The first few days after my husband’s big reveal were basically a question and answer session. And I expressed support and love and reassurance. While I freaked the fuck out a little. The questions were many. Did you know this as a kid? No, well maybe. What are you planning to do? No idea. Of course not. In our relationship I’m the one who takes action. My dear husband can spend three weeks deciding to buy a $10 item. And then regret it. I’m not sure why I thought this process would be different. But he does assure me no surgery. Thank goodness. I hate doctors. And so does he. He has a week long anxiety attack before the denitist (as do I) so there is really no one to stay calm if someone needs surgery. But I’m researching like crazy and I know by now there are a million other things that he could do. Hormones and makeup and laser. I don’t ask about all of those.
Instead I take him shopping at Target and try to get him some girl clothes. It kind of worked. He gets nervous and defensive. Sigh. Raising a wife is going to be more work than I anticipated. But he bought a skirt and a dress and we bought nail polish. Nail polish became part of our routine. I can do his toenails and that brings happiness and calm. Whew.
But I’m holding my breath. I’m trying to be the image of a perfect supportive wife. And holding my breath. Which you can only do for so long.