Once again my thanks to two of the finest writers on BCTS: Angela Rasch (Jill MI) and Emma Anne Tate for their encouragement, editing and beta-reading that have helped me to put this story together.

I had resisted Ali’s entreaties to become “Joanne” the day after our court appearance that gained me a probationary guardianship over her, but I acquiesced the day after for a couple of reasons. Firstly, I owed my lawyer, Lisa, a visit from ‘Joanne’ and there was legitimate business to be conducted with her that concerned both Ali and me.

I rang her the same day.

“I was just going to ring you,” she said, as soon as she picked up.

“Why? What did I do?”

“ Nothing, it's just that we have a fair bit of business to finish. It’s not all over yet.”

“I think we’re on the same wavelength.”

“Well, when am I going to meet Joanne?”

“How about tomorrow?”

“Sounds good, when?”

“Well, I’ve got to give you my best side. How about eleven?”

“I’m free and I’m all agog! Bring Ali too. We’ve got to start on your documentation. Bloody governments and bureaucrats manage to make everything complicated and time-consuming, God bless’em.

“Fees, glorious fees,” she sang. She was totally out of tune.

I knew she was joking. “Don’t give up your day job, Lisa. See you tomorrow.”

I was doing some of my own make-up now, but I still needed Ali’s delicate touch and approval of the finished job. I reckoned it would be some weeks before I would be confident enough to fly solo.

So Ali and I drove to the MacArthur Centre the next day. I did want to make a good impression on Lisa and I wore a fairly conservative jersey dress in navy blue, high-necked and long-sleeved, knee-length, as befitted a middle-aged business woman. I indulgently allowed myself a pair of nice gold drop earrings and just a thin gold chain necklace. A little bling sets things off. My shoes were also dark blue with a two-inch heel. Christmas weather meant I didn’t need any coat.

I got Ali to wear a denim mini and a white knit top with a pair of kitten-heel sandals. She was worried that it was too formal, but we were going to a law firm.

When we reached the Reception area the girl at the desk rang through to Lisa. She had looked rather puzzled when I told her Mr. McDougall had an appointment.

Lisa came charging out of her office and stopped dead when she saw me.

She looked me up and down. “It really suits you. Why have you been hiding all this time?”

Ali spoke up. “Because she’s a scaredy cat!” She giggled crazily.

“Quiet, shrimp!” I gave her my patented death stare but for some reason it didn’t seem to intimidate her.

Lisa interrupted. “Come on in, we’ll use the conference room and I’ll tell you what I’m thinking.” She parked us inside and disappeared, returning a few seconds later with a laptop and some papers.

“First, let me get a good look at you. Stand up.” She ordered me to rise. “Twirl, girl!”

I did as I was told.

“You really should have done this before,” she said.

“You know I couldn’t. There were too many things that Mac had to do. There still are.”

“That’s why we’re here. We are going to make those things get fewer and fewer. I’m assuming you would like to be Joanne full-time. Is that right?

I sighed. “Yes, but I’ll need your help.”

“All right, but let’s deal with Ali’s situation first.”

“Ali, do you want to be Joanne’s daughter when you can?”

“Yes, if she wants me.”

I jumped in. “ Of course I want her. Nothing would make me happier.”

“Well, we can’t really do anything about it until the guardianship issue is settled, so that’s three months away, but I’m assuming it will be settled favourably. Where were you born, Ali?”

“In Melbourne, in Victoria.”

“Good, that makes it easier. Their laws regarding gender are more liberal than ours. You don’t have to have any surgery for a document change. We can get your Birth Certificate changed to show you are female but we’ll have to wait to get your surname changed to match Joanne’s. Do you want to be a McDougall?”

“Of course I do.”

“OK, that’s the easy part. We just have to wait for three months. What we will do is get a few photos to support any changes that we need. We’ll change your Student Card but that’s only important if you go for further education.”

“I’m going to enrol her for TAFE so we will need it,” I interjected.

“All right, your turn, “Joanne.” She gave me a shit-eating grin and a chortle. “How long do you think “Mac” will be around?”

“I think he’s got to stick around until the guardianship issue is settled. I really don’t want to jeopardise that, but that’s basically one day a fortnight when our Social Services lady comes to visit and check up on us.” Little did I know that the “Social Services lady” would prove to be no problem at all---bless her!

After turning it over in my head for a moment, I honestly couldn’t think of anything else that would require me to present as Mac. The thought made me smile. “Other than that one day in fourteen, I could be Joanne full time. There’s paperwork to be done, I know, but that’s why I’ve got you."

“My kids are OK and I don’t have a problem at the apartments that I can’t handle. I’m sure you can organize changes to bank details and credit cards. I think the only thing I worry about is my Driving Licence. It’s such a basic form of Identity.”

“You’ve missed out one or two. That’s your passport and Medicare, but I can do that too, a few photos today and my signatures to verify your identity, a new application and it’s a matter of weeks away. We don’t have to do anything about Medicare as long as you don’t want to do GRS.”

I shook my head. Nothing so drastic.

“I can deal with all the Bank-related stuff. We just need to change your initials to neutral. The banks don’t care as long as they get paid each month. I’ve been dealing with your finances for long enough to know that you don’t have any mortgages or outstanding debts. There are a few minor matters remaining on the probate issues but I don’t see anything too difficult.

“Funnily enough, the Driving Licence is the hardest. You have to do it in person and if you have undergone GRS, you have to have a Certificate to prove it.”

“But I have no intention of doing GRS.” I stated warily.

“No, but if you have to produce your Licence, for whatever reason, it has to match your physical appearance. It is an Identity Document. They will expect to see Joanne McDougall, not John McDougall. I’ll take care of it, but you’ll have to front up to the Department of Main Roads. We’ll go together.”

I grumbled.” Yes, I suppose you’re right. Can we deal with it next time I come to see you. They’re just down the street.”

“I think so. I’ll have to get a notarized Stat Dec ready to give them when we go.”

Why is life so complicated? I didn’t know that I had hardly scratched the surface.

We carried on for a while, but I could tell she was somewhat bewitched at seeing me as Joanne. Truth be told, so was I. I was becoming much more comfortable in my feminine persona. Mac was becoming just a necessary prop to my life overall, someone who was needed on the odd occasion. When I turned and caught sight of my reflection in a mirror or a window, that was me, the real me. A dress did suit me and make-up seemed natural. My hair should always have been this way, pity I didn't have more of it left.

I had always known it. “Joanne” was my default personality.

After a session with a camera our appointment wound down with Lisa insisting that all future meetings should be with Joanne unless there was some emergency dictating otherwise.

I agreed.

Ali and I lunched at one of the several cafes on the ground floor of the MacArthur Centre. No problems, a mother and her daughter having a light meal. Yes, I could pass as a mother to a teenager.

The next couple of weeks passed without incident. We drove down to see Arpi, who gushed over my girl and gave her another lesson in cosmetics although she thought Ali hardly needed it. This time, I went down in full fig. If my neighbours objected I couldn’t care less, but it didn’t become a problem. We didn’t see any of them on the way.

Arpi was delighted that I had gained enough confidence to show myself to the world as the woman that I had always felt like, without her professional intervention.

“I suppose I’ve worked myself out of a job,” she commented.

Both Ali and I assured her that it wasn’t so. We would always come and see her, once a month. We valued her advice and expertise and her bubbly personality.

I got Ali enrolled at the TAFE college just up the road. It turned out that cookery was one of their specialities so it was ten minutes’ walking distance for my girl. The new term started at the beginning of February, so everything was organized for the new season. Lisa had her new papers ready before the start of the term so there were no hassles about whether it was Alistair or Alicia who attended. It was Alicia.

Thirteen days out of every fortnight I was Joanne unless there was some official business that it was essential for Mac to attend to. Lisa and I went to the Department of Main Roads together. She presented the Statutory Declaration to the official at the counter which showed my name to be Joanne and I was duly photographed and issued with a new Drivers Licence. There was no need for a test as I was surrendering my still-valid current licence. The photo wasn’t bad but there was still an ‘M’ for male on the front. Nobody seemed to care.

So our lives settled into a comfortable pattern, broken only by our friendly Social Services lady, Nicole’s, visits. I was deathly afraid of doing anything which might derail the success of the application for guardianship. Now that I was fully alive again, I dreaded returning to the drab existence of the previous two years. Ali had brought me a peace and happiness that I had all but forgotten.

I wasn’t really being rational about the situation but sometimes your emotions prevent you from seeing things clearly. It was only later that it dawned on me that even if my guardianship was rejected Ali could remain in my care, living with me and giving us both the love and companionship we wished for. What would be missing was only an official recognition of our relationship. However, there were things I could do as a guardian that I would not be eligible to do without that formal stamp of approval, like assistance with any gender-related issues that she would not be able to commence until she was eighteen.

I slipped into my new-found femininity almost without conscious effort. I had always thought of myself as “Joanne” but that was ever tempered by the fact that it had been a temporary interlude, and I would have to return to being “Mac” before very long. Now the situation was reversed. Changing back to being Mac became an irritant. I longed for the day when I didn’t have to do it.

Long repressed desires surfaced. I had always wanted breasts. Now I could actually indulge that wish. In my mind I could feel the heft of a pair on my chest, supported by a pretty bra trimmed with lace. I had no particular antipathy to my male genitals; they had never upset me other than for the need to tuck them to be unobtrusive and without them I would not have had a son. However I was toying with the idea of taking hormones to give me nice boobs. They would cause my genitals to shrink. I could live with that.

I broached the subject with Ali and we discussed the ramifications. If I went ahead with it the hormones might contingently affect my mind as well as my body. She also had to clarify the path to womanhood for herself. Had she made up her mind? Was I being fair to her?

She was surprisingly rational and adult about it all. I had been worried that her emotional maturity had been damaged by the lack of love in her existence with her parents, but the young can often surprise you with their resilience.

We both decided that we needed professional help and guidance before taking any irrevocable steps. Ali, of course was already on blockers, so had several months in which to consider her future. I could commence at any time. I had the advantage that I could probably engage the help of the gender clinic at the Royal Brisbane Hospital while Ali was not eligible until she turned seventeen.

I went back to Lisa to research the facilities and resources I could obtain. As an adult Queenslander there were a lot of psychological and medical services available to me. I just needed a referral from an authorised medical practitioner to access them. Together with Lisa I organized that with a lady at Queensland University, who was a well-known endocrinologist. I underwent a couple of blood tests and an interview with her and voila, I was an outpatient at Royal Brisbane’s gender clinic. As they say, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know. She was very sympathetic and very helpful.

She also examined Ali and pronounced her to be as good a candidate for gender reassignment as could possibly be, but she could not legally recommend her to RBH because of her age.

Something in all of that brought me back to reality. There was no urgency for any treatments for me, but I could accelerate hers. Yes, it was bucking the system, but the system had been put into place by people with no empathy for those who really needed to transition. Their ideal time was before they went through puberty and the rules denied them that opportunity.

I had happiness and contentment with Ali and with my family and overall acceptance in my living arrangements and I was about to jeopardise all of that with a bit of selfishness.

I remembered how my wife had been changed by the effects of hormones during her menopause. For five years she had been really difficult to live with. Mood swings, hot flushes, depression, occasional temper tantrums, all had been hard for me to cope with. And here I was about to subject Ali and my family to the same, all because I wanted a pair of breasts.

I’m used to bending rules, some may say I break them. That’s occasionally been true over the years. There are times when it is easier to seek forgiveness rather than seek permission. So I decided that while I would be the ostensible patient undergoing gender reassignment the real recipient would be Ali. While I would be prescribed the required hormones I would pass them onto her. We would have to be co-conspirators, but I would make sure that we didn’t overdo it. Even after nine months to a year body change would be minimal. We definitely needed sound medical advice. Self-medication is ill-advised.

I realised that dosages and maybe some of the prescriptions might be different so I utilised my connection with Dr. Sue Gower, who was in a separate jurisdiction. I obtained a tele-appointment with her and told her what the RBH had prescribed for me. I levelled with her about my fear that my mental faculties might be affected and I didn’t want to take that risk. She said that I would be wise not to. All women underwent both physical and mental changes in menopause.

Then I asked her about the possibility of passing the treatments onto Ali. She advised me that if we were in New South Wales she could legally administer hormones to the girl and the safest way would be for us to physically come to see her. Once a month would be preferable. I could line that up with our trips to see Arpi. It sounded like a plan.

If any recriminations arose we would have cover from NSW. Administering the drugs would give her a head start. She would be on her way at seventeen. I know it was technically illegal in Queensland but what could the authorities do about it?

Once I had taken that decision I felt relaxed. I could look at my reflection in the mirror and know that my happiness was preserved without any harm being inflicted on my immediate circle. I had promised my kids and grandkids that I was not going to embarrass them with any flamboyant transformations. I had already given them enough to cope with.

I had ninety per cent of all the things I ever wished for. Greed for the other ten per cent could bring the whole deal tumbling down. Sometimes it’s better to be satisfied with what you’ve got.

The confirmation of my guardianship went off without a hitch. Nicole beamed. “Told you so, but I wish Joanne had attended.”

“Nicole, I just couldn’t take any chances.”

“It’s OK, I do understand, but now you’re home free. Look after her, Joanne. She’s a lovely girl.”

“Thanks, Nicole, and thanks for being a friend.”

“Just doing my job.” She smiled.

After that, “Mac” disappeared. He was no longer needed.

Kylie rang a couple of weeks before the day to make sure that Ali and I were coming over for Christmas lunch.

Of course we were, we couldn’t miss it.

We had already done our shopping. Ali and Kylie both had that magic touch when it came to choosing gifts that their recipients would “Ooh and Aah” over. As Joanne I was allowed on these expeditions to give my seal of approval. I had recovered the enthusiasm which I had lost before I met my girl, my daughter, now. Apart from the gifts, Ali had baked her own special mince pies. Now an accomplished cook, she has been on 'Master Chef' several times. Apart from her culinary ability, she is an audience favourite, with her stunning good looks, outgoing personality, and beautiful smile. She even does wonderful things with seafood, for which I pat myself on the back. The judges say she has "Star Quality". Strangely, I have developed a taste for the TV cooking shows.

When the big day came we were greeted with the warmth that can only come from a loving family. My transition to becoming Joanne was no longer a subject for discussion. Kisses all round were de rigeur. Our grandkids still idolise Ali, even more so now that she is becoming a TV star, and accept me as their granny with no hesitation.

Their other granny, Joy, had not been seen since the brouhaha three years ago and Kylie never spoke of her mother again, at least in my hearing. Similarly, Ali’s birth-parents had not impinged on our lives since that fateful Christmas, not a birthday card, a Christmas card or a phone call. We didn’t miss them, but at least they had recognized the error of their ways.

When it was time to distribute the presents, sixteen-year-old Max was thrilled to get a drone and had to be stopped from flying it inside the house. Dixie, our twelve-year-old tearaway, got a Slazenger tennis racket. She was a tennis nut this year. Last year had been water-polo and she would return from their games with split lips and black eyes (yeah, there was blood in the water!) so we are all happy that she now likes tennis. She’ll need watching when she’s a teenager.

Kylie got a beautiful pashmina shawl from Ali (well, I helped a bit, they’re bloody expensive) and I gave her a pair of ballet flats that I knew she had been eyeing off.

Between us we gave Anthony a swish golf-buggy, the push-pull kind, not a ride-on! I had ferried all this gear over a few days before. It’s hard to hide some prezzies on the day!

I received a lovely pair of chandelier ear-rings and Ali won an apron autographed by one of the most famous TV chefs. We knew she would treasure that.

But most precious of all was the love flowing around that table, none of which would have happened without the chance encounter with the girl who is now my adopted daughter.

Nobody has ever said it better than Charles Dickens. As Tiny Tim observed, “God bless us, every one!” That includes MacBear.

I thank whatever Gods or Goddesses had brought me this wonderful, unexpected Christmas gift, because it must have been divine intervention, a gift which never stops giving. She was mine, and maybe I was hers.

Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it and a kudos and a comment will be greatly appreciated.