WHY I SUSPECT MY DAUGHTER WAS SWITCHED AT BIRTH

LOOKING BACK, IT SEEMS OBVIOUS...

 

Daughter at left (who wishes to remain

anonymous because her mother

is clinically insane): Clearly mine.

 

Daughter at right (who doesn't wish to

remain anonymous because she is 

NOT RELATED TO ME ANYWAY!):

Clearly the Mennonite's daughter.

 

 

 

 

 

I have tragic news to impart.

As some of you already know, I am the mother of  fantastically  beautiful daughters. Every time I look at them I think, "Well, I'm done. I can  die now and face my maker, secure in the knowledge that I have made the world a better place." (Much as my  mother must think every time she looks at me. If only I had been twins; she'd be getting VIP seats in heaven for  sure!)

Anyway, something  happened over the holidays that turned my  heart to ice ... which is a scientific miracle, since it was originally made of coal ... and now I am pretty  much positive that my middle daughter is not my natural child. She was almost  certainly switched at birth in some horrible hospital mixup when I shared a  room with A) a toothless Mennonite woman and B) a woman who told everyone who  came to visit her that she was "from Bell Island, Newfoundland."  (Even though, presumably, they would already know that,but perhaps this is  some quaint Bell Island tradition, like drinking screech or marrying your  cousin.)

I must admit there've been  moments when I had doubts about my little Jade's parentage. (And I am not referring to paternity doubts, because  it's always the richest suspect who's the dad. Whether he is or not!)

For example:

* I am  a Yeti-esque 5'8". Jade topped out at a dainty 5'1.

* I have tangly, curly hair. Jade's is sleek  and bone straight.

* I am a vile, hot-tempered drama queen. Jade is a sunny, even-tempered  sweetheart.

* My favourite food is liquor. Jade's favourite food is shoo-fly pie.

 

Of course, all of those things could be chalked up to her father's weaker  genes somehow trumping my superior ones. But then there was a blood-chilling incident when the truth pierced me like a laser and I knew. I just knew: This cannot be my child. It happened when Jade and her husband came to visit  during the festive season. Naturally, I offered refreshments.

Me: I bought some champagne for us to toast the season!

Jade: Oh. Maybe I'll have a sip. Me: *What is this 'maybe' of which she speaks?* Ohhhkay, well, how 'bout a glass of white wine to start?

Jade: No thanks.

Me: Are you pregnant? Jade:No.

Me: Are you drunk?

Jade: No. Me: Are you driving?

Jade: No. Me: Then what's your excuse? Jade: *Shrugging* I just don't really like drinking. Me: *Striking hand to breast, collapsing in a heap* OMIGOD! They switched my baby at birth! They switched my baby! Take me right now lord. TAKE ME RIGHT NOW!'

Jade:Mom? Please get up, we can't stay long.

Editor's note: It is  painfully obvious: the toothless Mennonite  is her mother. Your real child is somewhere in the hills of Elmira right  now, leading a quilting bee while  simultaneously giving birth to her thirteenth child and churning  butter.

My note: YOU SUCK EGGS THE SIZE OF BOWLING BALLS!

Visit me at Whorrified for more whorrors! http://www.whorrified.ca/

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