It’s 27 degrees in New York right now. I hate the cold, but I still want to move back there. Well, “move back there” is not exactly the right term. It’s not like I just left. I haven’t lived in New York since 1998, when I left for Washington, D.C. to take a reporting job. My first husband and I had just broken up, and Washington was the start of my new life. And it was. I set out on my own, made lots of friends, met my husband, and, by the time we moved, left lots behind.
We snuck off to New York last month. We didn’t tell my father. We visited my birth family and best friend, but we did not visit my dad. I wasn’t trying to punish him. He did it to himself. I told him that my birth mother wanted to buy us plane tickets to visit and he said, “Don’t go taking money from her. You’re getting too involved. She wants to mother you. She has a mother complex.”
Hereditary Insanity is three years old! My actual insanity is much older, but I’m talking about the blog here. So I think it’s a good time to look back and see what we’ve learned. Yes, it’s kind of a gimme for me, but I don’t have another topic and I could use the break. If you’re new to Hereditary Insanity, this “What I did over the year” roundup will be a handy guide to relevant posts. Some new developments: Hereditary Insanity is available as a Kindle subscription and has been accepted by Top Mommy Blogs. Please take a moment to vote so it can stay a top mommy blog. I would really appreciate it. I am also considering sending a post to Huffington Post Parents. Please let me know in the comments which one you think should I send.
I learned that I am passing my fears onto my children, and that’s not necessarily a good idea. (Some of all Fears)
I learned that I couldn’t blame all of my three-year-old daughter’s bad behavior on her age. I had to accept some responsibility for my actions. (Is it three or is it me?)
I should want a father. I really should. How many people get a second chance with a new father? Well, probably a lot, with all of the blended families and whatnot, but not too many get the opportunity that I have.
I have a brand-new father who wants a relationship with me. He’s my birth father, and he’s great. He’s kind and caring, upbeat and sweet, and he’s wanted to know me since I was conceived. He calls me from time to time, and when I pick up the phone, we talk for hours, but when he misses me, I don’t call back. I tell myself I’m going to call back, but I never do.
I never had to get to know my first mom. That was all done for me. I met her as a baby, and she took it from there. But 41 years later, I had to get to know my birth mom, and that process was a lot different. She didn’t have the advantage of nursing me through midnight feedings, soothing my teething gums or changing thousands of diapers. But this week I gave her a chance to kiss a big boo-boo, and I’m glad I did.
Two weeks ago, I had knee surgery. My husband, Matt, cared for me the first five days, then my birth mother, Yvonne, flew in from New York to take over. Her timing was good, because after five days with the kids, and no help from me, my husband was just pretending to be sane.