the male woman

I am that great, polarizing chimera, the male woman.

I'm happily married to a beautiful [overworked], brilliant [exhausted], inspiring [god, I love her so much] female woman. We have an amazing daughter -- the other light of my life -- and a son on the way. We have good jobs, loving families, sensitive friends, and maybe even a few plans for the future. Oh, wait, did I say "happily" just now? Well, yes, true, in the context of all of the above. But I wouldn't say I'm happy.

Actually, I'd say I've been pretty miserable. Because, with the possible exception of my keenly perceptive daughter, they all think I'm a man.

Hell, I've thought that now and again. It's a confusing issue.

Nonetheless, a preponderance of evidence stands to the contrary. I say "preponderance" for its semi-homophony with "ponderous", which connotes something large, awkward, ungainly, and remarkably painful to have dropped on one's toe. A couple of months ago, it hit me squarely in the face. No part of my life has been the same, since.

Our marriage, for one. Nothing calms and soothes a hard-working, professional, very pregnant woman like being told her spouse is considering transitioning to her sex. To her credit and my immense joy and relief, I believe she will stay by my side. To my shame, I can clearly see the fear and anxiety that haunts her, now. It creases her brow as she sleeps, stiffens her smile during the day, and eats-away at her already overcommitted energy reserves.

Really, there are too many facets to itemize. My mother grieves for the son she will lose. Some of my friends wonder if I'm still taking my medications properly. Others simply wonder what the big deal is all about. My daughter is excited to learn that Daddy too will grow-up to be a woman (though she's not so sure about her little brother). Me, I dream of someday seeing myself in the mirror, and find a bitter nostalgia in the seemingly long-distant past when this didn't eat-away at each and every relationship in my life.

Fortunately, this is the year 2008, and there are blogs for people like me.

Otherwise, well, I would probably go mad. If I didn't have built-in overactive mood stabilizers (a neurological quirk of mine), I'd probably off myself. Even without major depression and suicidal ideations, I risk emotionally brutalizing myself and my family, which could very well end my family.

And that concludes the immediate basics of Me. There's the abbreviated version of the stage on which these silly little dramas play. There's some of the Me you can see in photographs.