Sunday, May 15, 2011

Blubbering Mom

Tonight during storytime, Gunner said "Yellow" clear as day. I almost cried when I realized that it is no longer "Lellow."

He made up for it by mixing up the "p" in "pitch" for a "b." And he still can't say "truck," and he still loves to "crap" his hands.

I love his little lisp. The way he says "Yesth" when he answers a question. I love they way his speech is developing. Spiff and I laugh every day about they way he pronounces things. I love his "Nocaners" (binoculars), "Newdavard" (boulevard), "Ephalant" (elephant), "crose" (close), "Fopped" (dropped), "Wink" or "Vrink" (drink).

I'll admit that I wish away certain behaviors or behavioral phases. I wish I could skip right over potty training, the rest of his terrible twos, and pretty much every meal time. But when I looked at him the other day, swinging on a friend's rope swing in his little jeans and t-shirt, and he looked like such a big kid, and when I realize that he has his own little opinions and that he has the right to voice them, and that he has the right to a good explanation about what's going on because he's old enough to understand, I can't help but wish that he would just stop growing up. That he would just be my little guy forever.

And if I cry at "Yellow," what am I ever going to do on his first day of school?

Sunday, May 08, 2011

Mortification Moment.

Every parent has them. Those moments when you want to crawl under a rock because of something your dear sweet progeny has just perpetrated. Today in church, Gunner had just sucha moment. He is only two and half, so his speech isn't flawless. He still substitutes sounds in words. "Truck" for instance is prounounced with an 'F' instead of a 'T'. Similarly, c-l sounds are pronounced c-r. So, imagine my dismay when Gunner who was clapping in church, responded to my shushing him by yelling at the top of his voice "I love crapping, Daddy!"


Sunday, May 01, 2011

A strange symmetry

Medical schools typically begin their first year curriculum with gross anatomy. Whether or not there is any actual pedagogical value in this is uncertain, but it is nevertheless true. I think that mostly this is the case because gross anatomy serves not only to teach the geography of the human body, but also to accustom medical students to death. After dissecting, cutting, scraping, sawing, and otherwise exposing a cadaver for several months, we became very comfortable with the dead bodies donated to science by their former owners.

Oddly enough, my medical school experience has come full circle. I finished the year in the city medical examiner's office. Every body that was found under suspicious circumstances, with drug paraphenalia, signs of violence, under the age of 50, or unexpectedly came to our office. These were bodies donated unwittingly. An autopsy is not quite as invasive as a dissection performed by a medical neophyte. Typically, a Y-shaped incision is made from the clavicles, joining at the sternum, and proceeding to the umbilicus. The internal organs are removed, and the incision is sewn back up. The skull is also opened to remove the brain, but again, the wound is re-approximated and sewn shut. Oddly, the cranial vault is filled with rolled up newspaper so that the bone flap and skin can be sewn shut for improved cosmesis. I imagine in 500 years, when some archeologist is digging around our fair city, they'll stumble across these skeletons and will find traces of Doonesbury or the Classifieds still in the skull. Imagine the conclusions they'll draw. But I digress. The body, after an autopsy, is still mostly intact, whereas after a medical student dissection, it is anything but.

After 4 years of medical training, I am comfortable touching a dead body, or a live one. That having been said, I am apprehensive about my upcoming internship. Gone will be the protective cloak (both legal and figurative) of being a student. Now my orders will count and notes will matter. It's odd to think that with regards to my body of medical knowledge, nothing is going to change significantly in the next 4 weeks, yet after May 21, I can legally call myself Doctor.

Also, I want my head stuffed with the Far Side, Calvin and Hobbes, Doonesbury, and Pearls Before Swine. That oughtta keep those archeologists guessing.