Apparently Ryan got most of his less desirable qualities from me.
I took him to the pediatrician last week for his annual flu shot. Ryan made sure to close every single door on the way into the office and back to the exam room. When the doctor came in and Ryan closed the door behind her, I said, “Yeah, about that … It just seems like he wants to close every door and turn off every light and control every little thing … and there’s this whole super-hero-bathroom thing … ”
*pediatrician smiles and nods*
“I know, it’s common at this age … it just seems excessive … ”
“I mean, how much should I be discouraging this sort of behavior? What’s the balance between letting him feel like he has some control over his life and not allowing him to think he has control over every detail of everything?”
This is normal, she told me. Pick your battles, she offered. It’s way too early to label him as OCD, she reassured. He’s a good boy, she encouraged … he’s probably just Type A.
As I related the story to Mike, he nodded thoughtfully. When I got to the part about him being Type A, he didn’t miss a beat with his response: Oh, he gets that from you.
He … gets that … from you, he said carefully. You’re Type A. You know that, right?
I bristled for a moment before I realized he was right. Several Type A traits do describe me pretty well. They’re not all negative but when you bundle them up together, the package is a little daunting: ambitious, rigidly organized, sensitive, truthful, impatient, proactive, and obsessed with time management, with a tendency to take on more than one can handle and to want other people to get to the point.
“What’s your point?” I snapped.
I guess the point is that at least he comes by it honestly? Ryan is only 3, but we can already see how he is rigidly organized, sensitive, truthful and impatient – like me. I had hoped the laid back, easy-going genes of my husband would win out over mine.
(Guess my genes are more ambitious. Oh, buuuuurn.)
In case that’s not enough, we all know Ryan gets his handsomeness from his father. Except for one little thing — one of his eyes squints more than the other when he smiles. Just like his Mom.
I really noticed it on him in this year’s preschool picture:
Ok, that’s not the end of the world. Maybe it’s even a little cute. But it’s something that has always annoyed me a bit about myself and I had hoped to spare Ryan.
It remains to be seen whether he inherited my fantastically sarcastic sense of humor, though. He still thinks pretending to eat gross stuff is funny, as is joking about things going down the drain that are clearly too big to fit, so he’s got a long way to go on that front. Fingers crossed, buddy.