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StatCounter Props
No Vacancy
Our crib is now occupied! It’s not the occupant we expected, but we’re glad to see it’s getting broken in.
Genetically Speaking…
I suffer from social anxiety, characterized by a number of phobias. These phobias range from annoying to crippling, and often prevent me from experiencing life as “normal” people do. I’m not ashamed, and I’ve been in therapy for about six months. Medicines worked in the past, but the side effects were undesirable.
Since this post isn’t about science, I’ll refrain from diving into scientific articles to find out the likelihood that our boy will inherit the disorder from me. It’s probably safe to say that the odds are greater than or equal to 0%. By “safe”, I mean that no one can tell me I’m wrong!
One thing I’ve learned is that social anxiety is triggered by events or daily situations we faced as children. Our child will not have to experience some of the childhood challenges that triggered my social anxiety, but I won’t be able to control certain environments such as school, sports, or even work. I hope that we can give him the tools he needs to overcome the challenges that those environments present, or that he inherits Kandis’ more favorable social traits.
It’s a bit sad to think that if he does inherit my social anxiety, he has no choice in the matter. As his soon-to-be father, it’s hard for me not to feel bad about that — not because I feel at fault, but because he’s an innocent child who is the victim of some bad genes.
Regardless of whether or not our boy inherits my social disorder, he will inherit a lot of good mental and physical traits from both sides of the family, and that makes me feel good. If nature hands him this disorder, we’ll do all that we can to help him overcome it so that he can have a happy life.
Bad Dad
On rainy days like today, I have a specific routine for bringing our dog Millie outside to take care of business. The routine consists of letting her out, and then bringing her around the house into the garage. The garage is sort of a “staging” area, where she remains for about 10-15 minutes until her feet are dry and mud-free. I normally provide her with a treat while she stays there, so that she associates the garage with a positive experience. The whole thing is a bit obsessive, but it allows me to maintain an illusion of clean floors.
Sometimes, though, I forget that I left her there and don’t remember up to an hour or more later. I started wondering today how our boy is going to fare with such an absent-minded dad. Of course, I don’t think I’ll leave him anywhere, but I do wonder what other ways I might botch the responsibility of child care.
Time to go let the dog out.
