It’s possible I overdosed on Discovery Channel programming this weekend, but all those Mystery Diagnosis shows seemed to call me like a moth to a flame. It’s a fine line, being generally fascinated by learning about all the things that can ail us and the wanting to know so we can prepare for the worst when our children come. At least with me it is. The more stories I hear, the more convinced I become that good health is truly a miracle.
Craig and I skated on Saturday, one last hurrah (we hope) before a baby belly prevents fun things like perilously gliding on ice. I spent almost every weekend of my 12th year ice skating, but even then, I always skated cautiously. Craig has only skated ice twice before, and there he was, skating backwards, crossing feet, gliding elegantly.
If there is a gene for over-worrying, I hope it’s not hereditary. Out on the ice, we spoke of a brave daughter who would not be a scaredy cat like me. Watch her lace her skates up and take off like a bat out of hell. I’ll have to teach her the benefits of a healthy fear of danger. And I’ll sit on the sidelines, worrying my pretty little head off. This time, for her.