We've already established that Elisa and I are slaves to our biological impulses. Elisa is the nurturer, I am the provider. Our fears, worries, and concerns are driven by those impulses -- Elisa worries about the health of the baby, I worry about paying the doctor bills.

But there is another biological impulse I have noticed emerging the past few weeks -- that of the Protector.

You know -- how in prehistoric times the men of the tribe (who are always depicted as much burlier than a modern-day accountant -- I blame the liberal media) used crude weapons like spears and clubs to protect the women and children from T-Rexes and Saddam's Weapons of Mass Destruction? Those were difficult times, but the women knew they could depend on their men for protection.

Times have changed, but my animal instincts still seek to protect against dangers, wherever they may lurk.

So I looked in the bushes. Nothing there. Which was good. I mean, what if a rabid raccoon had popped out? Scary! And then I realized I didn't even have a weapon. I could fashion a bow and arrow like my burlier predecessors, but those things are dangerous. What if I poked my eye out?

A quick glance in the encyclopedia told me that T-Rexes were extinct. And in fact, had been extinct for millions of years before the first human arrived on the planet (from a spaceship, I'm guessing). So nothing doing there.

Hmmm...

Perhaps we could get mugged, and I could rescue Elisa and the baby! But unless we were mugged by our aforementioned accountant, I would just rather hand over my wallet. Dammit!

But my biological programming could not be thwarted! I had to protect!

So I spent an afternoon poring over safety reports for the latest batch of baby car seats.

I am The Protector! All baby-unsafe demons should tremble before me!

Like dangerous electrical sockets. Or sharp corners.

Damn I'm burly!