It seems like most people are born with a propensity toward something (yes, I know, I'm a genius at studying humans and making profound statements). There are some people who are naturally competitive; they always feel the need to beat someone at something, anything. There are some other people who are compulsively lazy for life; moving or helping is just too difficult. And then there are people like me. I am someone who worries about things.
For as long as I can remember, I've worried. When I was a child, every time there would be a possibility of tornado (living in Illinois, this was not rare), I would get so stressed out, I would fall to pieces. If the sirens were going off, I was likely throwing up somewhere, which is not really what you want your child doing when you are supposed to be locked in a basement with no bathroom.
In grade school, I walked to and from school every day. Any car that would slow down to turn or anyone who happened to be out for a jog turned into a potential abductor in my eyes. Plus the D.A.R.E. program taught me that after they abducted me, they were going to make me buy their drugs.
When I started driving, my mom told me always to look in the backseat for "weirdos" before I got in the car. Not only did I glance back there before starting my car, but I kept a firm eye planted on the rearview mirror, should any heads pop up from the backseat while I was driving.
As a young adult, everybody wanted to drop a rufi (is this how you spell this!? I Googled it, but then I had visions of the government seizing my computer and questioning why I was searching this) in my drink.
When I got married, we were going to forget to lock our door and someone would walk in and kill us. To this day, I refuse to cook anything (not even cookies) for anyone outside of my immediate family, just in case I inadvertently food poison someone.
When I had babies, I was sure they were going to stop breathing. Really, a stresshead having children is like adding humidity to mold. The opportunities to freak out are endless. Especially when there is Internet availability. Someone with a propensity to worry combined with advanced research skills is really a volatile situation. And, my friend, I am a chronic Internet diagnoser. Cough in my presence? You are exhibiting symptoms of whooping cough. Have a rash on your stomach? It is likely scarlet fever.
Our pediatrician especially appreciates my skills. When Eli was 18 months old, I called him at 3:00 a.m. to tell him that my child had a fever for the third time in three weeks. I let him know that this was not normal and he probably had something really wrong with him, like something terminal. Miraculously, our doctor allowed us to stay at his practice.
My worry even extends to my cats (even if I don't like them much). I'm pretty sure Fat Linda has a thyroid situation and Lorenzo has feline leukemia. Due to spending cuts, they don't get a veterinarian diagnosis... only my Internet skills.
Since I have been on a recent immunity-building bender, my kids are having a remarkably healthy winter. I find myself feeling amazingly calm (relatively, I still run down the hall at the first sound of a cough in the night, lest a child puke in his or her bed). So what now?
My newest thing... I've been Internet-diagnosing the trees in our yard with a variety of diseases (it actually took a really long time to figure out what kind of trees we have so I could properly diagnose them). The ash trees have cankers and probably the ash borer. The Scotch pines have Diplodia Tip Blight. People, we got some sick trees up in here. And the freaking hostas are dying.
I wonder if I can somehow mentally shift my genetic predisposition. I'd like to try the being lazy one for a while. I better search online to see if this is possible... while I look out at my sick trees and sit next to my declining cats, under our roof with the curling shingles and attic full of bat guano.
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