By Missy Crystal
All Dolled Up - Part IV

Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them.

I picked up Jamie from the daycare center, signed the release form, which confirmed they had delivered him to me in the same condition they got him, and took him home. I gave him some milk and a cookie and then he went upstairs. About fifteen minutes later he was back down with his doll, which he had changed into her party dress, and wanted me to get him dressed the same. Dr. Mitchell had recommended that I not change anything, so I went upstairs and helped him into the dress. I felt somewhat better about doing it with her approval. Then again, Kelly inadvertently revealed that Dr. Mitchell was a transsexual. Could she, I suppose that's how you would refer to one of them, be too permissive, because of her own decision to be a woman? But you liked her, Ginny. She seemed genuinely compassionate. You wouldn't have any misgivings about her advice, if you hadn't discovered her secret. Was it a secret? Kelly had obviously been with her for a long time and she didn't seem particularly concerned about revealing it. I decided to speak with Karen.

The rest of the day was difficult, because of my conflicted feelings, which led to me wonder if maybe I was too hasty in getting counseling. Why did I need a psychiatrist to tell me to let nature take its course? I can do nothing without her help. This was getting much too complicated and giving me a headache. I really needed to talk to Karen. I looked at the clock. It wasn't even dinner time yet. I could call her at her office, but probably she was with a patient, then she would get a message to call me and be worried something bad had happened. I didn't want to alarm her. Take it easy Ginny, I advised myself. Things will work themselves out, if you are patient. Make yourself a cup of tea. In the midst of chaos, tea is comforting.

I managed to get through the rest of the day. Preparing dinner was a helpful distraction. I decided to put a lot of energy into it by making one of Jamie's favorite meals, spaghetti and meatballs. I put the hamburger in a plastic bag and soaked it in hot water to thaw it out, then mixed it with seasoning and formed it into meatballs, which I roasted in the oven until they were nice and brown on the outside and juicy on the inside. I went through the rest of the routine with the pasta and sauce. It took almost two hours to get it done, together with a salad and white toast, since I didn't have any Italian bread handy. Luckily, Jamie wasn't a fussy eater. I set the table, poured him a glass of milk and went upstairs to get him out of his dress and into something that would withstand a kid's confrontation with red sauce.

After dinner, I offered to watch a video with Jamie, but he wanted to go upstairs. I decided to be firm about his balancing dolls and dresses with normal boy's activities. He complained for a bit, but agreed to spend the rest of the evening with me. We sat on the couch in the den and watched Beauty and the Beast. That was one of my favorites. I loved the music. Jamie disliked the final scene where the Beast is pursued by the villagers and then seems to die protecting Belle. Thinking about it, I wondered if it raised any memories of his father's death. I doubted that he remembered much about what happened. Even so, I decided not to play that tape again. We had enough psychological issues to sort out. When it was over, we went upstairs and I put him to bed. As soon as I was sure he was asleep, I called Karen.

Dave answered the phone. I went though the usual pleasantries and asked for Karen. She was at a meeting and wouldn't be home until ten. Great, the one time I need her she's not around. Stop it, Ginny. Your not being fair, I reprimanded myself. She didn't know you were going to call her. She is entitled to her own life.

"Thanks, Dave. I have something I need to go over with her. Nothing life or death." Well, pretty darn close, but I can't tell you that. "Please ask her to give me a call when she gets in. I'll be waiting up for her."

"Ginny, is there something I can help you with," Dave offered. He was a really nice guy. I liked him a lot.

"No Dave, thanks, but it's, well, you know, girl stuff. I want to go shopping for back to school clothes for Jamie tomorrow and I have been so out of touch with what kids are wearing, I hoped Karen could give me a fashion update. I wanted to be sure I spoke to her, before I bought the wrong things and he was scarred for life by the other kids making fun of him for being a nerd," I explained, checking my nose to see if it had grown significantly.

Dave gave a laugh.

"Well, if you avoid high top sneakers, pants that are a couple of inches too short and a pocket protector, you should be okay, from a strictly male point of view."

"That's exactly the reason why I want a female point of view," I kidded him.

"Okay, Ginny. I'll make sure that Karen gets the message. Night."

"Night, Dave."

I hung up the phone, took out my book and tried to read to kill time until Karen called me. I had just gotten myself into the story, when the phone rang, startling me. I grabbed it.

"Karen?"

"Ginny, what's the matter?" she asked in a concerned voice.

"I'm sorry to bother you Karen," I apologized, "but I saw Dr. Mitchell today and, well, I, I'm not sure about her, Dr. Mitchell, being the right person for us. I wanted to see what you thought about it."

"Why wouldn't she be the right person?"

"Well, she, Doctor Mitchell, said to just let things stay the way they are and I'm just not sure she, Dr. Mitchell, is giving me good advice, because she, well, Dr. Mitchell's a transsexual."

"What?"

"Karen, I'm confused too. This is all new to me and having a psychiatrist, who used to be a man, well it's hard for me to accept. I was hoping you could help me sort it out. I mean, honestly, I like Dr. Mitchell, but that's not what's important."

"Whoa, Ginny, lets take this one step at a time. We'll play twenty questions, or so. Just answer yes or no and that way there won't be any misunderstanding. Okay, Sis?"

"Okay."

"First, I take it you went to see Dr. Mitchell today. Yes or no."

"Yes."

"She told you she was a transsexual."

"No."

"Who told you?"

"I can't answer that yes or no."

"My sister, the lawyer. We'll modify the rules to allow a one sentence answer. Now, who told you Dr. Mitchell was a transsexual."

"Her secretary, Kelly."

"Why did she tell you about Dr. Mitchell being a transsexual?"

"I don't know why. We were kidding around and it came out. That's two sentences."

"Ginny! Did she seem concerned about having told you?"

"No."

"Why are you concerned?"

"I don't want someone who has chosen to be a woman giving me advice about how to raise a boy not to be a girl."

"Yes, well, that's your problem."

"My problem?"

"Yes, Ginny, it is your problem," she emphasized 'your.' "People don't choose to be transgendered. They don't wake up one morning and say, 'Gee, wouldn't it be nifty if I was the opposite sex.' If Dr. Mitchell is a transsexual, and I wouldn't say so without confirmation from her, regardless of what her secretary might think, it isn't because she wants to be. It's because she has to be. I told you before, this is not my area of expertise, but I would venture that, considering how difficult it is to be transgendered, a transsexual psychiatrist would not encourage a patient to be like her, just because misery loves company. Even more so for Dr. Mitchell, because I have great respect for her and I wouldn't have recommended her to you, if I didn't."

"Are you sure, Karen. I mean, why didn't she tell me herself? Doesn't that mean she's keeping it hidden. She wanted me to be honest with her, but she wasn't honest with me. How can I trust her?"

"Look, Ginny. I can't answer those questions. Only Dr. Mitchell can and I think, since you're asking my advice, that you owe her the courtesy of asking her, before jumping to conclusions about her sincerity and objectivity. Do you have another appointment?

"Yes, a week from today."

"It's up to you, Sis, but I would go back and ask her the same questions you've asked me. If she is as good a doctor as I believe she is, then she will answer them to your satisfaction. If she doesn't, then you should find another therapist. One recommendation that is often made to patients when considering a doctor is to make a list of questions to ask. A reputable doctor should not be offended by a patient wanting to make an informed choice."

"Okay, Karen, I will do that, and thank you. I feel better. I do hope that I can keep working with Dr. Mitchell. She's, Karen, do you call transsexual's 'she' or is there another term you use."

"Was Dr. Mitchell wearing women's clothes?"

"Yes. Makeup too. She was very attractive. I wished I looked that good. What am I saying? I want to look as good as a man pretending to be a woman? That doesn't make sense."

"Ginny the correct pronoun is the feminine, if a transsexual is 'en femme,' which means dressed as a woman, and a transsexual is not pretending. That's what men do for Halloween and New Years Eve masquerade balls, but at midnight they change back. Transsexual's don't. Do you consider yourself to be a man, Ginny?"

"Karen, don't be silly, of course not."

"Neither does a transsexual."

"But, Karen, they are. They're men who wear dresses when it isn't Halloween or New Years Eve. You just said so."

"Ginny. I'm not good at explaining this. You really need to talk to Dr. Mitchell. In the meantime, I would follow her advice. It's accepted practice for all of the mental health profession. Don't go messing about with a patient's behavior, until you have a definitive diagnosis and treatment plan."

"Thanks, Karen. That was really helpful. I want you to understand, it's not that I don't like Dr. Mitchell and it's not, really, it's not that I have anything against her, just because she isn't what she seems. I just need to be sure that this is what's best for Jamie."

"Ginny, for goodness sake, listen to me. Dr. Mitchell is what she seems. You'll see what I mean when you talk to her. You know that I would tell you, if I had any concern. I don't. Now goodnight and stop being such a worry wort.

"Good night, Sis."

"Love you, Ginny."

"Love you too."

I always felt better after speaking with Karen. She was the one person in the world who I could turn to for good advice. She was always the rational one, the one who could look at any problem and find the most logical solution. I suppose that's what makes her such a good psychologist. I was an emotional mess growing up. A zit was a life crisis. I would do what she suggested and make a list of questions to ask Dr. Mitchell tomorrow. I turned out the light and went to sleep.

The next morning, I was up early. I checked to see that Jamie was still asleep and then went downstairs. I made myself two poached eggs on toast and poured a glass of orange juice, then took out a pad of paper and started to make up some questions for Dr. Mitchell. I tried a few times, but couldn't get it right, so there was a pile of crumbled paper on the counter:

'Why didn't you tell me you were a transsexual?' No, too confrontational.

'Dr. Mitchell, Kelly, told me you were a transsexual, is that true?' Better, but should I get Kelly in trouble?

'Dr. Mitchell, is there something about you that I should know?' No, too general.

'Dr. Mitchell, I didn't get a chance to find out about your background the last time I was here. Would you tell me about it?' Yes, polite, discrete, it doesn't get Kelly in trouble and it gives her the opportunity to be open.

If she doesn't mention that she is a transsexual, then I will know she is concealing it and that Kelly spoke out of turn. Then again, Ginny, it is a personal matter, I debated with myself. She might not be keeping it secret. She just might believe that it wasn't important. After all, you’re a nurse. Would it make a difference to you whether a patient was a transsexual, when you were caring for him. Him? Were transsexual's only men? Would a woman want to be a man? No, Ginny, not want. Karen told you it isn't a matter of choice. Would a woman feel like a man? I suppose she could. Were you getting completely distracted from your original purpose? Yes. Look at it the other way. If you needed nursing, would it matter to you who provided it? No. Not if they were qualified, but I might if it was a gynecological problem and I knew the nurse was male. Really? There are male nurses and male gynecologists. You wouldn't let them treat you? Of course you would, if you needed it. Why couldn't a transsexual provide counseling in an area with which she was personally familiar. Wouldn't she be the best person to understand the problem? Understand it, yes. Treat it, maybe not. So should you ask her directly? Maybe you should wait and see if she brings it up herself. Wouldn't that be better? Give her the benefit of the doubt? That way she wouldn't think you didn't have confidence in her. If she thought that, she might decide she shouldn't take Jamie as a patient and you might lose the opportunity to work with the most qualified therapist you could find. Ginny, you have given yourself Excedrin headaches numbers one through ten. Enough! I put down my pen and crumpled the sheet of paper, tossing it in the wastebasket along with my earlier efforts.

The rest of the week went by slowly. I was looking forward to seeing Dr. Mitchell on one the hand and was dreading seeing her on the other. The irony was that I was worried about being considered a good mother the first time I saw her and now the table had been turned and I was challenging her about being a good therapist. Even so, this was about Jamie and whatever embarrassment or consequences were the result, it was something I had to do for him. Things couldn't continue as they are. School would be starting in about a month and I had to have the issue of his playing with a doll and wearing dresses under control by then. Otherwise, his entire school experience would be ruined, if it came out. There's your answer, Ginny. You have no choice.

Monday finally came. The night before, I had told Jamie about having to go back to the hospital and again I assured him it was just routine. He enjoyed his morning in the daycare center and didn't resist going back there. I woke him up early, got him ready, gave him a quick breakfast and we drove to the hospital. Since I had already done the paperwork, it was much easier to leave him, and since I knew my way to Dr. Mitchell's office, it was much quicker for me to get there.

I arrived at about ten minutes to eight. The door to the reception area was open and I went in. I wasn't sure if I should let Dr. Mitchell know I was there early or wait until eight. I decided to knock on her door. I waited a minute and it opened. From a preliminary glance, I could see that Dr. Mitchell was impeccably dressed in a dark grey sheath with a matching short jacket, a pearl necklace, smoke grey stockings and dark grey leather pumps. If she was a man, and from what I could see the jury was still out, she could put Christian Dior to shame with her fashion sense.

"Ginny, I'm so glad you're early. It gives us a few extra minutes. Please," she pointed to the conversation area, "come in and let's get started."

"Good morning, Dr. Mitchell, I greeted her formally, as we walked to the chairs."

She waited for me to sit down and then took her seat. I noticed she still did not have any recording device or notepad. Looking at her more closely, I could see that her makeup was as perfect as her outfit. Eyeliner, maybe just a hint of smoky opalescent eye shadow, probably mascara, from the fullness of her eyelashes, subtly applied blush, if she had foundation, it was imperceptible, maybe she just had really good skin, and her signature plum colored lipstick. She must have caught me staring and smiled. I looked down in embarrassment.

"It took me forever to learn to do my hair and face. Luckily, my stepfather is a world class cosmetician and hairdresser. If it wasn't for his efforts and education, I would have never made it through high school as a girl."

She seemed surprised by the astonished look on my face. Not that I was surprised she was what Kelly had said, but that she was so nonchalant about it.

"You didn't know that I was transgendered?"

"I wasn't sure," I admitted. "Kelly mentioned it last week, but Karen, you know, my sister, Dr. Dalton, well, I did have some, I don't know, honestly, reservations about your judgment, so she told me to ask you about it today." Then I realized I had spilled the beans about Kelly. "Oh dear, Dr. Mitchell, I hope I didn't get Kelly in trouble. She was, well we were just having conversation and she was very complimentary," I added in her defense.

Dr. Mitchell grinned, exposing white teeth set off by her darker shade of lipstick, and tossed her hair back in a typical feminine gesture.

"You don't have to get Kelly in trouble. She's perfectly capable of doing it by herself. However, she has organized or disorganized my office, depending on how you look at it, so that she is indispensable. I wouldn't have a clue how to function without her and she knows it, so she is pretty impertinent sometimes. That having been said, my being transgendered is not a secret. I just assumed that you knew. That is the reason most of my transgendered patients come to me and feel comfortable working with me, because we have a common understanding of the issues. If we were little kids, I'd use the playground retort to an insult, that it takes one to know one."

"Kelly used the word 'transsexual'."

"That's what I am. I was thinking of getting a big red "T" tattooed on my forehead to warn people who might not know about me, but you'd be surprised how hard it is to find makeup to coordinate with a scarlet letter.

She said it with such sincerity that it took me a minute before I caught on to the humor. I struggled to maintain my decorum, but I lost and couldn't help giggling. Dr. Mitchell gave me a big smile.

I don't understand Doctor, Jenny, you look so. I couldn't get myself to say the words. Realistic, convincing, I finally came up with feminine.

"Amazing what a boatload of hormones, a couple of bags of silicone and the removal of some superfluous plumbing can do for you," she retorted.

I couldn't help myself, I cracked up.

"None of that would make a man a woman." I finally got out. "He'd just be a very emotional soprano with a lumpy chest," I kidded her back.

Now it was Jenny's turn to crack up.

"That is the best response I have ever heard. Maybe you and I should do a comedy routine. Laughter is the best medicine, so they say. Although I suppose that depends on whether you’re the laugher or the laughee. Most of my patients would not find our jokes amusing. But you are exactly right, Ginny. Being transgendered is a state of mind, not body. Physical appearance simply helps others to relate to you in the proper perspective, which brings us full circle to your son's behavior."

She looked at her watch.

"Thirty minutes and that's pushing it. Last week, I recommend that you let nature take its course. What course did Jamie's nature take?"

"The same one. He plays with his doll. He has learned to change her dress and when he does, he has me dress him in the matching outfit or at least the one he associates with each of the doll's outfits. His party dress does match hers. The tank-top dress doesn't, but he seems to understand that the doll and he can't have a coordinated wardrobe. Other than that, he seems normal. We go out, have lunch at one of the kiddy restaurants, go to the park and play and watch videos. When we go out, he doesn't make a fuss about leaving his doll at home and he doesn't seem to mind wearing his boy's clothes. That's about it. He's no better and no worse than last week."

"Since we haven't made a diagnosis, it's hard to say whether he is better or worse. Sometimes staying the same is a good thing and sometimes it isn't. Think about someone who gets lost while hiking. Staying in the same place is not a good thing. They are still lost. It is true they won't get more lost, but can you be more lost than lost? What they won't accomplish by staying in the same place is finding their way out."

"Yes, but, aren't people told to remain where they are, so it is easier for rescuers to track them down, rather than wandering around aimlessly?"

"A true outdoors woman. Yes, Ginny, if you're sure help is on the way. However, to continue with the metaphor, in my practice, I want my patients to be self-reliant. My job is to point them in the right direction and to teach them how to recognize and avoid dangers on the way out."

"Doctor, Jenny, sorry my nursing training makes it hard for me to call doctors by their first name. Jenny," I started again, "how can you be, I'm sorry, I don't mean to be disrespectful… "

"You cannot hurt my feelings, Ginny. If there is something that might interfere with our relationship, then you do neither of us a favor by not telling me about it," she interrupted me.

"How can your being a transsexual not affect the direction in which you point your patients?"

"It does affect my work, Ginny, but not in the way you mean. Did miss-big-mouth happen to mention that I am married and have children?"

"Yes."

"It was a very difficult transition from boy to girl, Ginny. It always is. You’re an attractive woman. I imagine that when you were in high school you had your share of boyfriends."

"Yes, I did have boyfriends, but no steady."

"There was a boy I liked. His name was Brian. He liked me too. I was open about being transgendered in high school. I wasn't a transsexual then. That's a decision that can't be made until you're an adult, so you can give informed consent, and even then, you have to have undergone lengthy counseling and received the therapist's approval. I was still physically a boy. We saw each other secretly, because the other kids would have made fun of him, if they found out he was dating me. Nothing physical. Eventually, I fell in love with him. I couldn't help it. He is everything a girl could look for in a man." She paused and looked at me.

"I know you lost your husband. I hope this isn't difficult for you, but there is a point I'm getting to."

"No, Doctor, Jenny, please continue. I was very happy with Jim, my husband, and wouldn't trade that time or my memories for all the riches in the world. I am not jealous of other people's happiness."

"Thank you. You are a very impressive woman, Ginny."

That was quite a compliment from someone whose profession is analyzing people. I smiled and bowed my head in recognition.

"We got married and I wanted to have his child. Obviously, I was not equipped for that, so I used my influence as a doctor to convince the fertility clinic in the hospital to get me an egg donor. When I told my older sister, Beth, about it, she had a fit. 'No niece of mine is going to be a stranger, Jenny.' Beth was always bossy."

"Been there," I agreed.

"She offered to give me one of her eggs, so that the baby would be a member of our family genetically. Of course, she also offered to let Brian come over and fertilize it."

I chuckled.

"When my little sister, Susie, heard what Beth had offered, the little showoff had to top her. 'I want to have your baby, Sis,' she insisted. So Brian Junior is a family effort. Brian and I didn't want him to be an only child, but we couldn't ask Beth and Susie to go through it again, so we adopted a Chinese baby. She came with a birth certificate as being named Mingmei, which means smart and beautiful, but we call her Mimi."

"That's a pretty name."

"Ginny, I love my children with all my heart. They're still young, but eventually I am going to have to tell them about me. I don't know when I will tell them, I don't know how I will tell them, I don't know what I will tell them, but I can't deceive them. You said you were terrified about losing Jamie. That will never happen, if I can help it. But I am just as terrified about losing my children, when they find out the truth, and I can't help that. Nobody can. Do you see now why I would never encourage anyone to be like me?

The woman had shown me how vulnerable she was to make me understand that I had nothing to be concerned about, because she was a transsexual. I could see now why Kelly loved her."

I stood up.

"Jenny, please, I need a hug," I told her emotionally.

"It must be contagious. I need one too."

We embraced as sisters and any doubt about her sincerity or objectivity was gone. When we released, we sat down. Returning to her professional demeanor, Jenny looked at her watch. We now have fifteen minutes to deal with Jamie. I would like to meet him next session.

"He won’t be starting kindergarten for about a month, so he is available. I'll bring him with me," I agreed.

"I would also like to try a little experiment. It's controversial and it's up to you, but I don't know of another way to find out how he feels about his gender. A six year old doesn't understand the biological or anatomical differences that distinguish boys from girls. All he knows at his age is that there is one group of people who dress and act differently than another group of people. That makes it very difficult to determine if what he is doing is an early expression of his being transgendered, a behavior that will make him increasingly fascinated with looking and acting feminine, or there is something else going on. From what you have told me, Jamie's interest in being feminine is related to his playing with his doll.

"Yes, he asks me dress him up when he wants to play with her."

"I would recommend that you buy him more girl's clothes and see how he reacts to them. Does he want to join the group of people who he recognizes as being girls by their attire or are the clothes only important for whatever role he is taking when he plays with the doll? I would try to make the clothes feminine enough that they are easily recognizable as distinctly for girls and I would try to make them different enough that they don't correspond to the doll's dresses. Then just let him choose what he wants to wear. Ginny, it is very important for the experiment that you don't give him any cues. Don't encourage him to dress one way or the other. Don't discourage him from mixing and matching, even though he may look silly. Don't compliment him, if he looks nice. Try not to even give him subliminal messages, by smiling or frowning or being enthusiastic or unenthusiastic when he picks out his clothes. It has to be completely his decision or it won't be valid."

After our discussion, I had no reason to doubt Jenny's prescription.

"Okay, you're the doctor," I acknowledged. "I will take Jamie on a shopping spree."

"No, don't take him, Ginny. I don't want him involved with it. Since you will be only shopping for girl's clothes, I don’t want him to associate them with spending time with you. I want you to do it casually. Just give them to him they same way you would if they were boy's clothes. You wouldn't make a fuss about a pair of jeans and a sports shirt, so don't make one over a skirt and blouse. Do you understand what you need to do to make this work?

"Yes, Jenny, but what do I do with him once he picks out his clothes, if he dresses as a girl?"

"For the experiment to work, the effect of what he wears has to be neutral. He can't think that wearing one type of clothes gets him a trip to the zoo and ice cream and wearing another type of clothes gets him stuck in the house by himself."

"You mean I should take him out dressed as a girl?"

"Yes. At his age, most people can't tell the difference. I would be careful about exposing him to situations where he might be outed."

Jenny saw that I had a puzzled look.

"Sorry, I forgot you're new to this. 'Outed' means two things. First, that someone recognizes you under circumstances where you're exhibiting behavior you wanted to keep private, cross-dressing or having a romantic relationship with a partner of the same sex. Second, that someone publicly discloses your gender preference or sexual orientation, that you're transgendered, gay or lesbian."

"Oh."

"I could take him to Karen's for the week. They've been begging me to visit. I know she would be okay with Jamie dressing like a girl. I bet her daughters would love a girl cousin too. I'm not sure about her husband. Men seem to be more traditional when it comes to that type of thing. Karen and I talked about how Jim would never have let me buy Jamie a doll, let alone a dress. I suppose I could run it by her. If anybody could make it work, it would be her."

"That sounds like a good plan, but, Ginny, we don't know if Jamie won't prefer being a boy. That's what the experiment is designed to discover. You can talk to your sister about it. She's a professional and will understand, but I wouldn't have her announce it to the rest of her family, until we have some assurance Jamie wants to dress as a girl. You need to go slow with this. And Ginny, speaking of going slow, be mindful of the differences in the way mothers treat sons and daughters. It's well established that mothers are much more tactile with girls, fussing with their hair and clothes, holding them, touching them."

Jenny, looked at her watch.

"That's a wrap, my dear. Same time next week, please."

"Yes, Ma'am. And Jenny, could you spare another hug, please?"

"By coincidence, I do happen do have an extra one handy."

We stood and embraced one another and then she walked me to the door.

Opening it, she told Kelly, who had arrived and was at her desk, "same time for Ms. McCarthy and she will be bringing Jamie with her. I want a longer session with them both, so see if you can cancel Jacqueline. She can get through the week without me holding her hand. Tell her to call me if she has another crisis with her girlfriend."

Jenny, looked at me and shrugged, then went back into her office and closed the door. Kelly handed me the appointment card.

"You can't marry Dr. Mitchell," I told her. "I'm going to."

"Unfortunately for us and fortunately for her, we'll have to get in line behind her husband, at least until bigamy becomes legal. Maybe she'll adopt us. She'd probably be as a good a mother as a wife. Bunny slippers, cocoa and a bedtime story from doctor mommy sounds delicious."

"I think that Dr. Mitchell has enough going on with her own children," I replied cryptically.

Kelly knew her well enough to get the meaning.

"Yes," she sighed. "We've talked about it over the years. She's been working with a wonderful older woman, Dr. Goldfarb, since she was a child herself. This was Dr. Goldfarb's office. Dr. Mitchell went into practice with her when she finished her post-graduate work. Dr. Goldfarb retired a few years ago, but Dr. Mitchell still sees her regularly. I can't imagine how hard it is for her. Not only dealing with the problems of her patients, I can't tell you specifics, but some of their stories would break your heart, Ms. McCarthy. You don't know how blessed we are to be content with being women. Then she has to go home and deal with her own problems. Thank God for Brian. He is an exceptional man."

"And Dr. Mitchell is an exceptional woman."

"You won't get an argument from me."

"Thanks, Kelly. See you next week."

"Yes, I'm looking forward to meeting Jamie. In fact, you know what? I'm coming in early, so I'll be here when you arrive."

"You don't have to do that, we'll be fine."

"I don't have to. I want to."

"You're married, aren't you?"

"Yes, you caught me again. I wouldn't really divorce George to marry Dr. Mitchell. At least not this week. Why?"

"Well, if I can’t marry Dr. Mitchell, I was going to propose to you, but I guess I'm destined to be an old maid."

"Doubtful, Ms. McCarthy."

"Bye."

Kelly waived and then blew me a kiss. I caught it and planted it on my cheek, which got her to laugh. I went to the daycare center, got Jamie and we drove home.

The rest of the day was routine for Jamie, but I was planning how to go shopping without him. I couldn't get a baby sitter, because he would want to play with his doll and dress up, which she wouldn't understand. I couldn't make a play date, because I couldn't count on his discretion. Then the idea of leaving him at the hospital's daycare center struck me. I could drop him off in the morning, go to the mall and then pick him up in the afternoon. It would be a long day for him, but he was used to the center. Would they give him lunch or would I have to pack it for him, I wondered. I decided to call and find out.

Francine, the head of the center, was very accommodating when I explained that I needed to do some testing, which was true in a sense. It just wasn't medical testing in the usual sense. No, they could provide lunch from the cafeteria. There was a five dollar charge. Or I could bring his food, if he was a fussy eater or had some dietary restrictions. I choose to pack him a bag lunch. He was always happy with PB and J. I could add one of his favorite cookies and a banana. That should hold him. Francine said they could give him a carton of milk or juice at no charge. They kept it in their 'fridge for snack time. That took care of the logistics of buying Jamie his trousseau.

Tuesday morning, I dropped him off at the center and drove to the mall. I could have stayed downtown, but I was more comfortable shopping in a store that I knew. I went into the Girls 4-6X Department and saw that Claire was working. I went over to the sales counter and said hello. She didn't recognize me until I reminded her of the pink party dress I bought for my daughter.

"Oh yes, the pretty redhead with the green eyes. Now I remember you."

"I want to take you up on your offer to pick out some back to school clothes for her."

"Of course. Did you have anything special in mind?"

"Well, she's pretty much of a tomboy. I was hoping that when she started school she would want to be more feminine, so the more girly the better, if you know what I mean."

I hoped Claire did, because I didn't.

"Yes, of course. My little sister was like that. All she wore was jeans or pants and jerseys. Mom tried everything to coax her into skirts and dresses, but it wasn't until she discovered boys that she realized showing off some skin was a good thing. Let's see what we can find to catch her fancy." She paused. "She did wear the party dress, didn't she?"

"Yes, it was for a special occasion and I insisted that she get dressed up. That's why I bought the underwear to go with it. All she wears is the plain cotton briefs. She needs the works."

"The works it is," Claire agreed enthusiastically, probably thinking about her commission. Then again, if she got me what I needed, she deserved it.

"I would recommend a corduroy jumper with a linen blouse. They're in style, very comfortable and easy for kids to dress themselves in. Add some nylon panties and a nylon camisole and they feel really pretty. Knee socks are easy to wear too and look great with a jumper. She should have at least one A-line dress. We have some nice ones in an easy care polyester blend. Tights complete the outfit. Of course, she needs a couple of skirts too," Claire recommended, getting carried away, but I didn't want to discourage her. "Kilts are in. So are pleated skirts. A pullover top will go with both and you can mix and match the knee socks and tights. That should pretty much do it. Do you want to look around or do you want me to bring you a selection?"

"I trust your judgment, Claire, and you know styles and your stock better, so why don't you start. Jamie is a size six."

"Super."

She started off, gathering things from racks. It was still a few weeks before school started and early in the morning, so it was quiet and Claire could give me her full attention. I waited by the sales counter as she brought back armfuls of clothes. She was really into being Jamie's personal shopper. Going through her selection, there was a rainbow of colors and soft, silky coordinating items that would have delighted any little girl. I complimented her on choices and gave her my credit card.

"You want everything I picked out, Mrs. McCarthy?"

"Yes. I'll take it home and see how they look on Jamie. He's visiting his Aunt, which gave me more time to shop. I know he… . Oh no. I outed him. Just what Dr. Mitchell had warned me against. Ginny, you're an idiot.

I could see Claire give me a strange look. I decided that I could confide in her. There was no reason she wouldn't sell me the clothes. I just wouldn't come back, if it was a problem.

"Claire, I'm sorry to have told you a story. Jamie's a boy. He's, well we're not sure, but he likes to dress as a girl sometimes. That's why I bought him the party dress. We want to see how he feels about becoming more feminine. He may not care about the clothes, which would be fine, or he may like them. I won't know until I bring them home and give him the opportunity to wear them."

"Cool," was all she said.

"Cool?" I echoed.

"Hey, I sell clothes, Mrs. McCarthy. What my customers do with them is their business. And who am I to judge anyway. I bet your son will look really pretty all dolled up in his new outfits. If he doesn't like them, just bring them back. Since you're taking them on approval sort of, I'm going to ring them up on my account. You get the discount and I won't have to deal with the paperwork reversing my commission."

"Claire, thank you. That's very understanding and generous," I said appreciatively.

"No problem. You're welcome to shop with me anytime," she offered, ringing up and bagging the items. "And Jamie's welcome too. It will be our secret."

"Thank you again, Claire. You've made this much easier."

"My pleasure. Please let me know how things work out."

"I will."

I took my bags back to the car and put them in the trunk. Then I went back to the discount shoe store and bought Jamie a pair of casual pumps with a little heel that he could step into, to go with his dresses, and a pair of black leather t-straps. There was also a pair of pink and tan saddle shoes I couldn't resist. I added those to the collection in my trunk and made a final trip to the accessory store, where I picked out some hair items, some magnetic earrings, a gold tone heart locket necklace and a matching bracelet. I didn't know how far Jamie would want to go dressing up. He may not be interested at all or he may enjoy his new wardrobe, but I wanted to be ready, especially if I was going to take him out, I think the word Karen used was en femme, dressed as a girl, so he would be as convincing as possible. Not that it probably mattered, since I couldn't keep my big mouth shut. Then again, I wasn't exactly an old hand at having a son who might be a girl at heart.

I picked Jamie up from the daycare center and took him home. As usual, he went upstairs, got his doll and asked me to help him get dressed. Instead, I told him that I had bought him some new clothes and wanted to show them to him. I brought in all of the bags and boxes of shoes and began laying them out on his bed, trying to put them together in outfits, skirt and top, tights or knee socks and shoes. Jamie watched me and when I was finished, I told him I had to get something downstairs, but he could pick out what he liked and I would help him put it on when I came back. I left, wondering what I would find when I returned.

TO BE CONTINUED