I was born "prematurely", or at least that's what my parents told me until I figured out differently! Many years ago, at their 25th Wedding Anniversary party, I innocently enough stumbled upon the truth. They were celebrating their 25th anniversary, buy hey, I was ALREADY twenty-five! See, their anniversary was July 24th, 1949 and I was born in February 1950! On a Wednesday. It got me to thinking...somehow I recounted the time frame; there was a two month discrepancy between the wedding and my arrival! Seriously, I was kind of shocked. I didn't have time to fully process the data, so I just took my mom and dad aside and said WAIT A MINUTE! What's the dealio with my birth? All of a sudden my life began to make sense. And it still does today.
The expression on my father's face was priceless when he was asked that fateful question. My mother looked embarrassed. I listened to both of their explanations. Neither one said anything about premarital sex! Dad said they had to say I was premature to save face. Lucky for them I was a tiny baby, weighing in at only at around six pounds. My father said he loved me and that I was the best thing that ever happened to him. And even though I eventually had three sisters and a brother, I was always his favorite and I was spoiled rotten my whole life. My mother, on the other hand, told an entirely different story. She told a story about being just an inexperienced farm girl from eastern Pennsylvania and had arrived in Detroit with a girlfriend after they had been discharged from the Navy. They were both Waves. My mother recanted how she got a degree from secretarial school while serving in the Navy and had been working as an executive secretary to a purchasing agent at Ford Motor Company in Dearborn. She said she had met my father at The Graystone Ballroom one night, a local Detroit dance hall, and that he had "taken advantage" of her. She told me my father had been a sharp dresser and a fast talker and the rest is history. It certainly did explain why in all of their wedding pictures my mother did not look very happy. And that's how it went for the rest of my life. My parents were miserable and I eventually ended up in psychiatric care.
There was never any real overt abuse or neglect. I was doted on by dad. On the other hand, I sensed from the get-go that my mother held a grudge against me. From that point on it was obvious there would never be a normal mother-daughter relationship. Because of me, her whole future had been ruined and she got stuck with a man she didn't even like. And every time she threatened to leave him, so she said, he knocked her up again and again. Until finally, from her perspective, there was just no way to escape. It was a terrible price for her to to pay. It affected my life and the dynamics of our entire family. And it all started with the birth of little ol' me.
It's a long story. It should cover a few more blogs. Should I continue? Let me know if you want to hear some more. It should explain a lot about me and how I have tried to stave off impending inheritable mental illness. Peace.