Fatherless Day

Happy Father’s Day to all the great Dads out there. And to the Mums having to do both roles.

My own Dad has been gone more than 20 years. No bad thing to remember him today though.

He was full of sage advice but often simultaneously completely irresponsible. You do not make matching crossbows for children under 10. At least not in the same house as my Mum.

He did leave me with one golden nugget however. If you don’t want to be stuck with a task for all time, do it terribly the first time. You won’t be asked again. A mind like a steel trap!


I Can Hardly Weight

Since I had my operation I’ve been something of a lazy pie. Seven full months of inactivity have resulted in me putting on more than a stone in weight. I’ve gained more pounds than I ever imagined in such a short window. But to be honest, I’ve been as happy as hell and the little belly I’ve acquired has mostly been a thing of comfort. I just kind of like having it.

But my frame being more Winston Churchill than Winona Ryder, not so much. So this week I’ve actually joined a gym again. I used to go to the gym three times a week. Ironically when I wanted to Man Up. Look how well that worked out. So I do know that what I need is not impossible. If I work on my core then my little kebab baby should very easily be dealt with before things get out of my reach. And it’s own reach is already considerable.


It is going to take some hard work. And another lifestyle adjustment but considering the adjustments I’ve already made I think it’s totally doable. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with carrying excess weight by the way but now that I’m kind of settled, I genuinely want my start as a Woman to be the best that I can give it.

That will involve some serious effort on my part. My op went phenomenally well, I’ve enjoyed half a year of being myself without once considering the consequences of eating for three. And now, I really think I owe myself a fair crack of the whip. I simply want to get back to my life, my job and where I was. And I was never a perfect shape. Nor do I want to be. It doesn’t exist. But to be a little more trim wouldn’t hurt me either. My body will thank me for it. Even if I do actually resent the hell out of it.


Poking The Bare

Because I didn’t grow up as a girl I missed out on establishing certain key skills as I progressed through life. Consequently I am not particularly successful at Woman-ing much of the time.

I’m not a complete novice but there remain numerous things I just haven’t ever gotten to grips with. Mostly to do with hair if I’m honest. Eyelashes and eyebrows are apparently an ancient art best left to skilled practitioners, I can live with that. I’m too long in the tooth to learn to deal with either. And too fundamentally lazy to try.

Legs and underarms, I kind of figured out as I went along. Although they are never as smooth as I’d like and often simply my most effective means of contraception. I suspect that’s just due to a laxness on my part in following any kind of schedule. Your leg hair is too long when you can lasso the TV remote from your bed. A very rough benchmark.

But in my new post op world, hair does remain a constant conundrum. Particularly the hair down there. WTF do you do with it?. Specifically when it resembles Cousin Itt. I realise there are professionals but also know that I’d like to see a professional before seeing a professional. It’s just a lot trickier than ever anticipated. There really should be classes whilst you transition as you don’t get to learn this stuff. Hopefully I’ll also work it out as I go along. Or else I’m moving to a country that embraces fullness. I hear Japan is lovely anyway. Hair today, gone tomorrow.


On Reflection

This is still at least nominally a transition blog. So I suppose an update on the actual transition might be about due.

Now several months into being post operative, things are better than I had ever expected in the physical sense. I see documentable change all of the time.

Ok, it’s mostly in the form of a fatter arse, a wee bit extra belly to carry around and my thighs threatening to annexe the neighbour’s flat. But it’s also meant extra boobage. There’s a whole Yin and Yang thing going on with my body. And I kind of like it. Because more and more of the time, I see a woman in the mirror. With bumps in both the right and the wrong places. As it often is.

Which has been great for my confidence. Which is currently flying high. Which means that even having folk in the same supermarket line questioning “Is that a man?” this week couldn’t upset my apple cart. Because the positive to take here is, it was a question. Not a statement.

That bodes well for the future. I’d like to believe there will be a day when nobody feels the need to question my validity from mere feet away. But it matters not as they still accidentally built me up despite their pig ignorant selves. I will admit though that today’s song was totally in my head at the time. Possibly theirs too.