens my face. My eyes don't look so deep-set. It's not an unattractive face. I worked on my smile, got to about half the wattage of Tara's grin. I'm starting to really want to get pictures made. I'm tiring of being a faceless cartoon.

It occurred to me that Leslie is having a growth spurt. The ages of six to 43, the time of wishing and crossdressing, was the gestation period. Last October, labor began when the urgent need to change took hold. The mental contractions continued through mid-January. Then Leslie was born on January 18th. Awkward, tentative first steps. This new child needs nurturing. Take her to a counselor. Show her off at support group. Build her self-esteem. Now I think she's entering her teens. Wants to show the world who she is, what she has to offer, create an identity. (This tortured metaphor is brought to you by your friends at Blogco. Ask your doctor if blogging is right for you. Side effects may vary.)

These are the thoughts that enter one's head when staring too long at one's own reflection. Probably excessive, but harmless enough if you don't do it while driving.