Siblings of disappointment

I seem to be revisiting a few themes recently that have laid quiet of oh, a week or two, so it seems only reasonable to raise the ugly spectre of disappointing siblings once more.

There is, however, a point of difference this time around.

Just over 12 months ago my brother left his wife (of approximately 12 years marriage I do believe) with a 4 month old. He used well thought out phrases along the lines of not having loved her for quite some years but staying out of guilt etc etc etc.

It was as fascinating as it was heartbreaking to watch, mainly in relation to my mother’s reaction. You see, she left my father a good 23 or so years ago because he was having an affair – something she had no idea about and indeed, had been of the mindset they were happy. The humiliation and sense of stupidity about having no concept of what the reality actually was is raw, ugly, painful and colours her very existence. And here was her son, doing exactly.the.same.thing. to his wife.

You can imagine my fascination bordering on obsession then, with her remarkable tenancity to still be making excuses, concessions, exceptions and allowances for my brother and his actions. As she has done for his e.n.t.i.r.e. life. So I do find it quite hard to hold it against him as afterall, aren’t we all the product of our upbringing? (First adopted child = golden child that can do no wrong. Second adopted child = devil spawn that must strive to make right the hellish world she reigned down on the world as a baby)


When this was all unfolding last year, he of course had baggage. Literally. In about a month after leaving his wife, he’d hooked up with another woman via this godforsaken land we call the Net, and moved in with her. Yeah, I know.

Mum – as any parent would I guess – offered to store his baggage. The only issue I have with this, is that she offered – without any discussion or vetting – our side of the garage. Call me petty, but as our house faces East and gets blinding baking sun in the afternoon, I quite liked being able to park our car in a garage so it wasn’t 50 degrees whenever we got in it. Now call me stupid as for the.last.twelve.months. I have just let this ride. Sure, occasionally the wrath of Kim would rise, but what was I going to do? Where was it going to go?

So – I’ve raised this about twice throughout the pregnancy – that when the baby arrives I want to be able to park the car in the garage. I don’t think this is unreasonable. So yesterday, I mentioned it once more – with a timeframe. The ensuing conversation was so boring in its predictability, I won’t subject you to it – but needless to say, at one point I said to Mum if she felt uncomfortable raising this with my brother the next time she spoke to him, I would happily call him and ask him to get his FUCKING crap out of our garage by the end of the month. Of course I didn’t say fucking, and I even kept a very light-hearted, even tone, but indulge me OK.

So get this – AB goes into the garage today and – yep, I know you clever readers would have guessed it – she has started moving all his stuff to her side of the garage. I’m collecting bets that she didn’t even raise it with him. But you know what, if she’s happy for her brand new Mazda to sit in the driveway and bake all summer long – all the power to her.

Q: Do you think all this rage is indicative of something? That maybe the incubus will be coming soon? That it’s the pregnancy equivalent of the four horsemen of the apocalypse? That I should just endure the heartburn and eat the chocolate? That I should thumb my nose at the Salvos and drink during pregnancy?
Or perhaps this is just the cold hard ugly reality of late third trimester.