My family’s attitude toward psychic powers is incredibly annoying. If you want to sit around and talk about how my uncle can (and always has been) able to locate my dad anywhere in the world, fine. If you want to make jokes about how the Butcher can read minds, also fine. But if my other brother tells you the day his baby’s going to be born, well, let’s not be ridiculous. Except that he was right.
So, I thought the plan was for my parents to come down, help the Butcher move, and then go to Georgia to help with the arrival of Baby Dahlia. But when they got here, it was clear they had no intention of going from here to Georgia, because “the baby’s not due until the 10th” and they didn’t want to sit around down there for a week. Even though my other brother had told them the baby was coming on the 4th.
They didn’t even bring enough medication to change their plans, if they needed to.
Their visit here was mostly fine with a terrible ending in which my dad fought with a child, corralled a mayoral candidate and prevented him from schmoozing with people who might and could actually vote for him, and then told me I was boring people with talking about the bombing–the actual subject of the historical marker we were all there to dedicate–and that we needed to go. He then also complained that I should be getting paid for telling people this shit.
Do people pay for boring shit in his world? I do not know.
Anyway, after I posted yesterday, I got thinking of my other brother and his wife alone in a hospital room in Atlanta and it just pissed me off. So, I called out of work and drove down there. I only stayed an hour or so and the baby didn’t come while I was there.
But I’m glad I went and got to see everyone. And, after I left, the Butcher and his family showed up, having made a detour on their way to Phoenix.
They also didn’t get to see the baby being born.
But, eventually she was.
Happy birthday, Dahlia. I asked my other brother what her middle name was and he texted me back “Twinkle Toes Ninja Optimus Prime.” I texted him back “Oh, you went traditional.” “Family name.”
So, who knows what her name is, really.