ocd

Most people who know me know that I have OCD (Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder).  I have a form of the disorder known as "ordering," defined as "the need for order, symmetry or exactness."  I guess if you have to have OCD, this is the type to have...I don't obsess about germs, destruction or death, and don't feel compelled to engage in excessive hand washing, counting, stove checking, or some of the other obsessive behaviors that people typically associate with OCD (think "Monk" or "As Good As It Gets").  I didn't even know "ordering" was a form of OCD until I was in college and saw a television special about people with OCD and recognized many of my own behaviors...including the repetitive combing of fringe on my bathroom rug.  Who knew that not everyone combed their fringe??  I was later officially diagnosed with OCD (shocker!)  For the most part, my OCD is manageable...sure, I spend an inordinate amount of time "ordering" (cleaning, organizing, arranging, straightening, etc)...and I can't really relax if the trash bag isn't arranged just so in the trash can or the towels aren't folded a certain way...but my OCD is just part of who I am and I've learned to accept that.  But I did worry about my OCD when I decided to have kids...I worried about how I would handle the inevitable loss of control over my surroundings that would result from the introduction of one, and later two, small children (boys at that!) into my household.  But in the end I threw caution to the wind and figured I would find a way to manage being a mom with OCD.  What I didn't give much thought to, however, was how I would feel about passing on my OCD to a child, whether by nature or nurture.  But lately I've begun to wonder whether my precious three year old son may have inherited my OCD tendencies.  Of course all toddlers can be particular about things, but Gage seems especially concerned with "orderliness"...a messy room makes him "nervous," he gets upset if his toys are not put away (in their proper places, of course) before bed time, and is quick to remind me if I put one of his books back on the "wrong" shelf.  Maybe it's something he'll grow out of, but if not I guess he has my genes to blame.  At least he'll always have someone who can relate to his condition...and steer him away from the purchase of any fringed rugs.