Monday, October 23, 2017

Call me "Granny"...

Or not.

Last night, Bill dropped a bombshell on me.  His younger daughter had a six pound son last week.  She named him Levi.

Bill knew about the pregnancy and didn't tell me about it.  I guess he figured it would upset me.  He's right.  I am a little upset, not because she had a baby.  I knew it was coming.  I was upset about just how fucked up Bill's relationship is with his kids.  He hasn't seen either of his daughters since 2004, when they were still kids themselves.  A year ago, he didn't even have email contact with them.  Now, he's been in contact with the younger (and more hateful) of the two.  She's had a baby and Bill now has a grandson.

But that grandson is not MY grandson.  I will not have any descendants.  When it's time for me to depart this life, there's a very good chance I'll be doing it alone.  No one will ever call me "Granny."

I almost have to laugh about this.  It's not how I pictured my life twenty years ago.  I thought I'd get married, have kids, have a job... Then it looked like I wouldn't get married, so I worked on getting the job.  Then I found Bill, who is the love of my life and the best husband anyone could have ever asked for.  And he has two PAS zombie kids who have turned into adults he doesn't know because their mother kept them away for so long.  He has a grandson now, one he may never actually meet (although he probably will).

I'll be honest.  I wasn't totally destroyed by this news.  I knew there would be a day when Bill would be a grandfather.  I just didn't realize he would keep the news from me to "spare my feelings".  He's done this a few times and then it comes out of the blue and hits me over the head.

Sometimes I wonder how I ended up in this situation.  I wonder if my not having kids of my own is a blessing or a punishment.

Over the weekend, Bill got his 23 and Me results.  It turns out that he has some African American and Middle Eastern blood in him.  Also, he's only about 61% British and Irish, while I'm 78%.  I had mentioned to him that he should share the results with the one kid who speaks to him, along with information about his medical history.  Funny that she was on the brain over the weekend and it turns out she had some big news to share.

Well...  I wish the new baby well.  I wish him luck, actually.  I hope someday, he does get to meet his real grandfather instead of the asshole his grandmother married.  I'm not sure I will meet him... or that I even want to meet him.  But I do wish him luck.  He will need it.  



2 comments:

  1. I know from experience with my multitude of Mormoo cousins that sometimes what new parents need most at a time like this is cash. If I were Bill, forking over money is the very last thing I would do. A token gift might be nice, but I it were Bill, I'd purchase a cute outfit that could be worn in a few months (babies usually get too many newborn outfits), and I'd purchase it from a local business so that it couldn't be returned for $ or exchanged. That's just my take, though.

    I think you are wise to stay as free and clear of the situation as possible.

    Keep in mind that the Lt. Col. is the only sane grandparent this poor child has. That still doesn't mean he can do much to help the situation, but it's worth considering.

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    Replies
    1. I don’t know about the other set, although they are apparently church people.

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