momma's pride and joy

Assimilation

Saturday was pretty uneventful. Tim left extra early that morning, them took an extra shift in the afternoon so I didn't have to see him at all. For that I was grateful.

On Sunday morning, I got up and made him a lunch before he headed out. I asked him to tell Joe that something came up and that we'd have to reschedule later.

"So you're still open to the idea," he asked as he headed towards the door.

"Maybe," I replied, but that was the extent of any conversation between us as the screen door popped shut behind him.

In the days following the carnival visit, I thought a lot about the person I wanted to be, verses what Tim or Mom or anyone else thought I should be.  I had come to grips with what I was becoming and knew I had to have complete control over the direction my life took or I'd be miserable.

For the next week or so neither Ma nor Tim said much to me. Tim was working extra hours so he could afford to replace the tires on his car and Mama, her strength had taken a big downturn. She was in bed and sleeping a lot that week, so I didn't get to talk to her very much.

Fortunately for me, this meant I had more time with my thoughts.

I thought and pondered, pondered and thought. I did consider what everyone seemed to want of me and who they wanted me to be. But I placed more emphasis on trying to figure out who I really wanted to be. How did one align with the other, I asked my self, and in what ways did they not?

It was no secret I didn't want to hurt Mama and I was willing to do whatever I had to in order for our family to be taken care of and her to have peace of mind about it, even if it meant giving up my boyhood to take on the role of a traditional housewife.

I could see how much Tim sacrificed for the family and I was prepared to do the same. However, what did that look like? And did it have to look like this?

The there was how I had changed since all this started. I had gone from an awkward boy in a dress trying to cook and clean, to a somewhat confident, rather convincing young lady who knew her way around the kitchen and had no problem keeping the house presentable enough most housewives would approve.

I had become quite comfortable in this role and that confidence translated into a more feminine looking and acting boy in a dress who could take a trip to the grocery store without anyone recognizing her as one of the Baker boys in a dress.

I was beginning to feel less and less like a boy and had come to enjoy that feeling. Getting up every morning, doing my hair, makeup, picking out an outfit, and getting dressed, was something I now looked forward to and it excited me, but was it enough for me to continue to embrace it, even once mama was gone?