You're Gonna Make It, After All <3

One of my fondest memories as a little, pre-school aged girl was waking up super early to watch my mom get ready for work. Sometimes, I’d observe her intently in the mirror as she put on her makeup, curled her hair, and adorned herself in jewelry. Other times, though, I didn’t even need to watch her: just being present while she carried out her morning routine was enough – and when that was the case, I’d take my favorite blanket and lie directly underneath her feet, curled up, eyes closed, breathing in a heavenly mix of Big Sexy Hair Hairspray and the amber-scented perfume that she spritzed herself with.

Nestled safely beneath my favorite person, I’d close my eyes and listen, as The Mary Tyler Moore Show played in the background, a morning re-run favorite of ours. My mom would sing along to the theme song, and I’d feel immediately at ease, as the song also happened to be the same one she sang to me as a lullaby (and sometimes still sings to me).

And as she sang along, the theme would serve as a soundtrack for my dreams, as I dozed in and out of sleep, fantasizing about what it might feel like to get to do my own hair and makeup alongside her.

I’ve been thinking lots about memories like this one, recently. So much so, that I decided to take my unusually open weekend (which also happened to fall over my mom’s birthday) as an opportunity to borrow a plot point from The Mary Tyler Moore Show, and – just like Mary Richards – I made plans for a solo trip to Minnesota. In contrast to Mary, though – my trip wasn’t just to create new experiences for myself – it was also to rewrite, and relive, some old ones. And so, with Mary Richards, Rhoda Morgenstern, Ted Baxter, and the entire cast of characters in mind, I made the drive back to my hometown of Monticello, Minnesota.

In preparation for this trip home, I called my mom to see how she’d like to spend the weekend together. She seemed open to whatever and was mostly just excited to get some quality time with her daughter. She asked if there was anything I’d like to do during my trip home, and as the opportunity presented itself, I decided to shoot my shot.

“Well, Mom…since you asked, I was kind of wondering…,” I stammered.

“…well, I was just thinking…ummm, I know I don’t really need a bra yet, but I was thinking, err, hoping that maybe we could go shopping for your birthday gift, and that maybe…we could also shop for me, for a bra?” I finally spit it out.

And dear reader, did I actually care if we went shopping for bras? Absolutely not. It wasn’t about that. It was about getting, for the first time ever, an opportunity for my mom and I to do something that I saw so many little girls doing with their own moms: getting glammed up and venturing out to one of those big box department stores and giddily shuffling in and out of fitting rooms together, carrying heaping mounds of clothes along the way.

Even still, I felt silly asking and half expected her to laugh it off, but instead - she replied, “I’d love to take you bra shopping.”

And so, that is exactly what we did.

…

The weekend was a perfect mix of mental reflection/relaxation and quality time with both my parents and two of the women who have been around for most/all of my life, but I’m going to force myself to focus just on the parts of the weekend with the star of this show: my Mary Richards – my mom. So, Dad, Emma, and Mackenzie – hold tight for now! More on y’all later, in a separate essay. Smooches!

We woke up together Saturday morning, and for the first time, we both pulled out our makeup bags and got down to business. As we approached the final step of applying mascara to our lashes, we gazed in the mirror – first at ourselves, then at each other – satisfied with the reflections staring back at us. And with that, were out the door, in the car, and on I-94 headed towards the most sacred place known to humanity (or at least to the two of us) – the mall.

As we exited the car, I felt my body shift with my new womanly confidence: shoulders lifted, non-existent tits perked up, an audible clip clop of the heels of my boots hitting the pavement as we strutted towards the main entrance of Nordstrom.

As we glided up the escalators, we were met with a typical number of glances and stares, some kinder in nature than others, and another mother/daughter duo smiled approvingly and complimented my outfit choice and makeup, which helped combat the few not-so-approving stares I got about my gender presentation.

Upon reaching the top of the escalator, I realized that this was quite possibly the first time – ever – that we’d skipped the first floor Men’s Department entirely. Together we ventured from rack-to-rack, section-to-section, loading up on dresses, skirts, sweaters, and jackets all along the way. Eventually, a sales associate offered to start a fitting room for us, and we both, almost simultaneously, looked at her and said, “We’ll just share a room, if that’s okay!”.

We proceeded into the fitting room and began working our way through the stacks of clothing, giving each other praises and opinions and feedback on each item. This continued all day, in and out of several different fitting rooms, across several different stores – and it was magical. It reminded me of one of my very favorite episodes from one of my favorite television shows growing up, Lizzie McGuire, where Lizzie’s mom opts to take her and Miranda bra shopping. But unlike Lizzie, who spent the day wallowing in self-pity and embarrassment from having to shop with her mom, I spent mine basking in the gender-euphoric bliss of it all. And while I could share one million different, favorite anecdotes from the day, I’m feeling a bit protective over the memories from our mother/daughter date, so instead, I’ll choose just one.

As we were trying on clothes in one of the several department stores, I noticed the underwear I’d opted to wear that day: a pair of high-waisted, red lace panties. I froze, realizing that I’d been wearing these all day long, and that my mom had surely seen me in something that I’d reserved for pretty much me, and me alone, to see.

Instead of ignoring my scarlet-colored mistake or pretending like she hadn’t noticed at all, my mom addressed the panties in a low, excited whisper.

“Oh my god! Your ass looks incredible in those!” She exclaimed.

“Oh, thanks.” I said, still slightly shocked by the entire situation.

“Seriously, you have such a great butt, and your body looks fabulous too. Those panties hug you in all the right places!” She continued.

I thanked her again and complimented her in turn. After all, I got it from my mama! 😉

And that was it. Nothing more, nothing less. We were just a mom and daughter, passing compliments back and forth in the sanctuary of our dressing room, and that’s all it took. I spent the rest of the day proud of who I was, proud of the woman she helped shape me into, red lace panties and all!

…

I woke up Sunday morning, still buzzing from checking off another personal milestone in my journey through womanhood but also ready to return home, back to the family and life I’ve created for myself in Madison, and as I journeyed home, something that felt nothing short of kismet happened. Upon approaching the Wisconsin border, with Minneapolis’s skyline in my rear-view mirror, a certain song just happened to pop up on shuffle. Any guesses as to which one?

(This is me pausing to allow you one guess).

That’s right, folks – it was none other than Love Is All Around, the theme song from The Mary Tyler Moore Show. How fitting.

As the song played, I listened intently to the lyrics – the same lyrics my mom sang to me as she lulled me to sleep as an infant, the same lyrics I remember hearing as a little girl, lying beneath my mother’s feet, amber perfume permeating around me, and the same lyrics I have tattooed on my body, in my mother’s own handwriting.

Who can turn the world on with her smile?

Who can take a nothing day and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile?

Well, it’s you girl, and you should know it.

With each glance and every little movement, you own it.

Love is all around no need to waste it.

You can have the town - why don’t you take it?

You’re gonna make it after all.

You’re gonna make it after all!

And it’s thanks to the woman who raised, and continues to raise, me – that this girl is gonna make it, after all – red lace panties included. Thanks for everything, Mom.

Xoxo,

Sean