1: the tickle of my hair down the small of my back, whenever I take my top off or step into the shower.
2: the shape of my eyes, especially that strange, difficult upper lid that I find so tricky to define with liner and seems to hide so many secrets I may never fully unlock.
3: the near total disappearance of the acne bequeathed by my maldeveloped first puberty.
4: my lack of body hair beyond my limbs and pubis, and the relative thinness, fineness, and fairness of most of that even.
5: the developing shape of my legs, in particular my thighs. They’re nothing amazing, but they no longer look like turkey legs in the grocery bin. They’re just normal and human and proportionate. And they have gained some nice curve.
6: my hips and butt, which also have gained a little curve and volume. It’s moderate; it’s a start. But what a difference from before.
7: my breasts, which have changed my world in so many ways I had no way of understanding until they stepped in and helped me to claim my body for myself for the first time in my life. They’re fun and silly, and gaining some nice definition of late. They change my whole body.
8: my cheekbones, which are possibly the easiest feature to deal with in the event I muster the energy to make myself up, and that lend my whole face a delicacy that makes up for several elements I’d rather were different than they are.
9: the shape of my hairline as it continues to mend and fill back in, and has begun to frame my face a little better.
10: the weirdo button bulb to my nose, with its groove between the nostrils. It’s strange but distinctive. My nose doesn’t look like anyone else’s, to be sure.
11: my narrow frame; how naturally little muscle mass I seem to carry, how small my chest is and how moderate my shoulders are. For all the reservations I have about my trouble gaining soft tissue, I do like my bone placement.
12: my weird alien toes. I’m learning to accept them for what they are. Again they don’t look like anyone else’s. They’re just me.
13: this curious fold that’s developed between my chin and my lower lip as my lips slowly continue to fill out and claim some normal amount of space on my face.
14: just everything about my genitals really. Not gonna dwell here. But that’s like the one thing that has never caused me dysphoria.
15: the shape of my neck (eve’s apple aside); its proportion to my skull and my shoulders.
16: the general shape of my back—now that the acne has basically gone away and I’m no longer averting my eyes and trying so hard not to put pressure on it when I lean back or lie down.
17: the flexibility and strength I’m building in my lower body; the muscles I’m finding in my hips and butt and waist, and the way they’re allowing me to move, rewrite my relationship to the space around me.
18: my slowly correcting posture, which changes everything about my circulation and the way I carry stress and generally the shape that my body presents to me.
19: the smoothness and hardness of my nails. I never knew they were supposed to be something other than thin vinyl overlays to my fingertips.
20: the thickness and smoothness and relative curliness of my younger girl-hair compared to the older growth toward the tips.
21: the change of shape to my pubic area; all this nice fleshy padding I didn’t have before.
22: the smoothness and the glow to my skin. Still basically transparent but it’s no longer this waxy pallor and it no longer feels like a plucked chicken. I just feel… Human.
23: the smell. I’m fuckin’ delicious these days.
24: my general flexibility. I have never had trouble pretzeling up, reaching in odd directions, and for all my clumsiness it offers at least some route to most physical goals.
25: the delicacy of my fingers. Pianist’s hands, I’ve always been told. Well, that would entail a level of diligence beyond my brain’s specifications. But, they are nice and spindly.