Weird coincidence at doctor's surgery

So today I popped into my doctor's surgery to get my latest Nebido shot. I get these every 10-12 weeks, and the results so far have been incredible. In just one year, I have gone from looking and sounding completely female, to looking and sounding completely male (as long as I keep my underwear on, of course. Ah well.)

Anyway, so I went to the Receptionist and gave her my name to check in for my appointment. Now, my name is fairly long so it requires quite a bit of typing, so she made the sensible decision to search for me by just typing in the first few letters of my surname.

She then looked perturbed, and sat staring at her monitor for a while trying to work out what was wrong.

She then said to me: "I don't know what's going on here, but the computer says that you're a lady!".

Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.

So I started frantically thinking: is there something wrong with my records? Is there a box I forgot to tick? When I officially changed my gender I went back from my married surname to my 'maiden' surname, but is there any way she could associate my surname with my previous (female) name? Surely I've completed all the paperwork and the computer should clearly list me as male?

So she asked me to spell out my surname, which I did... and it turned out she'd simply misspelled the first few letters and had come up with a completely different patient's records. My records are absolutely fine and there's nothing there to associate me with ever having been female... unless, of course, you were to trawl back through my history and notice that I have, y'know, actually given birth and stuff.

This particular Receptionist is actually very lovely and bubbly, so I joked around with her, raising the pitch of my voice and saying "Well, I could change my name to that other patient's name if that helps!" and so on... but bloody hell, of all the patients to make that kind of mistake with, it had to be a transgender guy who in actual fact was previously listed on their computers as a 'lady', didn't it?

But there was a delightful aspect to this story; one which I'll definitely want to share with my gender therapist when next I see her. Apart from that initial internal monologue of trying to think whether there could be anything on my records linking me to being female, I didn't actually find it upsetting. Now, a year ago this kind of misgendering would've been enormously upsetting and invalidating for me; I would've been traumatised. But I've had the privilege of passing as male for about 8 months now, and I've become so accustomed to it that I now hardly ever experience that awful social dysphoria that used to plague my daily life. And I didn't truly experience it today either. I've come to expect being read as male at all times, and have become confident that I am completely justified in expecting this, so whenever a little blip like this occurs I no longer feel invalidated; I just wonder whether I've forgotten to tick some box somewhere. This is a major improvement in my life.

As a bit of added fun, when I got to work I had a chat with a heavily pregnant colleague of mine who told me that she's been off work with a cold for the past couple of days, and it's been a bit of a pain because she's unable to take anything. I had to bite my tongue to not say "Oh, yes - I know exactly what you mean" because of course I do know exactly what she means. I've been pregnant twice, and have been ill during those pregnancies (and unable to take any medication) - but she has no way of knowing that, and I'd rather she didn't find out. ;)

Back from a loooong hiatus

The past few months have been a whirlwind of change for me, both positive and negative. In the spirit of starting with the good news and finishing with the bad news, here's what's been going on since I was last here:

Positive

• My kids are nowhere near as cruel towards me as they used to be. I went through about a year and a half of solid pain, rejection and heartache from my entire close family... but I've now managed to get over the guy I married, and my kids have realised that I haven't morphed into an embarrassing freakazoid. They've stopped being so fricken inhuman towards me, so things are definitely better.
• On that subject, I've stopped giving a crap about the fact that the guy I married is a stick-in-the-mud, grade-A grump who doesn't like going anywhere or doing anything. I used to get frustrated that he would moan and groan if I ever suggested going anywhere nice or doing anything fun (and my kids, I'm sad to say, have inherited or learned his behaviour). Now I just book a single ticket for myself and go regardless... because I'd much rather go do something fun on my own, than sit at home feeling resentful that I'm missing out on the fun things in life because the people who are supposed to care about me don't actually give two shits about my happiness.
• My transition is continuing apace - but boy, is it a long, slow process. I'm recovering well from the top surgery I had in February; the hormones are doing their job and each month seems to bring new improvements; and I've been referred to the specialists in London to discuss my bottom surgery options. There's a good chance that I'll have a definite plan for bottom surgery before the end of the year, which would be amazing.
• I now pass so well that it's very rare indeed that anyone misgenders me. I now only get 'the look' - that awkward stare that some cisgender people give when they think someone's gender is confusing (and that they think is oh-so-subtle, LOL) - only about once every month or so. I had one last week from some random guy in the town where I work, and instead of hurting me like it used to when I was early in my transition, I actually found it rather pathetic and hilarious. You see, a trans*person's discomfort with being at the receiving end of such a look is often due to some internalised transphobia or guilt. We've heard from society that being trans* is in some way 'wrong', 'shameful' or 'sinful', so under those circumstances it's only natural for us to feel... 'guilty' isn't quite the right word; perhaps 'culpable' is a better fit... when we're at the receiving end of such a stare. We feel that we have in some way 'earned' that stare by being different from the so-called norm, and it makes us feel invalidated, uncomfortable and inferior. Well... no longer. I've arrived at a place where I no longer feel that anyone is entitled to make me feel that way - and passing convincingly is the no. 1 reason for this improvement in my life.
• I started 'packing' earlier this year. If you're unfamiliar with that term, 'packing' is something that some transguys do to give ourselves the appearance of having a penis under our clothing. I was actually uncomfortable about doing this when I was early in my transition because I saw it as a reminder that something important is missing, but as my appearance seemed to cross the invisible threshold from female to male, it became apparent that my lack of a bulge had started to look out of place. So I found a very nice online adult shop here in the UK, and I bought the first in a series of fake, floppy, plastic penises that I can use under my clothing to give me a realistic-looking bulge. I now wear my packer every single day, and whilst I prefer to pack under most circumstances, I don't feel particularly self-conscious if I leave the house briefly without my packer to run a quick errand. Which is more than I can say about my binder: before I had top surgery, I could not leave the house at all unless I was wearing a binder to flatten my chest.
• I've been moving along nicely at work, and my MD has agreed to consider promoting me to the Board within the next few years. I've asked him to mentor me in this role, and he's agreed.
• Over the next month or two I'll be able to apply for a discounted Rail Card, which will entitle me to 30% off most rail fares! This is a major plus for me, because travelling by rail is actually my preference when I have any long-distance travelling to do, and I do this quite frequently. It'll be great to be able to get to some great places (such as London, Brighton and Edinburgh) for a very reasonable fare, instead of the eye-watering fees they usually charge.
• My self-confidence is growing and I'm pretty much ready to start dating again. I'm looking into registering with some online dating sites (and some popular apps for the phone), and perhaps going to some of the gay clubs in my city. Of course, dating is complicated by the fact that I still live with my ex and our kids, but I deserve to have someone in my life and I would be doing myself a disservice if I were to let them hold me back.  If I can't get any love or affection from the people who are supposed to be giving it to me, I'll just have to widen my circle. As an aside, I haven't actually been to a nightclub, or on a date, since the 20th Century.

Negative

• I've been pretty nastily ill this year, due to recurrent urinary tract infections - the most recent of which was pretty darn scary and coincided with a tummy bug that knocked me for six for a couple of months. Apparently, it's not at all uncommon for transguys to have recurrent UTIs, especially before bottom surgery... because all the tissue down there tends to swell and change shape under the influence of testosterone which makes it much easier for bacteria to get into your urinary tract. Urgh. 
• Despite my increased confidence, I still have three body issues that are holding me back and making me hesitant to live life to the fullest. They are: a) the acne I've been suffering, which often accompanies the hormone treatment I'm on - in particular, my back looks like I have the measles; b) I'm still a bit overweight and need to get back to the gym to work it off; and c) the scars on my chest from top surgery are still painful, angry and red due to hypertrophic scarring, which makes me a bit self-conscious.
• I'm struggling to find the motivation to go back to the gym. It's almost like I'm afraid of the consequences when I start working out & building muscle. My body seems to enjoy building muscle and puts it on with the even the smallest provocation... but my hesitancy is due to my fears about how my family will react. They've been so cruel, and so hateful towards me since I came out two years ago, that I'm frightened to further upset the status quo. I've faced a backlash from them each time my appearance has become more masculine, and I'm frightened that becoming more buff than my ex (which I could easily do if I wanted to) would cause all of them to react negatively. My ex has already tried what I call 'male dominance behaviour' against me (back when my appearance suddenly tipped from female to male) and I'm worried that this will kick it off again. And of course, my kids tend to get more distant whenever something changes, so I've been trying to keep any changes slow & subtle. But you know what? Fuck 'em. I have to swallow my fear and do it anyway.
• The discounted rail card I'm getting is... the Disabled Rail Card. I'm entitled to this because I've become so hard-of-hearing that I am being fitted with a hearing aid. I've had a very lonely year of being unable to hear conversations, footsteps, birds, and many other things. I've been turning up the telly to volume levels that'll make your ears bleed. I had the privilege of seeing Monty Python perform live at the O2 back in July, but I missed a good portion of what they were saying because I simply couldn't hear them. I've asked my GP for help with my hearing many times over the years, but it isn't until this year that I was finally able to get a doctor to take me seriously and refer me to the hearing clinic. I'm glad the NHS is finally getting round to helping me deal with the hearing loss I suffered in... wait for it... 1978.

Kidmageddon: Day 3

Today was incredibly scorchio: some say it's the hottest day of the year so far, with temperatures well in excess of 30 deg C. Which to me, as a South African, is pretty fricken hilarious because every day was above 30 deg C for 8 months of the year when I lived there, but here in the UK we also have ridiculous levels of humidity to deal with so it's much harder to deal with that kind of heat.

Anyway, I started the day by heading to the gym nice & early, again to avoid the worst of the day's heat. I needn't have rushed, because there was an odd mist in our area today that didn't lift until lunchtime, and it kept things nice & cool at the gym. Of course, once the mist did lift the temperature skyrocketed very quickly indeed, and when I disappeared out to our local corner shop towards the end of the afternoon it was so hot I thought my eyeballs might melt.

Ahem. OK, so another hour of lying to the recumbent bike at the gym allowed me to burn another 300+ calories (yay!) but I decided to undo all that good work later on in the evening by having not one, but two scones with jam & cream. Well, it's my summer 'holiday' and I am the boss of me, so I decided I needed the treat.

Of course, when I got up this morning it had been announced that the Duchess of Cambridge had been admitted to hospital in labour, so I turned on the telly and had a good laugh at a bunch of talking heads standing outside buildings where nothing was happening, saying "Yes, the Duchess has gone into labour, but it could be hours until we hear anything! Over to Sian in the studio". Sian: "In case you haven't heard, the Duchess has gone into labour and we're going to talk about nothing else all day. Over to Joe outside Buck House" and so on & so on as they passed the story between each other, trying to drag it out for all it was worth.

It reminded me of Clarence Keyter's infamous coverage of Nelson Mandela's release from prison. Poor old Clarence was an Afrikaans newsreader who was roped in by the SABC to stand around outdoors for several hours, trying to talk to the world about the momentous event of Mandela's release from prison, when he really didn't have a great deal to say. It was really, really awkward to watch because there's only so much you can say about the old scoundrel; and I could be wrong but it didn't look like Clarence had done enough homework to be able to fill about 4 hours of talking about one man. (Heck, I doubt anyone could do enough homework for that!) It was cringeworthy stuff, and so was the performance of the British media today. I did have to LOL though when people started tweeting & texting the BBC to tell them to report the other news of the day instead of bumbling around outside the hospital with nothing new to add to the story; the Beeb's presenters took it on the chin and responded with good-natured humour, which was more than Clarence managed.

Anyway, I didn't watch a movie per se today, but instead I logged in to 4OD and finally got round to watching My Transsexual Summer, the documentary series I missed last year but that has had a lasting effect on my life. A lasting effect, that is, because a lot of trans* people watched that particular documentary last year and as a result they finally came out to their families & approached their doctors to begin their transition... leading to a massive backlog of patients that the Gender Clinics in the UK are still struggling to get through. They've been inundated with new cases, which not only makes things difficult for all those new people trying to get in to see someone, but it also makes things difficult for existing patients who are now having to wait longer & longer between appointments, because services are just so stretched.

Not that I begrudge those people for seeking assistance at the same time as me. It's just unfortunate and inconvenient that we're all competing for the same limited resources at the same time, which is causing us all to have to wait unacceptably long times to get on with the difficult business of transitioning.

It took me just shy of four hours to watch the whole series and I could relate so much to what almost everyone on the show was saying. I also had a couple of triggering, teary moments, such as when Sarah explained how she'd always been uncomfortable with cameras or mirrors because they show an image of her that doesn't agree with how she sees herself. I so understand what she means there: this has been a problem for me for more than 30 years now and one of the reasons why I'm looking forward to medically transitioning is because I'd love to be able to look in a mirror or even look at my own body when I bath myself, without feeling like I want to burst into tears because of what I see there.

Hmm... so after that light entertainment I spent a couple of hours playing games on my iPad, before making a stir-fry for my evening meal, once again washed down with just enough wine to take the edge off the day, then I turned on the telly to hear that the Duchess of Cambridge had delivered a son. Yay! So then I got to have a good laugh at a bunch of talking heads standing outside buildings where nothing was happening, saying "Yes, the Duchess has had a baby boy weighing 8 pounds 6 ounces, but it could be some time until we know his name! Over to Sian in the studio". Sian: "In case you haven't heard, the Duchess has had a baby boy. Over to Joe outside Buck House." and so on & so on as they tried to drag out the story by repeating the same details over & over again. I think you'd have to be a Teletubby - or perhaps Dory from Finding Nemo - to enjoy having the same details repeated every few seconds, each time by a different talking head.

Then I spent some time playing on my iPad before scribbling down today's blog entries.

Anyway, congrats to the Cambridges. And congrats to the Queen who doesn't have to worry about them trying to squeeze the name 'Diana' in there somewhere. (I rather suspect he'll be named George).

Kidmageddon: Day 2

So on Sunday, the second day of my kids' holiday without me, I woke up nice & early and decided to take advantage of that opportunity to go to the gym early in the morning before the sun heated it up to unbearable levels. I dunno what the problem is at the gym, but they seem allergic to using their aircon system so it often gets ridiculously hot in there, making it difficult for me to exercise.

Well, it turns out that the gym is not only blissfully quiet at 8am on a Sunday, but it's also nicely chilled. The cheap bastards seem to be using their aircon at last (pity it takes a heatwave to convince them to turn it on!) so I spent a nice, relaxing hour perving over Quinto on Heroes on my iPhone whilst cycling on a recumbent bike. For this particular workout I have to lie to the machine, because the Fat Burn workout I do is based on a certain percentage of your maximum heart rate according to your age, but if I tell it my real age there is absolutely no challenge to it whatsoever, to the point where I might as well sit on the sofa eating bon-bons for that hour. So instead, I tell the machine that I'm 19 years old so that I can work up a sweat without getting out of breath, and after an hour at that level of intensity I feel like I haven't been wasting my time.

After the gym I went home for a couple of hours before popping out to do a spot of shopping. I got some laundry done and did the dishes (yay! domestication!) and then spent the afternoon trying to figure out whether I should sleep, play a game or watch TV. TV won out when I found The Rocky Horror Picture Show in my DVD collection and decided to watch it.

I'll never forget the first time I saw Rocky Horror; I was 13 years old and had slept over at my friend's house the night before. Her parents are a bit weird* - ok, her whole family is a bit weird - and they'd hired Rocky Horror on video because (I think) it had just been unbanned, but anyway they wanted to watch it and they didn't have any problems with their kids - or other families' kids - watching it too.

So poor, innocent little me sat there at age 13 watching this incredible thing on the telly. To be perfectly honest, I didn't quite make the link between the trans* stuff on the screen and my own trans* feelings (mainly, I think, because all the gender-bending stuff in the movie seemed to be about yearning to be female), but that refrain from the song at the end - "Don't dream it... be it" - made a huge impression on me and I stored it at the back of my mind for many years, where it would eventually come to haunt me. Huh, as I recall, later on that day whilst still reeling from the hypersexuality and genderbendery I'd just seen at my friend's house, I slammed my left thumb in the car door, severely and permanently damaging my nail. Yeah, that was a very memorable day all round.

So anyway, I watched it again on Sunday night - as a fully out, transitioning trans man. I cried at certain points, and found other points very inspiring. All-in-all, it was like visiting an old friend.

By the time I'd finished watching the movie it'd become too late for me to have a snooze, so I made pizza & washed it down with some wine. Then spent the rest of the evening chillin', watching crap TV until I eventually went to bed.


* Her dad was a pornographer, and her mother was a Nana Mouskouri impersonator. Yup. I had some awesome childhood friends.

Kidmageddon: Day 1

Okay, so Saturday 20 July was the first day of Hubby's holiday with the kids, but without me.

Both kids came to my room and woke me up to say goodbye. I'm pretty sure I got a cuddle out of each of them, but to be honest my brain was pretty frazzled (on account of it being ludicrously early, and of me having had a suitable amount of wine the previous night to help me cope with my rather significant distress). They asked whether they should text me and I asked them to do so every day, then I wished them well, asked them if they'd packed all the important stuff, and they went on their way.

So-called Hubby didn't bother to say goodbye to me. Probably because he feels so guilty about what he's done that he can't stand the recriminations he so richly deserves. (As an aside: he said that he'd spend the entire week with the kids pretending to be happy & enjoying himself so that they wouldn't see how much it's upsetting him that I'm not there. Yeah. Well, arsehole - you should've thought about that before organising a holiday without me, shouldn't you???)

So I've resolved to do as much as possible for myself to try to keep my spirits up while they're away. On Saturday, I caught the bus into town (remember that mention of having drunk wine the night before? Hic!) and spent a couple of hours mooching around town, mainly looking for birthday presents for one of my daughters whose birthday is around the corner. I found her a couple of nice things, and then I spent a bit of time buying myself a couple of nice things.

I bought a couple of LGBT T-Shirts from American Apparel (and fuck only knows where I'm going to stash those so that they don't get Hubby's panties in a bunch when he comes back; my Gay Pride flags have been in the boot of my car for a month because I haven't figured out where to stash them in the house); I had a nice lunch at a posh eaterie that my kids always resist visiting because they're such picky buggers; and then I went to an - ahem - adult shop where I bought a few adult things to play with, because isn't that the most fun you can have when you're on your own and the kids aren't around the house? Apart from walking around in your undies, that is (and yes, I've been doing that too!).

Then on Saturday evening I relaxed by watching Beetlejuice - a movie I loved as a teenager but haven't seen for several years. Then I retired to enjoy the treats I'd bought for myself during the day.

So yes, I managed to do a couple of nice things for myself on Saturday. After all, nobody else is treating me like a human being, so I might as well do it myself, mightn't I?

Insult to injury

I've been struggling to cope these past few weeks.

After Hubby's little bombshell about taking my kids away for a family holiday to which I was not invited, I had a nice little breakdown. It got so bad that I became suicidal and the police were actually called to restore some calm & sanity into our household. I just can't cope with the fact that the fucking arsehole I married is deliberately trying to take my kids away from me. It's perfectly clear that he thinks I'm no longer suitable as a parent (because being trans is so embarrassing, and nobody wants the poor kids to suffer the awful fate of being embarrassed, do they?) so he's lining himself up to be their sole parent, supported by his own parents.

I'm made to feel like a complete & utter outsider in my own family; like I'm no longer welcome in my own home. And to tell you the truth, he and my children have been making me feel this way for a whole year now, non-stop. How long can anyone cope with that kind of trauma before something has to give?

Well, something did give. 

I'm due to have (probably) my most promising Gender Clinic appointment in a few days' time, in which I'll finally get to see the doctor who will prescribe my hormones and refer me for the surgeries I so desperately need. I should be looking forward to this, and I am looking forward to this... but my family has cast a huge, enormous, unnecessary shadow over the whole thing.

To help me prepare for this appointment my Gender Therapist asked my GP to perform a huge series of blood tests a couple of weeks ago, to give the GIC doctor a set of baselines that he could use as a comparison when checking my hormone (and other) levels after I start testosterone. Well, one of the results - prolactin - came back ridiculously high; so high that my GP rang me and asked me to come back for another test, because prolactin results that high are usually indicative of a tumour.

I did some research because I was pretty darn worried about what might be happening in my body... and it turns out that high prolactin levels are usually caused by one two things: a) a tumour of the pituitary gland; or b) severe depression, which can cause dopamine levels to drop (dopamine keeps prolactin levels low - if you're not producing enough dopamine, your prolactin level will rise).

So I went home that night and had a heart-to-heart with Hubby, telling him about my dangerously high hormone level and that it might be either cancer or depression... but either way, I really needed the family to cut me some slack for a week or two until I could get my levels re-tested, so that we could figure out what's causing it. You see, my family has been picking on me relentlessly, making sure I know that it's absolutely not acceptable for me to be trans and that I deserve to be punished for throwing their lives into disarray by attempting to finally live my life truthfully and correctly.

To their credit, the family did cut me a bit of slack for a week or so, apart from the odd little slip, and as such I felt almost normal again for the first time in several months. My mood lifted, I found it easier to cope with life's little niggles, and for the first time in ages I didn't feel generally down. I had my prolactin levels retested... and wouldn't you know, after two weeks of not being picked on my my family my prolactin level halved.

My doctor and I were hugely relieved. This indicates that I probably don't have a tumor, and that it was just depression causing this. OK, severe depression is not to be sneezed at, but at least it isn't a tumour! So I told Hubby that night that I was in the clear for cancer but that I'm clearly so badly depressed that it's showing up in my blood chemistry, so I need the family to do whatever they can to stop making me feel so goddamn awful on a daily basis.

As a result, my kids were going quite a bit easier on me.  Most of the really vicious attacks I suffer tend to come from my eldest daughter, who is at a very difficult age. Somehow she managed to rein in most of the bile, and my life actually seemed to be getting a bit better. I was hopeful that if we could keep this up, we could actually return to some measure of normality in our lives... and my brain chemistry could start correcting itself so I don't have to feel so fucking suicidal all the time.

But Hubby wasn't done tormenting me yet. Oh, no - not at all. He had yet another major trauma for me, just because he felt like being a fucking dick. That's the point at which he revealed that he wanted to take my kids away from me for a week, without my consent or prior knowledge.

He's doing this deliberately. He's doing everything he can to alienate me from my own family and it's tearing me apart. I hate him so much now, and I deeply, deeply regret having been stupid enough to marry him. I should've just used him to get the kids and then kicked him to the kerb when his behavour started to deteriorate... although in all fairness, if I'd done that I wouldn't have had my second child, because he started being a dick during my first pregnancy. When I first met him he seemed like a nice guy, but he's turned into such an oxygen thief over the years that I can no longer stand the fact that he's on the same planet as me.

So after my breakdown I was surprisingly OK for a couple of days. I seemed unusually calm and unemotional, and it took me four days to figure out why I've become so calm about the whole damn thing. It isn't that I've accepted it; rather, I'm just using the tricks I learned growing up trans to compartmentalise & push aside the deep pain I feel about this situation, so that I can just ignore it and attempt to live as normally as possible. Isn't it amazing what sort of tools you can gain because you grew up having to hide your gender dysphoria and the pain that it causes you?

He took the kids away on Saturday. And they're having a fantastic time. Without me. Fucking A.

I don't want him back in my house again.

When 'family' doesn't include me

So last night, completely out of the blue, Hubby decided to drop a bombshell on me.

Before I describe said bombshell, I'd like to point out that we have tentatively agreed to continue living in the same house until our kids have left school, which will be several years from now. We agreed that it might become difficult for us to remain sleeping in the same bedroom, let alone the same bed (to which I helpfully suggested that he's welcome to sleep in the shed any time he likes!) so there's a very good chance that one of us may move out within the next year or so. But we agreed that that person would move somewhere close by so that we can continue sharing joint custody of our kids with as little disruption to their lives as possible. The bottom line is: we're trying to continue functioning as a family unit until the kids leave school.

With that in mind... imagine my distress last night when Hubby announced out of the blue that he'd decided to book a family holiday in a couple of weeks' time... but I'm not invited.

Let those words sink in. A family holiday. With one very important member of the family deliberately and specifically excluded.

To say I was furious would be the understatement of the century. I was absolutely incandescent.

This is the third time he's done something like this to me, i.e. arranged something special for the family whilst deliberately excluding me. The first time was last Xmas, when he announced that he'd be taking our kids to see his parents on Xmas morning but that I wasn't welcome to accompany them. The second time was over Easter, when he did exactly the same thing. The third time's the charm though, and instead of simply being hurt like I was the previous two times, I turned my pain outwards and pushed it back towards its source: him. 

I tackled him on various levels:

• That it is completely unacceptable, especially in light of the fact that we're doing our best to function as a cohesive family unit, for him to exclude me from a family get-together.
• That I'm utterly astonished at how he can think it's OK to treat me in this way, considering how upset I was at Xmas and Easter when he did something similar. He is repeatedly hurting me in exactly the same ways.
• That he really hasn't thought this through and hasn't considered the big picture, because I'm furious beyond belief at his decision and how does he think our kids will react to the news when they see how hurt and angry I am at the way he's treating me? (it's impossible for me to hide this)
• That he has absolutely no right to make unilateral decisions regarding our children and then inform me about them after the fact (or more commonly, for me to find out from the kids themselves). I am as much their parent as he is and I demand to be consulted on all important decisions.
• That he has put me in an impossible situation, because although he requires my consent to take the kids anywhere for an extended period (such as on holiday), he's made it impossible for me to withhold that consent without looking like 'the bad guy' in front of our kids. Because if I do so, I'm the one who ruined their holiday.

I told him that it isn't rocket science: all he has to do is talk to me before making any decisions regarding the kids. That's it. Simple, eh?

A year ago I would've just adopted the victim mentality: "Why does he always treat me this way?". But what's interesting about last night's little extravaganza is that I had the courage to call him on his bullshit and make him take responsibility for his actions. In the end, after calming down the kids, he said to me: "Boy, I'm really shit at this, aren't I?".

To which I could only - wholeheartedly - agree.