It’s exactly two years since the day Iris was conceived. It might be a little weird that I know the exact date, but I just do.
It goes without saying that she is the best thing ever ever to happen to me. I mean, just look at her. She’s perfect.
This date, and my search for information about my great-grandmother, has got me thinking. What are the chances? The chances of Iris being exactly who she is. Of me being exactly who I am.
Iris is half me and half Trevor. Obviously. I met Trevor on eHarmony, but he didn’t show up as one of my matches. We matched on pretty much everything, but he didn’t show up until I widened my search because he lived so far away. I almost didn’t do that.
I almost didn’t do the Internet dating thing either. I hadn’t been single long. I was a bit sick of relationships. I did it because I thought it’d be fun. It mostly wasn’t fun and I nearly quit it a few times.
I almost wasn’t single. I had been in a relationship that I was very unhappy in for a very very long time. I wasn’t ready to leave though. I wasn’t brave enough. I’d been suffering terrible terrible migraines, but it took a migraine so bad that I had a seizure for me to realise that the unhappy relationship was the cause of my stress and that stress was the cause of my migraines. I realised that in the waiting room at Southmead Hospital where I was with my mum. I almost didn’t go to that CT scan because my boyfriend wouldn’t come with me. I only went because my mum could come. I was too scared to go alone.
I almost went back that day, but I didn’t. I went to my mum’s house and I never went back.
The existence of Iris depended on all of these things that almost didn’t happen.
But it’s bigger than that.
She wouldn’t exist if I didn’t, and I wouldn’t exist if my mum didn’t. My mum only exists because my grandmother met my grandfather. Would that have happened if my grandmother hadn’t been adopted? Probably not.
It’s looking fairly likely that my great-grandmother was forced to give my grandmother up for adoption, way back in the 30s, because she was suffering with depression. Can you imagine how awful that must have been? I can’t.
Yet that awful thing that (may have) happened, means that my mum and me and Iris (and the rest of our families) are here. It means we are exactly who we are, and not other people completely.
I’ve given myself a headache.