What a joke -- I have two projects due tomorrow, so I've been trying desperately to pick up an hour here, an hour there all week, with mixed success. No mix today. I sat down to start working at 9:30 this morning, after feeding and changing the kids and feeding myself and getting things a bit straightened up, and exactly seven minutes later Maggie bonked her head on something and started howling. Stop, pick her up, console, put her down, endure more howling, try to refocus on "To illustrate Cellerator utility concretely, consider the kMech model for the synthesis of the amino acids leucine, isoleucine and valine within the bacterium E. coli. One important reaction in that pathway..."
The phone rings. Dispatch call, go back to "...in that pathway is the 'ping-pong bi-bi' enzyme mechanism of the enzyme ?-acetohydroxyacid synthase, an enzyme that catalyzes the condensation of one molecule of pyruvate and one molecule of ?-ketobutyrate to form one molecule of ?-aceto-?-hydroxybutyrate." Read twice to make sense of it, start editing to make it readable; then cue Lazarus: "Mama, want a vitamin! Now!" No, you've already had one today. Would you like a drink? (God knows I want one.) "No, want go outside." Go get your shoes for mama. "No WANT shooooooooooes!" (Runs away.)
Back to editing. Boy lets in dog, who sticks her cold wet nose in my belly and then starts barking at cat who is impatiently twining around my leg because the food and water I gave him this morning is now spread all over the kitchen floor, with Maggie in the middle of it. Get up, trip over cat, grab dog by collar and put her outside to Lazarus' shrieks of "WANT LUCY INSIIIIIIIDE, MAMA!," pick up Maggie who's now soaking wet and howling again because she WANTS to splash in the dirty water and eat soggy cat food, park her in playpen, clean up the sloppy mess on the floor (scooting Lazarus out of the way as he stomps around in the water), get more food and water for the cat who is now attacking my leg, retrieve Maggie and change her all over again....
The days, oh, the days.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Monday, April 04, 2005
Research
See, the thing is, my life just isn't dramatic enough.
And the World Wide Web offers endless drama, and the information I need to create or enhance my own personal drama, right at my fingertips.
And I have DSL now.
That said, I'm actually researching a serious topic: developmental delays and learning disabilities. I'm taking a skeptical, cautious approach to the information I find so that I don't get swept away on a wave of panic, or fanaticism. I just want more information, I guess so I can get some idea of what to do next, what to expect, what to think.
I've known that Lazarus was a bit different since he was just over a year old and still wasn't crawling, or even trying to. In one ear I had people sounding alarms -- "he's not CRAWLING YET?!? Well, that's because you hold him too much. Or else something's wrong with him" -- and in the other ear those with kinder intentions (or perhaps just more tact) were telling me that kids develop at their own rate and just don't worry about it.
But I worried. A bit, then more as Lazarus finally mastered crawling around 14 months but didn't try to stand up and walk anytime soon after that.
He turned 18 months and wasn't walking, and that was the line for me -- the development charts say that's the cutoff, see your pediatrician, and by then I'd noticed other things as well. He spoke no recognizable words and made few attempts to speak or to imitate my words. He couldn't seem to hold onto things like a spoon or a cup or a crayon. So I talked to our doctor, got a referral for early intervention, and started him on occupational and speech therapy. He took his first solo steps soon after.
He's done really well, and I'm thrilled to hear him speak his thoughts and express his feelings (even if he's telling me "Lazarus no NEED a nap, Mama!"). He's always been able to "tell" me how he's feeling with his gestures and facial expressions; now we're connecting verbally, too.
Still, I see him with other kids around his age and I see that he's different. He trips and falls a lot. He can climb, but he doesn't seem to know how to jump -- he makes a mighty effort and ends up taking a big clumsy step, and he's so dang proud I can't help but clap. He sort of runs (especially when I'm trying to catch him around naptime), but not freely like other kids. And his words -- my mom says it's like he's speaking a foreign language, always having to translate his thoughts into our language. He speaks haltingly, with feeling but not with ease, having to lay out his sentences in careful blocks and backtracking as he realizes he missed a step.
It's okay. He has always been an absolute delight, very happy and easy-going (well, from about two weeks on) and quick to smile at anybody whose eye he could catch. I don't worry that he's not perfect, that he won't "achieve," that he won't "fit in" -- okay, I do worry about that last one, because I know people can be merciless to someone who doesn't or can't march in lockstep with the pack. Lazarus is not quite three, and about all he's known so far has been the love and praise of family and friends. Like any (decent) parent, I want to shield my sweet child from hurt, rejection, derision... and I know I can't, not forever. I guess it scares me to think about sending out into the world a child who already is a bit out of step. An easy target. Maybe that's why I suddenly want more information -- a thorough evaluation, some diagnostic tests (but no needles!!), some clearer idea of where he is and where he's going. That's mostly for me, to help me understand and get him what he needs, but it might scare me more to find out just how "different" he is.
But if I have to let him venture out into the world, and I know I do, I desperately want to make things easier for him. I guess I start -- and I think (hope) I've been doing this for almost three years now -- by loving him, purely and completely. God, I can't help but do that. Because he is perfect. He's my beautiful, sweet child. As much as I dread loosing him into the world, I can't deny him the wondrous, scary, human privilege of living in it.
And the World Wide Web offers endless drama, and the information I need to create or enhance my own personal drama, right at my fingertips.
And I have DSL now.
That said, I'm actually researching a serious topic: developmental delays and learning disabilities. I'm taking a skeptical, cautious approach to the information I find so that I don't get swept away on a wave of panic, or fanaticism. I just want more information, I guess so I can get some idea of what to do next, what to expect, what to think.
I've known that Lazarus was a bit different since he was just over a year old and still wasn't crawling, or even trying to. In one ear I had people sounding alarms -- "he's not CRAWLING YET?!? Well, that's because you hold him too much. Or else something's wrong with him" -- and in the other ear those with kinder intentions (or perhaps just more tact) were telling me that kids develop at their own rate and just don't worry about it.
But I worried. A bit, then more as Lazarus finally mastered crawling around 14 months but didn't try to stand up and walk anytime soon after that.
He turned 18 months and wasn't walking, and that was the line for me -- the development charts say that's the cutoff, see your pediatrician, and by then I'd noticed other things as well. He spoke no recognizable words and made few attempts to speak or to imitate my words. He couldn't seem to hold onto things like a spoon or a cup or a crayon. So I talked to our doctor, got a referral for early intervention, and started him on occupational and speech therapy. He took his first solo steps soon after.
He's done really well, and I'm thrilled to hear him speak his thoughts and express his feelings (even if he's telling me "Lazarus no NEED a nap, Mama!"). He's always been able to "tell" me how he's feeling with his gestures and facial expressions; now we're connecting verbally, too.
Still, I see him with other kids around his age and I see that he's different. He trips and falls a lot. He can climb, but he doesn't seem to know how to jump -- he makes a mighty effort and ends up taking a big clumsy step, and he's so dang proud I can't help but clap. He sort of runs (especially when I'm trying to catch him around naptime), but not freely like other kids. And his words -- my mom says it's like he's speaking a foreign language, always having to translate his thoughts into our language. He speaks haltingly, with feeling but not with ease, having to lay out his sentences in careful blocks and backtracking as he realizes he missed a step.
It's okay. He has always been an absolute delight, very happy and easy-going (well, from about two weeks on) and quick to smile at anybody whose eye he could catch. I don't worry that he's not perfect, that he won't "achieve," that he won't "fit in" -- okay, I do worry about that last one, because I know people can be merciless to someone who doesn't or can't march in lockstep with the pack. Lazarus is not quite three, and about all he's known so far has been the love and praise of family and friends. Like any (decent) parent, I want to shield my sweet child from hurt, rejection, derision... and I know I can't, not forever. I guess it scares me to think about sending out into the world a child who already is a bit out of step. An easy target. Maybe that's why I suddenly want more information -- a thorough evaluation, some diagnostic tests (but no needles!!), some clearer idea of where he is and where he's going. That's mostly for me, to help me understand and get him what he needs, but it might scare me more to find out just how "different" he is.
But if I have to let him venture out into the world, and I know I do, I desperately want to make things easier for him. I guess I start -- and I think (hope) I've been doing this for almost three years now -- by loving him, purely and completely. God, I can't help but do that. Because he is perfect. He's my beautiful, sweet child. As much as I dread loosing him into the world, I can't deny him the wondrous, scary, human privilege of living in it.
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