In a moment of late night pregnant online shopping/nesting/love my opulent wife bought me a DNA test from the groovy people at 23andMe.
I spit in a vile.
I mailed it away.
Subplot: I’m adopted. My parents never hid this from me. I’ve written about it in several places. HERE and HERE (page 8) for example. Needless to say, but I’ll say it anyway, this is a very exciting thing for me.
Put on your glasses because here comes the money shot:
It does not surprise me at all that I’m Irish. Now, I know it says British and Irish, but everyone on the Island of Cape Breton, where I was born, was either Scottish or Irish, so I’ll lean towards the Emerald Isle over the Fog.
Here is another neato thingy:
The purple ones represent DNA based relatives who are in the 23andMe system. With this small source size, it still hints that I have cousins in the area I was born. I was born in Sydney, but for some reason I think my birth parents were from Glace Bay. I’ll talk to my parents and edit this later to make it, you know, more fucking factual or whatever.
Also, and my wife will love this, I get hangry. I’m a farty, crampy baby if I don’t get food. I could watch a unicorn give birth to Jesus and be thoroughly unimpressed if I haven’t eaten. So, I embrace this tidbit on a spiritually fulfilling level:
Suck it world, I got medical proof (sort of) as to why I’m a whiny moody fuck. I just high fived myself.
And now the coolness. Well, all that above is cool (and there is a lot of more personal information that I am still sifting through that is boggling my brain cave), but I got pretty badass relatives:
Thanks bio-mom! Not only did you carry me to term, you made my proficiency at robbing trains and getting shot in the back genetically relevant!
Anyway, I’m pretty blown away. There are other things (blood type, medical worries, genetic weirdness) that I still have to suss out, but this is the entirety of that hill that’s made out of beans.
Thank you Elizabeth. Thank you my love.