Well, storks don’t really bring babies you know.
I once overheard some dude talking to another guy at work. He was talking about his daughter. He says, “Yeah, shes really cute and petite. Just right for pickin’ up and bangin’ on your stick!”
:eek:
Thanks, gigi and faithfool, I am truly fortunate to be his daughter.
gigi, I’m sorry for the loss of your mom, I know how much it hurts.
faithfool, I’m sorry your mother said that terrible thing to you, you deserve much better.
Dogzilla, a belated (or early) “You will always be young and beautiful.” 
Yeah, got some of that too. Going to go to my grave never forgiving him or my sister for a couple of things they’ve said - and never having told them.
OMG! OMG! Where’s the brain bleach! Now damn-it!:eek::eek:
My father had a similar experience with his mom – she would alternate between saying how beautiful it was and how awful and how no one could help her.
On this note, there was a retired cardiologist who used to lecture us weekly in medical school on my Internal Medicine rotation. One day he turns to me and pulls out a picture of his 15-year-old granddaughter from his wallet. He shows it to me and says, “You see that? She’s my granddaughter. She’s 15. Her body…just as good as her face.”
That’s a fantastic thing to be left with - sucky that he died, but great to have heard that before he kicked.
The words were bad, the context was worse.
When I was 13, my grandfather died. On the way back from the funeral, I got into the car next to my dad. My dad turned to me and said, “My father was never my friend. I don’t intend on being yours.”
At that moment, he defined our relationship for the rest of our lives. Now, years later in a family therapy session, he clarified what he meant- He meant that his father had never shown kindness to him, and that he was terrified that he’d be unable to show any to me, so he wasn’t going to try to. It’s still bad, but I -understand- it. 13-year-old grieving me? No. Dad became the enemy. And in some small way, he’s been so ever since.
This reminds me of a conversation I had with my mom when I was 14. We fought a lot when I was that age. I remember I was crying, feeling vastly misunderstood, and asked her a question (I don’t even remember what I asked her or what we were fighting about). Her answer was, “I’m **not **your friend, I’m your mother.” In that moment, she certainly ensured I’d never make that mistake again.
I don’t intend to throw the line back in her face (“I’m not your friend, I’m your daughter”). That wouldn’t accomplish anything. But I’ve never forgotten it, and it’s shaped our relationship as adults. Whether she even remembers saying it, that phrase is indicative of her uncompromising, highly-controlling parenting. And she’s never once in her life apologized to me or my sister. Not for any of the bullshit she put us through with her horrible taste in men.
Trying not to be bitter is an ongoing journey.