My granddaughter came to visit. She's five, full of openness and curiosity. Beloved explained to her that I was now a "she."
"He's a she?" she asked, almost in a whisper.
I turned and smoothed down my denim blouse.
"She gots boobs?"
"Yep," we chorused.
Later, I read to her in bed. She likes this chicka-chicka boom boom book and I was just getting into the rhythm of it.
She stopped me to check out my fingernails. "Pink," she mused.
"Good color on me?"
"Yah ... yah, you're a girl all right. Girls got pink. You're not Papa Bear now."
"Nope. You're Papa Risa Bear."
If only it were always that simple.