heal

Dog fight.

Old Ghost Face and The Thug.

They haven't figured out who is top dog yet.

The adrenalin I had caused a lapse of judgement in my brain.

I couldn't handle the brawl.

Hence, I tried to grab an available collar.

Instead, my hand got bit.

I knew it was going to hurt when I saw the blood, but I didn't feel it at the moment.

Now, because of the bruising, I can't use my hand.

I'm typing with the other.

It doesn't make for a good flow of story telling.

So I'll keep it short.

Dog fight.

All 3 of us are hurting.

Old Ghost Face isn't moving.

She's limping.

She may need to go see Dr. Bob.

Both dogs have nasty cuts on their faces.

The Thug also has one on his belly.

He was supposed to be here to heal from his wounds and fade his scars, not create more.

He's so gentle when he plays.

MY swollen paw knows his potential strength.

I won't be writing for a few days until the bruising subsides and my pinky can push the letters of this keyboard down.

Not to mention, I wan't be playing music with this hand.

Papi leaves me alone for 16 days tomorrow.

It will be just me and a few dogs that want to kill each other, when they're not looking to kill the cats.

More rest so we can heal now.

i heal quickly

Heavy Petting.

"You can play with it too," my love said as we were driving to drop more crap off.

I feel like crap, so I was only a body to keep him company while he ditched more stuff.  I have that fucking summer cold that everybody is getting.

Anyway.

Have I ever told you about how Papi doesn't think my blog is interesting unless it's about him?

I guess he liked my blog yesterday.

Liked it enough to comment on my voyeurism.

Then the next question, "Have they started to turn black yet?"

No, thank god.

They're still little unoffensive blonde-ish strays that don't scare me, like this:

So, yeah, without him even knowing, I have petted them.

I like to pet my love's scars from The Great Breast Disappearance.  I like to think that if I give them enough love, they'll stop looking so angry.

One part is looking better.  It's not raised and angry as the rest of it.

So, as I stroke mi esposo's scars, I usually get a little pinky-full of those itty bitty chest hairs.

I figure when we get to the Dominican Republic, his hair won't continue to get more 'manly', because it will be too hot.

I know.  Sounds ridiculous.

But I think that if it's too hot, his body will stop growing hair because it can't handle the heat!

No?  Ok.  Fine.

It's a good theory anyway.

The Great DR Purge is doing very well.

I've never had so few clothes in my life.

You know what's fun?

The fact that all my clothes are my favourites.

There isn't any clothing yet that I say, 'meh', about.

Sparkly, shiny, short ...

... skirts ... yes ... i like them short ... while i still got it i'll flaunt it ...

... and superb.

It's like living in a femmes dream!

The only comfy clothes I have are my P.J.s and my work out clothes.

Even with my work out clothes, I've only kept one pair of sweats that are baggy.

I call them my Haagen-Dazs sweats.

When I'm having 'that' day where I am depressed or in too much pain, out come the sweats.

I can't eat the Haagen-Dazs, so I wear the sweats.

They're kind like something George would wear from Seinfeld.

Not femme, classy or hot.

However, they're still in my wardrobe, but I won't be wearing them in public like Brittany.

you'll rarely be 100% sure it will work, but you can always be 100% sure doing nothing won't work

happy nipples.

"How are you feeling?" I asked Papi.

It sounded like I was just asking because I was just asking, but it really was a loaded question.

Papi and I never got to go to the Sexy Sauna Party last night.  It's a long and boring story as to why.

However, we did get to spend a wonderful evening together.

I had such a desire to touch my love's skin, because I haven't been able to do that at all lately.

We were laying in bed to watch our PVR recorded shows that seem to be creeping toward 100% full.

"I'm feeling ok, why?" Papi asked with a little bit of distrust.

"Can I lay on your chest?"

My love's body language instantly relaxed, "Yes," he said with calmness and a small bit of a smile.  Still, I wanted more than that.

"Can I lay on your chest with your shirt off?"  I just needed to experience my love's skin against my cheek.  I needed to recieve Papi's heartbeat against my temple, so that it echoed in my head.

"Yes," he replied, and removed his shirt.  I laid my head on his chest promptly, in case he changed his mind.

"It's only my tummy that's uncomfortable right now," mi esposo reassured me, and this was his way of warning me to also be careful.

My cheek could feel the raised skin of his happy new nipple.  It felt like a new best friend, and I had to nurture my relationship with it.  Warmth brewed within me, and I never wanted it to leave this place.

My fingers ran along the scars that replaced what was once breasts.

I felt that I needed to put love into his skin.  I needed to give as much love to those lines as possible.

I would feel the raised areas dip into calmer valleys of skin that have given way to healing, yet, I wasn't honing in on those little depressions.

The spotlight was on the raised scars that make my love feel self-conscious.

With every breath, and every stroke, I gave love, and I also took love.  I basked in the pleasure of touching Papi's skin.

It made up for the moment of intensity I felt upon returning home the other night.

My love was acting out, and trying to find every way possible to say he was upset, without getting to the point of angst.

It went from, "You don't do enough around the house," to, "You do too much, and then all I get is the broken Andréa."

I reminded him of everything I've done to keep our home, G'ma and the Fuzzy Family taken care of, and also reaffirmed that I'm always broken.  It doesn't matter what I do I'm broken for fuck's sakes! 

... ummm ... have you not been paying attention to the agony i've been in for over three years now?! ...

But, it wasn't about that anyway.  Eventually, the truth came out, "I don't like it when I wake up and you're not here."

It was my turn to be honest.  "But sweety, you're so depressed and sick, and all you do right now is sleep.  I got tired of waiting around for you to wake up and had to start living my life.  If I knew you'd get up, I'd be here, because I'd be excited to see you.  But I wait for you to wake up, and you don't."

I also had to add in, "I got lonely.  I miss you so much.  But I needed to get out and do things because I was starting to get depressed that I don't get to be with you anymore.  I needed to take care of my heart."

It was a little later on that I admitted via our goodnight text sessions, "I can't stop crying.  I'm worried you're depressed because perhaps you're not in love with me anymore, and feel trapped in our relationship."

Always, it comes back to me feeling inadequate and unloveable due to my lack of confidence.

Mi esposo showed me I'm loved last night

I felt it through his skin and heartbeat yesterday.

Sleep, Papi.

I'll be here when you wake.

today's mantra from my gratitude buddy:

the universe wants us all to be abundant in every way

What's your 'something'?

So, this may be a first.

I've never had my taxes done on time.

Once I even had 6 years of taxes to do.  That was fun.

But this year, I am so ready.  It's wonderful!  I've never done this before!

Probably has a lot to do with the fact that I don't run my business like I did before the accident.

Self-employment has it's benefits, but being an employee does as well.

Anyway, I'm sure you didn't come here to read about my taxes.

How about a little Papi moment yesterday?

"I can't imagine myself with breasts anymore.  It just doesn't seem like I ever looked right with them."

I had to agree.  He looks right now.  It was just a settled comfortable sight of my love.

There was a moment of uncomfortable thoughts within that space of calm.

"Honey, what will people think when they see me on the beach with scars on my chest?"

I replied with what I've been told by other people, and I'm pretty sure what my love has heard in the past, "They'll just think you had cancer and won't want to ask questions."

I felt so sad for mi esposo.  I've had the feeling of 'What will people think?' too many times.

It's so 'human' of us.

But really is it necessary?

Furthermore, is it possible to get rid of that?

People say they 'don't give a shit' all the time, but I'm willing to bet that there's something they think someone will notice, but won't tell anyone they have that thought.

I'm also pretty sure that everyone else who's walking around the beach is thinking that their something is what everyone is staring at, and consequently, they could care less about anyone else's something.

We're just a bunch of nutburgers wandering around hoping nobody will notice our somethings.

So, I don't think my love has anything to worry about.

My something is being worried that someone out there will see me like I see myself in the mirror and point and laugh.

Even though that's not realistic, it's what I think.

I've had people point and laugh for other things, ...

... like you balcony bitches ... you know who the fuck you are ... how's that karma treatin' ya? ...

... so, I can't say with confidence that it doesn't happen in reality.

I have more confidence in my something now, even if it means spending the whole day with shaking, sweaty hands and a tummy that's bent out of shape, I face the fear.

Then!  That's about the only time my something lets up; when I just ignore the voices that tell a different story than what I want to hear.

We all have a something.

Papi's will pale in comparison to his beautiful personality, and nobody will notice at all.

A nice summer glow will help matters when he goes to Mexico in May.

That's about all I can get out today, while I'm being trampled on by The Galloping Gazelle.

Yup.

He's ba-ack.

Giving cuddles galore and filling our dungeon with more giggles.

whether you think you can, or you can't, you are right

~ Henry Ford

Putting my fears to bed.

It's amazing how much fun I had last night.

All those fears?

Useless.

Had washes of stomach pains from anxiety right up until I got in the hot tub.

Yeah.

It was a swimming event.

But I don't swim.

I float.

Anyway, the hot tub with great friends made it quite easy for me to ignore the haters, and they just ignored me.

Even Papi loosened up when he saw others with the exact same scars.  It was like we just fell into a magic pool filled with confidence and love.

My Boifriend and the sweetest M-F sillier than me, pushed myself and 4 fun loving strangers around in a floaty canoe!

I went down the kiddy slide!

I hung from a rope about a foot over water and slid right in!

Yeah, it might not have been the best idea for this bitch of a back, but it sure made me smile and have the greatest time in a while.

What I realized last night, is that I leave too long between social gatherings, so that the next time I actually have to go out, I think the worst, because I forget the best.

This has to stop.  Somehow, I have to assure that scarred little girl that she's not in that time when people would tease her about her hair.

When kids would literally stop and point; one I remember yelling at the same time, "What the fuck was that?"

I wasn't like all the other kids.  And it wasn't just my Honky 'Fro.  It was also my personality.

My mind was always thinking about my piano.  My piano was my first love.

That little girl who's different had to go to an event for her own good.

There weren't mirrors all over the place.

There was one wall of them and Papi caught me before I sneaked a peak to make a negative moment come to light.  "You look beautiful, my love.  You don't need to look."

Papi may have caught me before I did damage there, but the fear of walking out into a pool as the only femme in a bikini had me literally shaking.

Just like the good old days of starting at a new school every year, she felt so out of place.

That was of course, until she saw the M-F in a full length dress, tights and padded bra slide into the water.

She did all kinds of fancy falls from that massive rope.

And you know what?  Nobody pointed or stared at my body.

It's the fear of the unknown that gets me.

The little girl who has been a little more affected than most by the potential of people's evilness had the best time last night.

She got to shine in love.

I'm so glad I made her go.

Who knows?  Maybe by the time I'm 80 she'll relax a little and realize that there's more love out there than there is fear.

Stranger things have happened in my growth this year.

there is nothing to hold me back except myself

Turning the corner.

It started with consoling my love, by stroking his naked thigh.

You see, 'someone' has a touch of hormone madness from the hysterectomy.

I can't remember why Papi needed comforting, but that's how it began.

I didn't realize it, but I was stroking mi esposo's man hair leg, and to my surprise, it didn't feel like a nasty Brillo Pad, raring to cut my flesh like a knife through butter.

I was enjoying the feeling, as if it was a member of our Fuzzy Family.

"It actually doesn't feel so bad.  It's pretty soft!  I think I'm getting used to it."

Papi responded with, "Yeah, I'm finally getting used to it too.  It was weird at first."

It shocked me, that Papi had to get used to it as well.

I really thought he would feel connection with every aspect of the transformation.

I suppose all the joking and terrorizing was really my love's way to deal with the changes.

I guess it's an adjustment for everyone that takes getting used to.

I mean, it must be!  It's huge for me, so it must have some impact on the person who's morphing, leaving their prior 'self' behind.

One of the most amazing therapists I ever had, once explained our reactions to loss, change, hurt and even joy.

She explained that every person is unalike, and is therefore cut from a different cloth.  We all have distinctive strengths and weaknesses.

When you press an iron at a high setting on varying materials, they each have individual reactions.

If someone is made of silk, well, you can imagine what the heat will do to them.

Honestly, I'm 100% sure that there will be more challenges in life, because that's just the way life is.

But perhaps, my silky fabric has changed into denim.

Anyway, I thought about how lucky I am to have found this person I love, who loves me as deeply.

I no longer care if my love has extra hair, although there will be waxing in Papi future.

I mean really!  I keep those areas tidy for sexy time, skirt exposed legs and armpit stink.

So yes, there will be waxing, Papi.

However, I really don't care if my love talks, walks, acts, or looks different anymore.

I've had a good year to get it out of my system, and at the same time, grow with the changes.

I'm still attracted and madly in love with mi esposo.

Hey.

That doesn't mean I'm going to let go of all my opportunities to share TMI about his antics here in my blob/blab.

There's just too much fun to be had with the DIY exploits of the Tranny Terrorist.

But what I do get to let go of, is that comatose, weeping wife of an F-M.

Over the past week, I've unconsciously started to rub Papi's chest.

Through my love's t-shirts, I let my fingers softly rub over the scars.

There may be loss of pillowy softness, but that loss doesn't compare to the love I have for Papi, which was really my worst worry.

Now that I know my attraction and love are here to stay, I'm ready to get on with life and talk about other important things.

Like my ass.

My love thinks it's imperative that I get a pic of my ass in this here blob/blab, because, "It's a great ass," my love pleaded, "You have to show everyone your ass!  Look at that ass!  It's better than a 20 year old's!"

Yeah it is, but no.

Other than when my cheeks are nicely tucked into a pair of yoga pants, or skin tight Dominican Republic jeans for the world to see, my butt belongs to Papi.

Well, except for when I lend it to the Needle Master.

Loss.

It was such a lovely start to my day today.

Morning coffee with one of my sweetest friends.

Of course, I was late.  I didn't set my alarm properly, because our hang out wasn't documented in my phone, hence I forgot.

sometimes, i think i'll never get better from this ridiculous brain injury!!!!!

That was of course, until I woke up and saw the message from her,"I'm in the coffee shop, see you soon!"

That brought on the 1 minute brushing of horrid morning breath, a hat to conceal my almost dreadlocked curls, a backwards shirt that now has toothpaste on it, and my day old socks I'd slept in to keep my tootsies warm at night.

Can you say, "Classy?!?!?"

Hey.

I never admitted to being classy in the first place.

I'm just your run of the mill white trash verging on redneck femme who managed to get out of the house in 5 minutes flat.

I got the the coffee shop, had a quick cuddle with my sweet friend, ordered coffee and went to squeeze my dose of honey in, when I was duped by some mother fucker who left the cap off.

So.

The entire lid and a really massive glop of honey went 'gloop' into my coffee.

No worries!

They made me another one, and handed me a really clean honey bear.  It's not often you get to have the 'cleaned' honey bear at a coffee shop.

From there it got better.

We did our best to catch up in a half hour, but it's never enough with her.  We need a full day to really get caught up.

But we did get to talk about Papi and I.

It's interesting to see someone you haven't seen in a while and be able to look at your current life situation and see how much has changed.

It's a bit akin to writing out your work résumé.  I don't know about you, but I feel pride when I see my life's attainments in one page.

Well, what I realized through our chit-chat is that I am doing well.

But I am feeling loss.

Those pictures of butch breasts at the Queer Arts Festival office still have me missing my love's soft tender breasts.

While talking about it with my friend, I could almost feel my love's cool plump nipple against my cheek.

I could almost feel the encounter of rubbing my fingertips along mi esposo's ample mounds.

I'll never get to feel them again.

The Great Breast Disappearance has created a huge loss.

The good news is, I am now at the place where I can stroke the healing scars on mi esposo's empty cavity, that was once an abundance of supple sweetness.

My love has always said that if I wanted to touch other women's breasts, that there would be no issue on Papi's behalf.

However, none of them are the beautiful mamms that I once held and felt against my own bosom.

Loss.

I suppose I'm now at the acceptance part of the 5 stages of grief.

Now that I'm here, is it supposed to stop hurting?

Well, it doesn't.

Gender neutral pronouns please!!!!

I had a day without pain killers yesterday.

Those are some beautiful days when that happens.  I've had 2 in the past week and a half.  I hope this ball keeps rolling!

Papi and I went and sat on the beach.  Same beach we went to for The One Year Wedding Anniversary Extravaganza.

It was difficult for Papi to not take off his top.

When there were breasts there, Papi would always expose them.  I'd cringe because people ...

... creeps ...

... would stare and even sometimes take pictures.

Then there were the mothers who thought that seeing breasts would scar their children, even though that same child suckled her very own bosom.  It was thought of as a beautiful act when that mother could feed her child directly from her body.  How can they see them as offensive?

Anyway, now my love has two massive scars that spread straight across his chest and for the average straight person to see those, they'd probably just wonder if it was cancer.

There was something I read about these scars and that they shouldn't be in the sun.  I'm not sure, but I think it was my Blogger Friend, Vee who told me this information.

i'm too lazy to go find it ...

So, I've been telling my love, "I read it!  If you expose your scars to the sun it will take longer to heal, or not heal as well.  I don't know which one, but just keep them out of the sun!"

Papi has listened to me, but it was very difficult for my love to remain with a shirt on.

My love would sit and stare at men who were just walking around without tops and be envious.

I would sit and stare at the girls who got to move around and play frisbee with a flick of their wrist, or pummel a volleyball.

I, too, was with envy, as I just sit and watch now.

I also compare female bodies to my own.  This is not a healthy thing to do when you have an eating disorder.  It could bring disaster.

I stopped myself and told myself the same thing I have to every time I hear the demon whisper in my ear, "I'm not her.  I am me.  I am healthy."

Afterward, when the self inflicting pain stopped, we went to visit a friend who is having pain of her own.

She's a lovely soul who has gotten herself into a bit of trouble with addiction.

It was really hard to listen to her ask Papi all the curious questions.

My love would just answer with frankness, as if they were talking about a hair regime.

I would fall silent.

I'm sure that if my love were only a friend to me, I'd be just as easy going with it as well, but I'm not.

None-the-less, it was still difficult to hear these questions being answered in a lackadaisical manner.

It's interesting to see how some people see my love as a male and some see a female.

It makes Papi wince when people say, "She," and this friend did quite often.

The strangest phenomenon is happening to me though.  It's also making me feel odd when people say it as well.

Then there's the other day when I realized I wasn't thinking of people as any gender what-so-ever.  I've really stopped using pronouns in every day life, not just with Papi.

I suppose my mind is a pendulum and I'm just swinging to the other side to help myself get past this pronoun thing.

Someone, somewhere, has got to come up with a new pronoun that is gender neutral.

That way, everyone could just be a human, instead of placing a description of their gender.

I would breathe easy if that happens.

Dream on ...

Nipples.

I went into The Dispensary and had a nice chat with my Medicinal Cannabis guru.

Apparently, I ate too much of the Budder Bar.  That's why I got a little paranoid and coocoo.

Well, lesson learned.  I can see now where that little gem could fit in.  Not really something I want for the all day, never ending, nattering of a bitchy back.  It's something that could be used for the really bad days where I can't lift my head off the pillow.

So, I've found the magical tincture Snake Bite Oil is the ticket for this femme.

I was actually able to sit for longer than 10 minutes making music yesterday without a screaming back.  Let me tell you, it was the greatest feeling.  I never knew three years ago that it would be a struggle just to get back to composing.

I'm pretty grateful that we live in a city that is so liberal that I actually have a choice about what to put in my body for pain management.  I really don't need residual liver damage from a motorcycle accident, ya know?!?

Anyway, I found another bonus to the Snake Bite Oil.

Another side effect of MC is being a little more brave.

Papi was wandering around without a top on yesterday ...

... which was never out of the ordinary prior to the top surgery ...

... and I looked at my love when Papi started talking about his nipples.

"I was told that they would take a while to heal."

I was finally able to look at them without the mask of denial!  I thought to myself ... wait a minute ... how did they create that nipple?? ... then proceeded to ask Papi. 

"It's my own nipple.  It's from my original nipple!"

Then I realized, I'd never thought about it.  So now, I'm looking at said nipple and I realized that there was no other scarring to make the big female areola hole shrink to fit into a small male areola area.

damn ... does that make sense?!

Well, I was surprisingly curious as I shocked myself by asking my love how the hell they did that!!

Papi didn't know.  Papi and I just looked at each other, wondering how they created this crazy illusion!

They really did a good job!  I finally looked at it differently.  I didn't look at it from a place of queasiness.

well ... maybe i shouldn't go that far ... i was queasy ...

None-the-less, it took me a moment to really envision my own nipples being cut off, cut to size and placed back on my chest!

Oh yeah ... I couldn't really get past that, but the point is I really looked at them from a place of acceptance.

Here is the person I married.

My transgender, F-M esposo.

That's when I had a moment where I saw the person Papi wants to be.

It was quite a fleeting moment, but I saw it.

I saw the 'man' that people see when they just see Papi on the street and walk on by, without trying to figure out if this is a man or a woman.

I saw the male figure that Papi desires to see in the mirror.  It wasn't so scary, it was just a chance to see my love through different eyes.

Of course, the feeling I had in seeing my love in a different way vanished with one sentence.

"I don't think they'll fall off now."

Nice.

No, they pretty much look like they're going to be stuck there for good.

So, to my Blogger Friends Dirty Cowgirl and Sandra, you can stop worrying about nipples being ripped off by the power of the shower head, then floating down the tub drain.

They're now permanent.

And small. 

**shudders**

this moment brought to you by the letters W,T,F

It's a strange phenomenon.

You know how men just can't help but stare at breasts?  Or more precisely, cleavage?

I get it now.

Papi parades around topless and all I can do is stare at The Great Breast Disappearance.

It's so damn weird.

I can talk to Papi about 'who knows what' and my eyes leisurely gravitate lower, and lower to the nipples that seem much happier than they were a month ago, not to mention the scars that look less ablaze.

My love is using serum meant to diminish the scarring.  Every morning, when mi esposo comes home from the graveyard shift, it's applied with love after the, "Yikes that's cold!!!" healing water cleans off the area.

I actually haven't seen the wreckage (or lack thereof) for a few days, as the morphine oblivion has had me in quite the state of lassitude.

However, after my IMS treatment yesterday, I haven't had to take the nasty drugs that make me look like a hippy from the 70's, with meager slits for eyes and a pseudo-grin.

dude, pass me another ...

All I've needed to are my usual muscle relaxants and anti-inflammatories.

Hence, today when I got up, I had a glimmer of the spirit of Andréa, and there they were.

The flattened, AWOL breasts in all their glory.

As I speak to Papi, my eyes keep lowering without my intention.

I stare.

I look back up at my love and again my eyes start falling like a moose in quicksand.

Lower.

Lower.

And bingo!

Nipples.

Man nipples to be exact.

What the hell?  I just can't keep from staring at them.

Well, there is one thing that will keep me from staring at them.

Papi using the brand new beard trimmer.

Here's another unavoidable casualty for my eyes to lay upon.

My love now has what is a small mass of fur at the chin's end.

Just at the tip.

Can't really call it a beard, but there's something there and it actually is growing on me.

hehehe ... sorry ... couldn't resist ...

I'm not sure what's happening to me, but I do believe I'm starting to either a) get used to it, b) am entertained by it, or c) thinking it's kinda cute.

WTF?!?!?

It actually doesn't offend me, and it suits Papi.

again, WTF?!? and who just said that?!?

So there stands my love in the bathroom mirror, shaving and trimming so that it looks like an intentional mass at the chin's end, and I watch.

I watch mi esposo making it look perfect.

I don't cringe.

I smile.

who is this person?!?

Honestly, because it's on Papi, I don't mind it.

Is this what they call unconditional love?

Oh ... so ...

... hungry.

My body isn't quite back on track on my food cleanse.  I went crazy the last few years after my accident eating every food I'm allergic to ...

except dairy ... I just can't damage myself for that one ...

... and finally, my body told me to cut it out.

So I did.

But the caffeine, sugar and carb withdrawal is brutal.

And I'm bitchy.

Over the top 'I can't handle it' bitchy.

I have to do the 'breathing' thing to make sure I don't verbally abuse the G'ma.

who incessantly talks about how bad the attic stairs are, how she can't turn the tv on and the bird seed needing to be removed ... 

It always starts like this: 

please use your best old lady voice in your head to make sure you get the full effect

G'ma watches me come up or down our dungeon stairs and says, "My they really did a great job with the carpet on your stairs.  Why can't we put that carpet on the stairs going up?"

Every fucking time.

I've tried to explain that my brain injury doesn't work well with narrow stairs and how I fell down them a few times because the carpet didn't hold my unstable footing.  I've tried saying, "If you don't like the look of them, don't look."

Oh, I've tried everything.

Today?

As soon as she got as far as, "My they really did a great job with the carpet on your stairs.  Why can't we ..."

I gave her the hand, then, "I don't want to hear it."

She kept trying with, "But," and I kept the hand up saying, "No.  I don't want to hear about the carpet every day.  It's not going up and if you don't like it don't look."

"But," and the hand came up again.  Then the old bird laughed, "I'll try not to say anymore about the stairs."

It was a nice gesture, but I know that it will only last 10 minutes.

Regardless, my cranky 'I'm so hungry' moment got a little overheated and I was thinking I did really well with Papi yesterday when I was off work and ready to keel over from starvation.

There stood my love with only boxers on and a camera in hand as soon as I came down those 'My they really did a great job with the carpet' stairs.

As I walked past my love I asked, "What's this all about?" in regards to my au naturel esposo.

I need you to take pictures of the 'after' pictures for the clinic.

the papirazzi is ready for their action shots!

Papi stood proudly, exposing The Great Breast Disappearance, and I snapped pictures with every shading of flash I could find via it's adjustments.

Again I was surprised.

My love and I giggled through the process and I didn't have any moments where my hair stood on end with the ouch factor looking at the still pink scars.

I'm coming along.

I think what I'm realizing is that because my love is going through the changes with me, I'm ok, because Papi is still here by my side.

I know I wouldn't do this again, because I wouldn't do this for just anyone.

Only my soul mate.

This is an amazing person who wants the world to know that **enter pronoun here** not slut-phobic and that **enter pronoun here** loves sluts.

Papi likes sluts.

There ya go Papi.

I fixed it for you.

listen ...

The Gramma Drama has just about taken it's final bow.

She's going completely loopy and she's dragging us along with her.

Yesterday, I composed a text to Papi in an hysterical state, where my heart was going to slam straight out of my chest and said, "I almost wrote to you that I've had it and I'm moving out."

My caring love said, "Oh dear, you sound like I did this morning."

This morning when I woke up, I read a very early morning text from Papi that read, "I can't take much more of G'ma either.  I think I may move out!!"

It's hard let me tell you.

If you've ever taken care of an elder, then you know what I'm talking about.  If you haven't, you have no idea what you're in for when your time comes.

be afraid ... be VERY afraid ...

No need to go into detail berating the old fart here for my 'good morning, let's sort out my brain' blogging episode.

Let's just say that between my emotions about Papi's male transformation, working 10 hour shifts, preparing for a massive show in 3 weeks, ...

gasp!!! wtf?!?! 3 weeks?!?!? there goes that chest pain again ...

... trying to keep up with the Fuzzy Family and having the Gramma Drama unfold with every breathing moment I'm at home is taking it's toll.

sometimes, i replay the Supertramp Song in my mind ... exchanging the wife for the g'ma

Hence, I thought I was going to have a heart attack on the bus to pick up our now fixed car.

One good thing is, I don't have time to wallow about my love's male transformation.  It's really a good thing.

I get to think about what a goofy spouse I have.

I'm pretty sure I told you that Papi thinks my blogs are boring if they don't include my love.  Well, when a couple of my Blogger Friends mentioned they'd like to see pics, Papi read the comments and just about jumped for glee.

There went my love, faster than a cheetah to grab the camera, scattering the Fuzzy Family.  We had to give every picture the once over to be sure it was the perfect one to display to the world.

It was like Papi was a star and I was the paparazzi.

or rather the PAPIrazzi.

I couldn't stop giggling at my love.

We were taking pics of mi esposo's progress, and for that moment, I didn't see the scars or the angry nipple.

I saw my soul mate.

The one that I married.

When I think about that, I realize that being here in this moment is really ok.  I don't need to think about those fears that are welling up in me that I'll have a balding, pot bellied, hairy middle aged man as a companion for the rest of our lives together.

It's now coming to light that all the changes mi esposo wants to make are really not going to change the silly, gorgeous, loving, understanding person I married.

I will always see my butch.

As much as Papi gets frustrated when I glaze over as mi esposo starts talking about the caterpillar that isn't growing in fast enough, I do listen.

I may not speak, but I listen.

I listen to these words that are important to Papi.

Then I slip back into what's important to me.

My love.