What Comes First...

...the parent or the b*&ch?

As many of you may be able to personally attest, I have always been a bit...prickly...when warranted.  But while I admit this, it is my position that I wasn't in full-fledged crabb mode until I had a family to protect.  And, I will argue that it is still only when warranted.  My colleagues, however, disagree.

What did you just say?

My profession requires a certain amount of spiciness.  I get paid, in essence, to fight with people.  It is frequently within my clients' best interests for me to be formidable.  It has always been my goal (sadly, in stark contrast to the goals of many lawyers), however, to also be reasonable.  A b*&ch only when warranted, essentially.  I have noticed a recent, slight up-turn in my desire to take on those around me, but typically this is a primitive urge--one that frequently makes me laugh after.  Case-in-point: when my kid was only a few weeks old, a gentleman disagreed with how I parked in front of a high rise while waiting for my mom.  We exchanged pleasantries through the most well-used form of communication in Chicago: pantomime.  Through his front windshield he expressed his displeasure, and through my rear mirror I expressed mine.  It was all very civilized.  Until he got out of the car and started to approach the side of my car in which my child was located.  Um...no.  I went ballistic.  And I must have expressed the deep sincerity of my feelings (perhaps it was my head spinning around), because he backed away and got back into his car.  I wish I could explain the feeling that came over me--it was animal-like.  I suddenly understood nature TV.  It was both terrifying and thrilling.  But the point is, I had learned to really be a b*&ch.  And I was fine with that.

It is my understanding, however, that others disagree--they think this chick was in existence long before the egg.  In particular, my office thinks I'm evil.  Most don't think so in a bad way--it seems they are somewhat proud of my reputation (a reputation that I think exists only among them).  I overheard part of a conversation the other day.  Someone had received a letter that deserved a strongly-worded response.  The natural conclusion was "Oh, have Fast Lane write it."  Not nearly as amusing as this response was the general nodding and murmuring of consent among the group.  Need a nasty zinger?  Fast Lane's your gal.  In fairness, what I do is very different from what they do--their practices involve very little conflict and mine revolves around it.  But STILL!  Have I always been a tyrant?  Or did they just not know me pre-Animal Channel star?  Have I always been crazy?  (Don't answer that).  My central question is this: does parenthood bring out the protective beast in us, or does it merely give us an excuse?