In separate news, while doing some financial planning worksheets the other day, and tackling the difficult issues of how the expenses of transition would impact our already overtaxed budget, my spouse gave me a quiet, perhaps even unintentional gift of confidence and commitment. We were touchy from discussing finances, and skittish from discussing transition; I posited a rough, large sum as what we'd need to save to complete the medical and legal necessities of transition. She thought briefly, then, with a concerned tone, asked if that figure included money for fertility treatments.

At the time, I was just startled, and confirmed that yes, that was in there, I'd kept it in mind, which seemed to satisfy her. Every time I recall the exchange, though, I am more and more moved.

Some transitioning spouses may be blessed with self-actualized, openly bisexual partners, for whom transition in no way equates to the potential extinguishing of romance and attraction. Not so, I. Instead, we have other gifts.

This post was going to be a voice for the turmoil that's been engulfing my inner world, of late, as transition becomes ever more real -- as hair removal progresses and I begin voice work and as my name and internal image begin to recenter. But, somehow, I couldn't begin without acknowledging that I am no longer the woman I was before that marvelous birth at the end of November, and, as I have already observed, such acknowledgments have a way of warming and softening the sternest demeanor.

Perhaps tomorrow I can avoid reflecting on my therapeutic infant long enough to experience and vent some frustrations ... but it's true, I'm addicted: I can't go long without my fix.

And, honestly, I can't presently imagine anyone faulting me.