Balls.

Right.

So, I just get a handle on things and there's no more talk about penes in the house while Papi has been not so well, out comes this:

"I just read that someone is growing balls from the transformation."

All I could do was sit and stare at my love, waiting for the punchline.

Then another gem was spoken by mi esposo.

"Is it too much information to share that on Facebook?  That some dudes get balls?"

My love has no TMI filter and has to ask me, then I, who has a filter, writes it here in my blog anyway.

Yeah, like I've said before, Papi and I are perfect for each other.

Mi esposo likes to share TMI on his Facebook status, and I share TMI in an entire blog entry.

There is someone for everyone.

Anyway, back to the balls.

I recall the line in the sand being drawn about a penis in my life, but I never specified about balls.

I really just thought that goes without saying.

No penis really just means no balls either, does it not?  Isn't that kinda like a breast without a nipple?

I contemplated how it was I was going to handle these jewels if I had to deal with them.

I quickly realized there would be no dealing with them.

Nope.

No can do.

I just couldn't imagine little nerds starting to hang from my love's already exaggerated 5 Foot Clitoris.

When I was in the never ending closet, I would have to be pretty drunk to even look at those little buggers.

I thought maybe it was a metaphor for something else?

Maybe it's like the butch cock some dykes talk about having?

Anyway, I still couldn't say very much about the ball situation.  I was still a little wiped out from Hurricane Andréa the day prior.

While I fretted, and had all kinds of imagery in my head about the next level of 'man zone', I was now being faced with having to ask myself how I'm going to deal.  Then I heard it.  Bittersweet words came out of my love's mouth:

"Ah, someone just told me it's a hoax.  People are getting implants and it got out that they grew them on their own."

At first I was elated!

Then the fear set in.

No!!!

Not another fucking surgery for ball implants!!!!

I suppose the look on my face told the story without me having to say anything, because Papi said, "Don't worry, I'm not going to get it.  It's too expensive."

Ok.

'Too expensive' is all right.  'I don't want them', would be better, but I'll settle for 'too expensive'.

I don't see balls in my near future.

That's all that matters.

pain is weakness leaving

This is where I heal.

i wanted to let you know that i've received another beautiful award from another wonderful Blogger Friend of mine ... it's here in my awards page :)

I can't let go of the fact that Papi went ahead and started hormones and the male transformation without discussion first.

It's been almost 10 months, and the feeling of my love taking the plunge, with me following in his wake, won't leave.

So much so, that the moment mi esposo starts speaking about 'other' options as an F-M, I panic, thinking it's not just discussion.  It's my love telling me he's moving on to another surgery.

I have shell shock.

Papi is like a bull in a china shop, destroying everything in his wake so that he may get to what he wants.

I try so hard to keep up. 

It feels like the moment I begin to breathe easy, there's another bomb to be let off.

Today, my love started speaking about a surgery similar to phalloplasty.  "The thing is I would like to penetrate you.  You wouldn't like that?  I just thought we could talk about it.  It's what couples do."

I could barely make a sound, but I was able to peep out, "Your idea of talking, is you talk about it, then you do it."

"I haven't looked into doing it and I don't have plans for at least 5 years.  Don't start crying and getting stressed out.  I understand that with the hormones I didn't have a conversation about it and I just did it.  I'm not going to just do this.  I want you to know that, but I just wanted to show you the options and discuss it because I don't have anyone to talk about it with.  I don't want the big penis.   This is different!  It's not phaloplasty it's just a lengthening of the clitoris."

so ... what you're saying is you'd like the 5 foot clitoris to be made a reality?

"It feels so much like ... "

"Like what, sweety?"

I just couldn't speak.  I could only stare forward.

memories ... horrid feelings brought up by ghosts ... don't speak ... if you ignore it, it will just go away ... memories ... nightmares ... they fog my vision ...

Papi was concerned that I went off to never-never-land.  "I just wanted to talk.  We'll discuss it together, and if it's going to disgust you, then I'm not about to do it, because I want be able to have still have sex.  It's just that there's a different option.  We don't even have the money, so I'm not going to spring it upon you and do it."

My love tried a different angle to get me to speak and not stare off at ghosts, "I am pretty happy that I have facial hair and no breasts.  I don't want you to get upset about it, but shouldn't couples talk about these things?"

"I feel like every time I begin to relax, you spring more on me and I'm just not ready to move forward.  I just want to get my head around what I've already accepted."

"There's nothing to spring on you, it's an option and I won't do it unless we decide together that it's all right.  I'm not even sure how much it would hurt, it's just that you can pee standing up.  I can perfect the Pee-cock until I can get better.  I just have to practise because I don't want to piss on myself again."

Papi could see I still have troubles trusting that he isn't going to run off and do it.  "Well, you always knew I wanted the top surgery, but the hormones I did spring on you.  The hormone thing wasn't very good of me.  I regret that whole situation and should've brought you into counseling.  I'm not saying I'm doing it I just want to discuss it it.  I won't bring it up again."

Now I felt bad, so I timidly squeaked out a few words.  "When we discuss things, they immediately happen, and I don't have any say."

"You can you have a say.  I'm not married to the the decision."

"But if you were wanting it, you'd just do it.  I don't have a say in anything with this transformation."

"If I'm thinking something, I should be able to tell you.  Don't you think that is right?  If you're thinking something you should tell me.  I'm not just going to go do it.  I promise you that.  I'm telling you I'm happy right now and I want you to believe me."

"It's hard."

"I know, but can yo please just trust me?  I do know that getting a penis would be a deal breaker for you."

My love then took the initiative to call the hotline for adult survivors of sexual abuse to start the ball rolling for my healing.

Papi asked me if I have to write about everything in my blog when it comes to our discussions.  Mi esposo would like it if we could just have a conversation without me writing about it.

Sorry Papi.

This is where I heal.

This is where I'm heard, and can speak.

This is safety for me when I'm feeling there is none, and right now, I'm scared.

And a Bow-chica-bow to you too.

Another good side effect of the Medicinal Cannabis is an increased sex drive.

As I'm sure some of you who have the need for anti-depressants know, they can kinda mess with your libido.

Yeah.  True in my case.

However, when my MC Guru first started to help me out on this pain killer path, she didn't go into the horrible side effects, because there really aren't any when taken properly.  She spoke of all the added bonuses you get on top of the pain relief, "You'll be a bit happier and your libido will increase!"

I said, "Hell ya!  I want sum-a-dat!"

'Happier' came within the first day, when the Gma's nagging really didn't affect me at all.  I wasn't muttering under my breath, "Yes, your Highness," then giving a secret one finger salute as I passed the wall.

Then came my libido.

That actually increased after the third day of this new miracle pain killer.

I crawled up on to my love's chest, ever so carefully, so as not to hurt Papi's still healing wounds and just laid there for a moment.

I felt a surging need for a little Papi action, but the bad news was my love had to leave for work.

The next day however, mi esposo woke up earlier from the Graveyard Coma, and after a brief visit with me, toddled off to the bedroom for the usual masturbation session before work.

hey ... our one eyed golden retriever humps his bed after dinner ... papi masturbates before work.  enter here where my love screams from the other room while reading my blog, 'honey!!!!  i can't believe you wrote that for everyone to see!'  but hey papi, you're the reason i have this blog in the first place.  love you ;P

As my love wandered into the room, I was hit with a moment of ardor and wanted to follow Papi into the room.

This is when I heard, "Honey?  Would you like to join me for a quickie?"

hell ya i would!

I ran in nervously, thinking about the 5 Foot Clitoris, wondering if it's odour had changed since the last time we tried to share our love, and crawled upon Papi's chest again.

careful ... careful ... 

From that point onward, I had my love back.  All those feelings of, 'how do I work with this new toy?' left me.

My love took control and gave me what I've been waiting for.  I wasn't afraid of the new scent, and mi esposo wasn't afraid of the, "What if Andréa doesn't find me attractive?" moments.

It was just us again ...

i made sure of it ... the four legged fuzzy family was banished from the room ...

... and we were feeling the passion like it had always been prior to the bomb dropping, and then some.

I didn't want the moment to stop.  I instructed my love on exactly how fast and deep to go.

Now I was finding that devotion to ecstasy I always had, with no boundaries.

We switched over to a vibrator for a little more fun, and I had the best time I've had in a long, 10 month stint.

Only there was one problem.  Papi said, "Ok, so now I need to use it.  Every time you hop on it, you seem to take it over."

i don't like to share ...

But it was beautiful now.  My love instructed me on what to do.  I found it soft and alluring.  The 5 Foot Clitoris was no longer a threat.

I made a new friend.

I would like to visit a little more often now that I have an option for pain killers that won't turn me into a slug, with no interest for anything in life.

However, there is still one barrier between Papi and I that I know will take a long time to overcome.

Brace Face.

Between the two of us, one of us winds up hurting the others tongue or lips, on top of clashing of brace on brace.

Yeah.

That one is going to take a while.  No passionate kisses till those puppies bid adieu.

Taunt me baby, you know I love it.

So, here I am, sitting at my blank blog screen, doing the same thing I do every morning: asking myself where do I start with my words and what am I feeling?

The moment I begin to type, I hear, "Honeeeeeeeee ... d'you wanna see something?"

"Oh gawd," I muttered, expecting to see something that I know is going to be too much of a struggle for my indolent eyes.

my new nerve pain medication is whipping my ass ... open eyes ... please open!

"Why do you say it like that?!"

As per usual, I answered in all honesty, "Because I'm sure it's going to be something I don't wanna see."

Papi laughed and walked toward me with only a t-shirt on, giggling all the way.

the tranny terrorist has come out to play ...

My love stands straight in front of me, with a Brace Face smile of grandeur, and lifts his ...

**shudders** ... still cringing with that word ...

... leg up on to our chocolate, leather ottoman in a Captain Morgan pose.  Papi then proceeds to stroke the new fur that is growing like an out of control ivy on the inside of his leg.  It's like it is an alien being, who's only purpose in life is only to inch toward the groin, then continue beyond until it has completely taken over mi esposo's body.

"Do you wanna touch it?  It's soft," my love teased, while stroking this new found coat like a beloved treasure.

"No, I think I'm good."

i'm sure it will distract me during our next make out session ...

As I write about the Tranny Terrorist and today's harassment, I can hear Papi in the washroom trimming the peach fuzz that is my love's minute, facial trophy of pride.

I'm pretty sure my love believes that if you trim it, it will come.

Man hair!

Seriously!

I keep checking the top of Papi's head in fear that there may be a male pattern balding spot.  It haunts me every day!  When I see a part in my love's hair, I panic!

My Trust List friend had asked me what my fear is around the changes, and this is what I described:

If this is what I desired, I would have stayed in the closet.

However, my friend said there are plenty of really good looking F-Ms who want to look their best, and that perhaps, I should look at some of those pictures.

i guess it's true that i'm not happy unless i'm worrying ...

Papi has gone through The Great Breast Disappearance and I still love mi esposo, even though I no longer have a pillow to rest my head upon.

The poison, that my love injects into the already perfect body I adore, is edgingly invading his body.  Every new hair mocks me yelling, "Helllooooo Andréa!!! We're coming to git'cha!"

Yet, I still love Papi.

I'm pretty sick.  I love the Tranny Terrorist who likes to flaunt these day to day changes in front of me, with the sole intention of razzing his wife.

I remember when I was a little girl, and my grandpa used to tease me until I cried.  My family said, "If he didn't tease you, it would mean he doesn't love you."

I'm pretty sure I married my 'grandpa'.

He was bald, fat and hairy.

2 differences however.

My love never insults me, and I don't need to deal with a penis.

These would be deal breakers.

Roots of my Willow

Papi's still going on about the inane he said/she said conversation.

But you know what, if it's my reality, then that's the way it is in my blog.

So there!

**sticks out tongue**

In last night's cozy hang out, my love tried to tell me the 5 Foot Clitoris is only 'x' amount bigger, by way of the distance between mi esposo's thumb and index finger.

Again, I corrected Papi, "Nope.  It's bigger."

"No way, it was big to start with."

"Nope.  It's huge."

And again went the batty back and forth comedy skit that is our marvelous life together.

Our life.

Like an old married couple, we watch Wipeout together and in tandem will burst into deep belly laughs, while peoples' flexible limbs are being thrown this way and that after bouncing off the big balls.

I snuggle into the side of Papi, spooning my love's arm.  I'm still only able to get this close.

Apparently, the pain is still too much to allow my head on mi esposo's chest.

Between each 'oof' and squeal of the contestants dense enough to be on the show, I evaluated a conversation I had during the day with one of the first people on the Trust List.  She was the 'responsible person' at the QAF that I was volunteering at.  She sweetly asked me, "How are you coming along with all this?"

I knew what she meant.  She didn't have to elaborate.

"I'm doing better.  I'm no longer defiantly saying, 'No, No, No, No," I said as I emulated a child stomping her feet, clenched fists articulating every 'No' with a slam to my lap.  I continued, "Now I find myself saying, 'Ok I think I can open my mind a little more day by day."

It was actually surprising to me to hear those words of substance come out of my mouth.

Between every whole hearted guffaw from one of the show's hosts, Jill, I thought about where I was in November, and how all the pain that pummeled my head and stabbed my heart seems to be dissipating.

I didn't know that I'd even get this far.  I remember when Papi said, "I'll give it one year, and if you're not on board with this, I'll stop."

or something like that ... enter here: papi correcting me while my love dissects my blog ...

Well, we are at 9 months, and my arduous issues are really all about pronouns, and hearing about the loss of another butch to the F-M world.

Seems manageable.

However, there is a run off that is more painful than the aforementioned.  I would say struggling with people's hatred is harder than my dealing with mi esposo's male transformation at this point, but they actually lie in a different category.

So, I sit here, brazenly amazed at how my mind could actually calm itself down to this point.

I can put these paltry issues into a tiny brown paper bag.  I can roll the top closed and wait for that moment when I'm hungry enough to open it, and eat it for lunch.

Pronouns.

Missing butches.

Haters.

Seems feasible that I could take these fuckers on, don't you think?

I feel like a willow tree, swaying from the force of the wind.  My branches may get blown too far in one direction, and it seems I would fall.

I never do.

I just right myself and wait for the next blow.

My roots are strong.

Purge.

The Papirazzi is on full force today.

A very sweet reporter we met the other day just so happens to be doing an article on transgender people in the work force, and asked if my love would like to be interviewed.

Papi has been trying to get a date fixed with her to have this dialogue, but their schedules didn't really work out to do so.

This morning, however, I woke up to hearing my love on the phone with the reporter, answering questions about being transgendered from up to down and all around.

Papi said, "I don't know how personal you want to get about this, but other things happen, like the clit getting bigger."

I giggled while I prepared my Dominican Republic Coffee.

yes ... still some left ... almost out though ... maybe if i tap my heels 3 times, 'there's no place like home'

Then Papi yells out, "Hun, do you think it's gotten bigger than 5 centimeters?"

Oh great.

Don't drag me into this!

"It's bigger."

Papi chuffed to the reporter, "No, it's not.  Don't listen to her.  She has issues with it."

They started to talk about a penis, and my love said, "They don't make one that is like the real thing, so forget it, and besides, my wife would leave me."

ok. so we've got that down. phew.

Papi doing the interview made me proud.  Not that I wasn't already.

In the same realm that I've walked along side my love through this male transformation, Papi has also had to stand beside me in my conflict.

This also means defying the haters.  Those beings who have read about themselves here in my blog and decided to despise me for my honesty, instead of proving me wrong.

Those who bury under the blanket of protection of political ideals, then judge me for my openness about my strife.

Those who say to their followers, "Ok, so now we don't speak to Andréa anymore."

And those who heed the demands who can't think for themselves.

Haters.

I looked to Papi's Facebook page, and under the 'things that inspire me' shout out, I found: My Wife.

For my love to blatantly propel the repugnance of those who resent me, by saying I am an inspiration, made all the pain float away.

For all the support I felt I was needing to give to the person going through male transformation, there is also a balance in our world of love.  The need to support the partner.

My love does this.

Then proceeds to wave the 5 Foot Clitoris at me, "It is not that big."

I answer, "It's huge."

"No it's not."

"It's huge," I repeated.  Then true to any debate in marriage, this mundane back and forth colloquy went on for a good 2 minutes.

"Are you ok with me having my picture in the paper?"

you have to ask a performing extrovert this?

"Of course!  Why wouldn't I be?!"

"Because if people who don't know see it, then they will know your spouse is going through a male transformation."

"That's ok.  It'll weed 'em out faster."

Truly.

Purge.

You suck old man sweaty balls.

Dearest gentlemen who read my blog:

Thank you for being gentlemen.

And to the dreg of the earth, 50 year old virgin, living in your parents' basement, satan spawn who reads my blog to jack off to:

Fuck off.

Well, the time has come to take options for 'anonymous' comments off my page, since a creep wrote a gross comment yesterday, which I'm sure was supposed to be some kind of (ummmm?) compliment?

dude ... there's a reason you're still a virgin ... you really need to work on your pick up lines

If you read anonymously, know that you can always email me if you'd like to say something that now can't be posted here on my blog.

at least there i can block scum.

Just because I speak candidly about my sexuality doesn't mean I'm writing for filth to get off on.

And seriously?

To read my ranting, whining, moaning about my flu seems like the entry to write your crud?

Wow.

I'll be sure not to moan about flus and colds from now on if that brings out the waste of the world.

ok but really! my fever went up to 99.8!! c'mon! it was awful! oooh ... does that turn you on?

This slimeball wouldn't even know what to do with a lesbian in bed.

I remember when one of my dyke friends decided they'd sleep with a guy to see what it was like.  Her review?

"It was quick and painless."

Exactly.

Poor Papi.  My love got really upset about the excrement that was smeared on the walls of my comments.  Mi esposo has a bit of trouble keeping calm when someone disrespects me.

Papi got all up in a tizzy when I got into a fight with a guy on the road.  He was driving like an idiot and cut me off.

I pulled up beside him to speak my mind and the next thing you know, Papi was getting out of the car to fight.

Ok.

So, that would seem like a typical thing for a man to do, and the guy yelled something like, "I'll fuck you up boy!"

What this slime didn't know was that this was only a week after my love got back from the top surgery and couldn't even lift a hand, never mind an arm to swing.

me thinks i would've had to do the fighting that day!!!

Anyway, my love wanted to climb through the computer screen when Papi read the turd that was left in my toilet.

Ah, Papi, thank you for defending your femme.

And you know, your 5 Foot Clitoris is much bigger than this guy's penis.

I promise you.

Stroll vs. Sprint

I'm so glad I'm not the only person who doesn't know what a clit pump is.

I thought, "Damn!  What kind of lesbian am I?!"

But apparently I'm not the only one, as another of my Blogger Friends, Psycho pointed out.

I have yet to come face to face with the clit pump, and I'm good with this.  I need some quality time with the 5 Foot Clitoris before I jump into this gismo.

Now that Papi is back to work and our schedules clash, there is only one good thing about not being able to see my love frequently: I will have more days to get over any current torment from the Tranny Terrorist before the next wall of 'OMG!!' comes at me.

I have enough to stop my mind reeling from prior conversations with Papi.

Like for instance: "Can you check my back to make sure I'm not getting hair there?"

Oh.

My.

Gawd.

Seriously?  Do I have to look forward to that?  All I see in my mind is this:

But with better head hair.

Yes.  Here what my mind's eye sees ^^ when I think of it is the main hair I'm terrified of.

right now i feel like typing anything i possibly can just to get the picture to move up and out of my view on this blog entry. i guess i should've waited to put that in.

Anyway, if you haven't figured it out, I'm not a fan of man hair.

I'm also still dealing with another statement from Papi that made me crawl in my skin: "I want to get my nipples pierced again, but I'll have to wait a year.  I don't want my nipples to fall off."

jeeeeeeeezus fucking christ!!!!

Does this:

look like it wants anything to hang off it?!?

Really?!

Leave the little fucker alone!  Can't you tell it's pissed right now!?!?

Can we just take one step at a time my love?

Oh wait, I forgot.

That's just one of the things I love about mi esposo.

Papi can't do one step at a time.  One of my Trust List friends described Papi as 'A Bull In a China Shop'.

True.

Too True.

It really is one of the things I love about Papi, but damn!  Let this little bugger of a nipple be healed before you start talking about what you're going to do to it next!!!!

And hey!  How about you let me catch up to what's going on right now?

I need to get used to The Great Breast Disappearance, The 5 Foot Clitoris and my love's change of scent due to the hormones.

There is no room in my bubble for clit pumps, back hair, and nipples falling off and floating down the drain.

It seems I'm always trying to catch up to the train that's left the station.

It hurts to run.  Please just let me dawdle.

Grant me the fucking serenity!

So there I was, having some sweet 'goodnight my love' texting moments and what do I receive?

"Will you be upset if I get a pump for my clit?"

excuse me?

I just didn't have the brain power to ask wtf or even entertain this inane question.

I honestly have no fucking idea of the whys and whats my love is talking about.

To me, it's humongous, ginormous and colossal enough without any help.

my brain is still assimilating the sexy time situation ...

What the hell is a clit pump needed for?

When I told my love I just can't deal with the question, Papi told me we'd talk about it later, "My poor lil 'no tranny understander'.  Later convo I will explain."

But do I really want to know?  I'm not really over the 5 Foot Clitoris yet.  Do we have to go for 11?

Papi is right.

I don't understand.

I'll tell you, sometimes I just don't want to.  I really like my bubble.  I get to just pretend none of this is happening.

This is how I cope.

Yesterday, my blogger friends Tricia, Dirty and Bio all commented on how good Papi's chest looks.

All I see are flat breasts; The Great Breast Disappearance.

When I look at the pic I posted yesterday, it almost feels naughty.  Like my love is bearing breasts for the world to see.

dear blogger; don't delete me for nudie pics!

Not that it is any different than real life.  My love would flash those babies any opportunity anyway, so why would it make any difference here?

I still see my love the way I want to see my love.

My cushy bubble is tepid, pillowy soft and always smells like sweet lilacs.

Please don't make me leave by talking about a clit pump!

for fucks sakes!!!!!

Papi is right though.  I really don't understand the secret world of F-Ms.  I'm very certain I'm going to know it inside and out before this is all done.

don't burst my fucking bubble!!!!

I understand this is just a journey on my path that I have to accept.

Hell, it's what I tell the G'ma every day, all day, over and over again, ad infinitum, "We have to accept the things we cannot change."

Oh, that doesn't mean we forget.  It's just that if we don't accept whatever is going on for us, it will eat us alive.

or drive us to drink.

But wait!

What's the other part of that serenity prayer I would whisper for years on end?  Oh yeah, right; The courage to change the things we can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Acceptance.  Courage.  Wisdom. 

Oh, speaking of G'ma,  we have found a way to possibly deal with the gramma drama.

Papi told the G'ma about the sex change.

Hopefully that will be the topic for the next few weeks until something else comes up that she will dwell upon.

Still searching for my wisdom.  I'm sure I left it here somewhere ...

Say hello to my little friend.

I have to rationalize about why there hasn't been any sexy time.

First it was the braces.  I didn't want to get locked into Papi's brace face.  That could be scary.

Then it was the top surgery.  My love was so fragile that I couldn't even get a hug.  That left me longing for mi esposo's cuddles, but was another justification as to why we weren't having a romp.

Well, last night Papi ordered me into bed.

i like it

Yet, that didn't stop me.  I tried another excuse.  I felt like I had to share that my stomach wasn't top shape right now.  Perhaps we didn't want to 'scents' the wrath of my issue?

Oh, no.

That wasn't a good enough reason for my love.

The truth is though, ever since the 5 Foot Clitoris moved in, I'm very uncomfortable with sex.

It wasn't like it was before, where I knew my love's body and could just jump on in with no hesitation.  I knew what to do and when to do it.

Things have changed.

Papi has changed.

It's like starting all over.

My love was adamant that I'd get a little up close and personal time with the 5 Foot Clitoris.

you're really going to make me do this now aren't you?!?!

At first, all I wanted to do was look at it and introduce myself.

"hey how are ya?  i'm new in town and i thought we could grab a bite to eat?"

But I quickly realized that this exploration wasn't really sexy.  It was more like I was a gynecologist looking at a specimen.

No.

Not sexy.

So I dived in.

I didn't know what to do.  Honestly!  The 5 Foot Clitoris is intimidating!  It was beyond that little nut I'd play with with my tongue.

It really did feel more like a miniature penis.

It was so difficult not to revert back to the dislike of the bio-male anatomy that I had to endure in my stint of oh so many years in the closet.

I would have to be snap drunk or sky high to go anywhere near those man bits, and here I was, face to face with the mini-me version who was sticking out it's own tongue, taunting me.

My love's smell was also different and will take some time to get used to.  It wasn't like the Man Stink that occurred near the beginning of this roller coaster, but indeed it was not what I was used to.

time to get out the chocolate sauce?

None-the-less, I did my best, and dammit, I just felt like I was flailing.  I have no fucking idea how to work with this.

I guess I'll have to practise.

*******

A side note to Tricia, one of my blogger friends, here is the updated photo of Papi, the Tranny Terrorist.

And no, this was not taken after sexy time ...

Anxiety du jour

I think if the wind changes I get anxiety.

I'm pretty sure I'm starting to see what they've told me since I was a kid.

I remember my aunt and I having a conversation about hippies.  I was saying how I liked the hippy mentality that their generation got to grow up with.  "If I was growing up in that time I think I'd be a hippy too."

My aunt laughed, "You're too stressed out to be a hippy."

I was about 12.

And stressed out.

It's a miracle that I haven't given myself an ulcer.

Today's freak out?

My gig on Friday.

Papi's male transformation, 5 foot clitoris and top surgery are all old news.

I'm shaking about the show.  The CD Release party is going to be fun I'm sure, but while I'm hobbling around like an 80 year old because of my recent back spasm flair up, I'm not feeling like a rockstar.

It hurts just to sit and play my bass.

I know that once I'm up on the stage, the adrenaline will kick in and pain will be so far from my mind that I'll think I've been healed!!!

That is, of course, up until the ado is done with.

I'll then go back to using the handicap sign for parking the car at the store until my fucking back tells me it's ok to act my age again.

Don't get me wrong.  My anxiety about Papi's male transformation is not over with.

Oh no, don't be ridiculous.

Last night my love informed me that one of the nipples is not doing too well and it hurts.  At that point, I had visions of a half nippled flat chest.

You know?

Worst case scenario.

i'm such a spaz!!!

Regardless of how I feel angst over The Great Breast Disappearance, I still want the best for my love.  I still want mi esposo to heal and feel confidence in Papi's body.

There is nothing worse than feeling like you're not right.

I get it practically every time I look in the mirror.

will i ever get the perfection i strive for?

My love had a dream the other night that I was fondling those nipples and one of them fell off.

I laughed so hard at the make believe story, then freaked out because it could happen!!!

Papi was told by Dr. Scissorhands that during the healing my love can't face the water from the shower because the nipples could come off!

Can you imagine being in the shower and watching one of them drop to the tub floor then whirl around in the drain as you scramble to grab it, but you can't because your hands are all soaped up and the nipple is slippery so you watch it slide down the drain with the bubbles it's surrounded in?!?!?

I can.

Worst case scenario.

complete with the impact of a run on sentence and no breathing ...

Anyway, back to the anxiety du jour.

I'm really really really nervous.

It's like it was when I first started performing.  I was so nervous for every show that I'd almost be sick.  Well, I was sick out the back end, but I'm sure you didn't need those details.

After years of performing, I got to the point that it was a small flutter in my stomach and then I would hop on that stage and go to town like I never had an adverse nerve in my life.

Back to square one.

I don't recommend anyone being off performing for a few years.  Don't do it.

Grow baby Grow

Here's what I'm learning.

I was petrified during The Countdown, because I didn't know what to expect.

I was terrified when Papi told me there was a male transformation in my future.

I was paralyzed with fear of seeing the 5 Foot Clitoris.

I shook with nausea when hormones started, because I thought my love would change into the hideous person I had in my mind's eye.

All of it was fear of the unknown.

This is what I'm afraid of.

Now, in 2 more sleeps, I pick up mi esposo from the airport.  I'm feeling as though I may pass out from the fear of what I'll see now that the bandages are taken off, and the tubes are gone.

I have to face it head on.  I have to actually see it now.

I'm sick to my stomach, I'm shaking, I'm not dealing with it very well.

I'm at my threshold.  This right here is my limit.

This is why I couldn't handle the flight from hell.

This.

Will all be fine after I witness my love's transformation.

This I know.

So far, the ground hasn't opened up and swallowed me whole.  So far, I haven't died from fear.  So far, I've dealt with every single blow and got back up swinging.

I can cry all I want right now, because I know that it's only fear of the unknown.

does that make it any easier?

I'm pretty sure that I'm going to be sick.

I just wish that my logic would tell that part of my brain that's disturbed to calm down.

I honestly feel like that possessed child on the plane that was out of control.

minus the thrashing about ... i really could though ... nobody would know

I'll maintain my composure like I always do.  I'll fool everyone around me that 'I'm ok'.  I'll get busy at work and distract that horrid brain wave that is telling me I won't make it through.

breathe ...

My day today should be MUCH better than yesterday.  Today is tomorrow.  I love tomorrow.  It's always so much better than today.

Here's a tiny bit of positive though; I actually had a moment of joy for Papi.  A moment where I could feel happiness for my love.  I had a moment of allowing mi esposo the glee, and in turn I felt it for my love.

Possibly excitement for Papi?

Whatever that feeling is that I was experiencing, the nasty part of my brain that still wants to act like a teenager stomped her feet, clenched her fists and stuck that lip out further than it's ever pouted.

"NO!!!!  You may not feel those happy thoughts.  You're pissed off dammit!"

Gawd she's a pain in the fucking ass.

When the hell is she ever going to grow up?!?!?!?!?

I suppose I should give her these next few days of grieving and anger.  She's going to have to deal with it when the unveiling comes.

shock, horror

I'm a mess.

And I thought The Countdown was for the surgery.

Nope.

It's still fucking going.

Pardon me while I go ralf.

that was a waste of a good coffee.

Brace Yourself

"Brace yourself, they're going to look really bad."

oh for fucks sakes ... really?!?!

Not the words I want to hear the moment I come to an assimilation of acceptance.  Maybe it just means that this is just one more moment of a 'step at a time'.

However, Papi's words got worse.

**sticks fingers in ears** la-la-la I don't hear you

"The nipples could die and I'd be without them like Anonymous."

We know someone who had their top surgery done and we've always wondered why he didn't have nipples grafted on after.

I think it's possible we now know why.

"My nipples are going to look worse than the rest of the area."

I honestly haven't said a word at this point.  I am still carrying on with my own imagination of just how bad it could get.

here we go again ... dear imagination: did you not learn from the 5 foot clitoris?

Then without skipping a beat, the gruesome twosome talk was over and switched to another topic, "Honey, I can't be in some dingy place it will make me more upset on top of the pain I'll be feeling from the surgery.  I've tried looking at two star places and even three star, but I just can't stay in one of those places to save money."

It's going to be an expensive venture, but Papi thinks that it's all going to work out, so I have to trust it all will too.

My love really hasn't had to learn about money.  The house we live in has been mi esposo's home since birth.  It's an upscale neighbourhood with upscale tastes.  Even still, my love's family wasn't as well off as the people around here, but somehow the idea that money does come from thin air is an attitude Papi has adopted.

I know I could stay in one of these places, but I also know that the moment my love started looking at this, that there would be no way it was going to happen.

I have to agree with my love a little, "Yes.  We really don't need you bringing home bedbugs and scabies."

So, now the bill has just gone up.  I'm still wearing Papi's 1 karat engagement ring, but I really feel that it must be parted with.

One thing I CAN say is, next year's holiday is NOT going to be as extravagant as we've been used to.  I am a wee bit stressed about the bills that will be mounting from braces, jaw surgery, my love's top surgery, paying off this year's holiday and the extras we paid for during our sewage flood restoration.

My head.

It hurts.

Along with my neck, my back is dying.

I have a lot to do today, and only so much energy.

I also have to 'brace myself' for Papi's scary top surgery.

Commence bracing ...

Objects in the mind are not as big as they are imagined.

As Papi and I were getting ready for the gym, I had the opportunity to stare lovingly at the gorgeous naked body I will have to say goodbye to.

My love has an appointment for top surgery.

I also found out that I can take some unpaid 'family days' so that I can take care of mi esposo for the first few days where Papi won't be able to lift those tattoo clad arms any higher than 5 inches.

i cringe at the thought of this pain ...

My love told me it would be wise to look at the videos of how to be the care taker.  Not only so that I'm prepared for the task, but also so that I'm not surprised at the gore. 

good fucking god!  breathe ... breathe ...

I guess this is a good idea.  Now I have to find a time where that 'strength' people seem to see in me will come shining through, and I will feel that I can actually witness this.

I'll get there before June 2nd. 

less than 2 months ... my poor heart

There was a momentous moment in my day, however.

I SAW IT!!!!!

Papi came wandering down the hall au naturel while I was brushing my pearlies, "Do you wanna see it?"

I almost choked on my toothpaste, "Now?!?!"

"Well you said you'd like to see it in a non-sexual setting."

"Yeah, but right now?!"

"Why not?"

I battled with my mind that was forcefully saying 'don't do it!', then leaned down preparing for the most terrifyingly massive 5 Foot Clit in the world.

it's going to swallow me like a venus flytrap!!!

When I saw it however, I was surprised at how it looked.

ummm ... definitely not what i was expecting

"Oh!  Well!  It's actually quite pretty!  It looks like a blooming lotus!"

All the fear of the unknown dissipated.  I felt the warmth of peace envelope me in a spine tingling cloak.  All the words of my Other Person telling me it's not as big as I thought it would be instantly became truth.

All of a sudden, my emotions deepened into a place of content and love.  It was as if my love became more desirable to me.

It's not that there wasn't enough desire before, I have plenty of that for my love.  It was only that this one little body part that was previously giving me so much fear, had now become something I wanted to see again and again.

Something's going on for my love hormonally, and there's a lack of libido.  Papi will give me my pleasure if I want it, but mi esposo isn't interested in entertaining that side right now.

I'll tell you though, on the next round, I'm demanding it.

It was the most beautiful blossom.

I have to remember this moment as a teaching experience, yet again.  I really do blow things out of proportion in my thought process.

The fear of the unknown is the most terrifying thing to me.  I must remember that phrase that I tell people time and time again:

Everything works out.

It always does.

'Pop' goes the weasel ... or me ...

I went to have my morning coffee and breakfast, and after grinding my beans, cracking 2 eggs into the pan and putting my non-dairy creamer into my wonderful coffee cup, I waited for the water to boil.

And waited.

And waited.

The eggs weren't turning white, the water wasn't boiling and when I lifted the kettle to feel the burner, it was only slightly warm.

fuuuuuuuuuuck!!!!!!!!!

Nothing wrong with the electricity, just a coincidence that once we're given some relief in our suite with electricity and plumbing, we now don't get to cook food.

Or rather, I don't get to cook food.  Papi isn't much of a freshly cooked food kinda person, as dinner usually consists of Oreo cookies and ice cream.  Sometimes, there's an indulgence of Eggies chocolates for dessert.

is papi secretly trying to get diabetes or a heart attack? 

I dumped the 'creamer' into a 'togo' cup and went to my favourite coffee shop on the way to my physio appointment.  I must have been really bitchy by this point, because the girl behind the counter seemed to be trying to send me some tranquility with her energy.

"Please don't dump my creamer out in the sink!  Just put the coffee in the cup with it!"

and nobody will get hurt

She smiled, "Thank you for letting me know.  A lot of the time, people don't say anything and I just dump it out and give it a rinse."

She was so sweet that I gave her a dollar tip, instead of the usual 50 cents.  They must get some real crankies in there for their first cup of the day!

As soon as I got that coffee in my throat, the world seemed a little better ...

a baby with a soother

... and I could begin to think about how I'm going to exist for the day without my steamed veggies.

Guess it's going to be a trail mix grazing and cucumbers with hummus filler kinda day.

i may truly pop

I'm going to have to get some kinda chill going on though, because Papi is even more stressed than I am, and I'm going to have to keep my love at peace.

We do this for each other.  I know that Papi needs me to help more in this round of the restoration of this house.

So, my mind goes to the conversations that make me smile in an effort to find the inner giggle to start that soothing energy to help my love get through the next few weeks.  If Papi's happy, I will be too.

Mi esposo said yesterday, "I thought you said you'd only go exploring my 5 Foot Clit in a non-sexual way."

All I could do was laugh and make reference to the blog that I posted, '*rules are subject to change without notice'.

I guess Papi didn't read the fine print.

But these are the things that make me smile when I think about my love and this journey we're on.

These are the personality traits that I fell in love with.  It always comes back to this.

I got a little more than what I was asking for in my marriage, but there's still mi esposo in there.  There's still love, laughs and communication.

Now i must go deal with contractors.

please don't pop andréa!

In all honesty, if we can get through this sewage flood without having it affect our relationship, I'm pretty sure we can get through this gender transformation.

Denied Access!!

While we were out for the muddy walk with 2 of the four-leggers, I told Papi that there will be no more 'hiding' and running away in secrecy when the hormones are to be used.

Mi esposo is so respectful when there's no jester to be playing with.  Papi will use those nasty hormones and try to conceal it from me.

But I always know.

It's more stressful for me to pretend I don't know, than it is for me to have the information.  I think it will work out better if Papi just tells me, "I'm going to go do it now, so don't come in the bedroom."

Or whatever room happens to be the space for my love.

I guess I am healing and I am accepting.  I suppose this is how it works.

Whatever is going on, I felt so much more relief at saying those words to my love.  It felt like perhaps it was a moment of us walking on the same path.

Later on that night, my love came up to give me a goodnight kiss.  I saw it as my moment to pounce.

My version of pouncing is to 'hint' that perhaps I may want a little Papi time.

Mi esposo laughed and we went at it.  But, every once in a while we have the passion patrol to deal with.

The one eyed retriever.

Sometimes, I start getting a little Papi love and that crazy animal will bark at us.  It's not in a playful manner either.  It's serious!

We can't figure out if he thinks my love is hurting me or not.  There have been times that the 'hurt' is intentional and in a fun way.

The Golden doesn't like it.  He's terrified that Papi is hurting me without my consent and there's nothing we can do to calm him down.

Last night, when the lovin' was on the move, The Golden jumped on to the bed and sat on my legs with his back to us.  He was just staring at the wall.

When we didn't stop the good times, he moved over to Papi and tried sitting there.

Well, our laughing and loving kept moving right along and he finally left the room.

phew!  i can't have pillow lust with a furry staring at me!!!

Those kisses from my love are so addictive.  I don't know what it is.  Mi esposo's touch brings me to a place no other has ever taken me.  I can move with freedom knowing that those strong hands will always keep me hooked into their magic.

I felt the strength to explore the 5 Foot Clitoris.

Here it was!  The moment we've all been waiting for!!!!

Denied.

It just so happened it was one of those times that Papi doesn't want to be touched.

Goddamit!

First I almost cried.  I had a moment of paranoia.

papi doesn't desire me?!

My love said not to get any strange thoughts.  That I shouldn't be worried, "I just don't feel like it."

I trusted my love to tell me the truth.  I relaxed my brain, and went back to those enslaving kisses.

But damn!  Just when I thought I was brave enough to go exploring, I was denied access.

Guess I'll just have to try again.

S/He

The pronoun.  Feminine, masculine.  It tells us what gender category to put someone in.  Society needs to know if someone is a girl or a boy.  We keep our minds organizing people into little boxes to appease the 'norm' that we've been accustomed to.

don't fuck with my order!

For me, I'm trying not to use any label at all.  I just call my love by name.  But, I feel like some high school kid who's got her first relationship and all they ever do is say the name over and over and over.  It's a bit of a tongue twister, and I'm sure people are starting to notice.

It's really hard.  Let me tell you.

Then there's the times when I slip up.  I go on autopilot and forget to concentrate on what I'm saying.  For a person with brain injury, maintaining this much focus is bound to fail in mere minutes.

However, there are times where I'll use it to my advantage.  If I think someone is even remotely homophobic, it's a pleasant relief to say, 'my husband'.

But, it still feels so damn alien.

I flipped back and forth yesterday in a conversation with the road side assistance.  Said 'my wife' on the phone to call for service, and 'my husband' when the vehicle showed up to give me comfort and get me on the road again.

goddam car ... you really only have battery issues when i'm the one driving.  you jerk!

On that back and forth trip to Seattle, on one of the monotonous highway drives of tree after tree, Papi said to me, "You called me 'she'.  I know you're not ready to say 'he', but just saying when you are, I'd like it if you could."

here it comes ... papi is going to start demanding i use the right pronoun ... i'm not ready to let my 'wife' go just yet.

My love cringes if I call us lesbians.

(for the record, i fucking HATE that word.  dyke sounds so much better, but people get all weirded out by it)

I said the 'L' word the other day to friends when they didn't have room on their schedule for our tattoos.  Tongue in cheek, I played the gay card, "Apparently they're too busy to make appointments for lesbians!" and immediately looked to see if Papi heard.

nope.  phew!

When we were at Ikea getting our kitchen island, the man at the self-serve cash lineup called mi esposo 'sir'.  I almost blurted out a correction.  I stopped myself and went along with it, grinning, almost as if I had the world's best kept secret.

It was kinda fun actually.  It felt like I was playing make-believe.  I smiled like the Cheshire Cat.

There are times when people use the feminine pronoun for Papi and I get squirmish as well though.  I wait patiently for my love to correct them, but Papi never does.

The problem is, if my love speaks, people figure out that it's a female voice.  It truly is the clincher in this deal.

Oh, and for the record, my love has told me that it's not a '5 Foot Vagina'.  It's actually a '5 Foot Clitoris'.  I have been corrected.  Apparently, it only grows about an inch as opposed to the centimeters that most of us gals are born with.

This morning, while reading my blog, I hear from the living room, "I hate it when you call it the 5 Foot Vagina.  It gives me such a gross vision in my head!"

That's right my love.

That's why I'm scared.