It's been ONE OF THOSE WEEKS. One of those weeks where I take care of my darling little girl all day, then put her to bed, then drive 30 minutes to my old lab to finish up THE EXPERIMENT THAT WILL NOT DIE. (Did I finish it? No. Do I want to talk about it? No.) Then I get home and my darling little girl decides that sleeping even for 5 hours straight is for CHUMPS and she will wake up multiple times tonight, thank you. The kind of week where my parents flew to Palm Springs and I volunteered to watch their puppy with bladder control issues, Stanley. And my dog, Stella, goes on a hunger strike. (Given their names, it's not a surprise that he's a bully. But I really wonder if this is what Tennessee Williams had in mind.)
It was the kind of week that by the time Thursday rolled around, I really dawdled getting ready to go to the lab. Then I looked out the window, and saw that it was snowing. SNOWING. IN THE LAST WEEK OF MAY. That's when I had what I like to call a "fuck this" moment, got a beer, and sat down to enjoy the evening.
Of course, that night Hannah did not want to sleep and the next morning Stanley wanted to be up early, so by Friday noon the cranky factor was on high. Therefore I decided to meet my friend Jaime at the mall for a coffee and maybe to yell at some Telus employees. I treated myself to a nice coffee, wandered through the bookstore, and put my hand casually on the stroller handle, where I felt something weird.
Before I go on I should explain that our house is small and full of baby stuff at the moment. Also, Brian is developing our basement so there is not a lot of room for storage. I have become uncharacteristically frustrated with the clutter so the stroller has been spending a few evenings outside, on the deck. In fact it had been outside all night before. You might see where this is going.
Back to my idyllic afternoon in the bookstore. I put my hand on the handlebar of the stroller and felt something weird. I looked down, and IT WAS A SPIDER!! Okay, if you know me, you know that I. Do. Not. Like. Bugs. However, they seem to like me. When I was in Michigan it was only when my roommate was away that the centipedes came out to drink from my apple juice. So when I saw this spider did I jump into action to save my infant daughter? No. Sadly, I swore. A lot. And colourfully. And then - and this is the worst part - got a stranger to flick the spider off my stroller.
New motherhood low. Hannah thought it was hilarious. The only thing to do in such a situation - a week of frustration, dog pee and finally humiliation in the mall, is continue shopping, then go home, go for a run, and start drinking beer. Hope Hannah likes formula tonight.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Late Night - I'm Too Old For This
There was a documentary on PBS the other night about grad students at Columbia University doing the PhD program. They were doing x-ray crystallography, which even among molecular biologists borders on voodoo, and the program did a wonderful job of conveying the difficulty, frustration, and determination that science requires. In x-ray crystallography, proteins are crystallized, then x-rayed to determine their shape. I think we all assumed that once the genome was cracked that all of biology would be evident from there. Unfortunately, not only is sequence information a lot more complicated than we thought, but the sequence of a protein tells you little about how it works. Protein seqence is very much like beads on a string; imagine that the beads are magnetic and spontaneously clump up into a complicated three dimensional shape. That's what a protein does soon after its assembled; and it's this shape that determines how works.
So, imagine now that you are a young scientist, wet behind the ears, stars in your eyes, and you decide that your project will be to determine the three dimensional shape of ONE protein. That will be your life for 5-6 (7?) years. This requires isolating the protein (not necessarily easy), crystallizing it (voodoo - any number of conditions can create a viable crystal, but it rarely works the same for even related proteins), and then measuring the x-ray diffraction of this crystal using the world's largest microscope, a synchotron. THEN, IF, after years of trying, you get good crystals, you get to sit in front of your computer wearing 3-D glasses using complicated computer programs (more voodoo) to determine what the structure is. Did I mention that molecular biologists are among the most superstitious of biologists? That it is not unusual to find shrines to the gods of PCR in labs? X-ray crystallography makes PCR look like a three year old pulling a stuffed rabbit from a hat. It's the David Blaine of molecular biology.
THE POINT of all this is that people actually manage to make it through grad school doing this. In the documentary the one student of the lab who solved the problem (and subsequently published in the journal Science, maybe the second most important journal in science, depending on with whom you're arguing) succintly summed up what drove him. Obsession. You - just - can't - let - it - go.
So now imagine me, at a quarter after 10, sitting in my old lab. I'm thinking that I am definitely too old for this shit. I'm exhausted and fighting a cold, and darling Brian and Hannah are sleeping at home. I could have spent the evening planting vegetables or doing any number of homebody activities that I am shocked to discover I like doing (making cushions? Refinishing furniture? Mowing the lawn even?) I'm not even getting paid to be here. The crazy thing is that I have experiments that I didn't finish before Hannah was born, they are SO close to being done, and I - just - can't - let - it - go.
So, imagine now that you are a young scientist, wet behind the ears, stars in your eyes, and you decide that your project will be to determine the three dimensional shape of ONE protein. That will be your life for 5-6 (7?) years. This requires isolating the protein (not necessarily easy), crystallizing it (voodoo - any number of conditions can create a viable crystal, but it rarely works the same for even related proteins), and then measuring the x-ray diffraction of this crystal using the world's largest microscope, a synchotron. THEN, IF, after years of trying, you get good crystals, you get to sit in front of your computer wearing 3-D glasses using complicated computer programs (more voodoo) to determine what the structure is. Did I mention that molecular biologists are among the most superstitious of biologists? That it is not unusual to find shrines to the gods of PCR in labs? X-ray crystallography makes PCR look like a three year old pulling a stuffed rabbit from a hat. It's the David Blaine of molecular biology.
THE POINT of all this is that people actually manage to make it through grad school doing this. In the documentary the one student of the lab who solved the problem (and subsequently published in the journal Science, maybe the second most important journal in science, depending on with whom you're arguing) succintly summed up what drove him. Obsession. You - just - can't - let - it - go.
So now imagine me, at a quarter after 10, sitting in my old lab. I'm thinking that I am definitely too old for this shit. I'm exhausted and fighting a cold, and darling Brian and Hannah are sleeping at home. I could have spent the evening planting vegetables or doing any number of homebody activities that I am shocked to discover I like doing (making cushions? Refinishing furniture? Mowing the lawn even?) I'm not even getting paid to be here. The crazy thing is that I have experiments that I didn't finish before Hannah was born, they are SO close to being done, and I - just - can't - let - it - go.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Intralocus conflict in evolvability of parenting traits - it's way more catchy than "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus"
Oh, I mention gender differences in parenting and everyone gets their panties in a bunch. Cries like women. Bangs their chests. Clearly there are a lot of weighty preconceptions that come to the fore when we talk about the differences in parenting between men and women. The difference between men and women is the trite fuel of bad comedy and self help books (he's just not that into you) but it's hard to deny that there are innate differences. Well, what's innate and what's learned is a big question. Nature versus nurture, that old chestnut.
Parental investment varies a lot in the animal world. From fish that lay eggs and swim away, to seahorses in which the male invests a lot of time and care, harem-maintaining mammals, and monogamous birds. Again, from an evolutionary perspective, a lot of it boils down to the only reliable difference between males and females, in plants, animals, and insects (notably not always fungi - there can be hundreds of mating types in fungi, but I digress). Females produce larger gametes - the egg. That's it. Only difference. But from that, so much follows. Males therefore have an easier time producing gametes, hence produce, and spread, more gametes than females. Females invest more from the very start, so automatically have more reason to continue investing in this one egg. From this initial imbalance, there is a selective pressure for males to invest less, and females to invest more. But let's not take this to mean that males have it easy: even in harem maintaining species, males have to invest a great deal in fighting, attracting, and guarding females. Yet it still remains a truism biologically and in human societies: males benefit from spreading their seed far and wide and females benefit from tying them down to take care of their offspring. Bring home the bacon. Thus males are cast as rogues and women as the ball and chain.
CLEARLY this doesn't explain everything, because if life were that simple then the animal kingdom (and Calgary) would be full of harems. I was MOST disappointed, as I did research for this post, that a great model system for investigating parental investment is burying beetles. That's right. Beetles that burrow into a carcass to lay their eggs. Who knew that carrion-eating bottom feeding insects were instructive to everyone, not just Wall Street executives? Intellectually, burying beetles are quite interesting because they're the only non-social insect in which both the males and females invest care in their young. But in reality they're disgusting, their offspring are maggots, and they live in rotting dead animals. And try googling "sex determination in burying beetles" and finding anything to read that does not contain pictures. And if you know me, you know I'm TERRIFIED of bugs. I'm ashamed to admit that I have invited people over (begged?) for the sole purpose of killing a silverfish in the bathroom. Anyway, I did manage to learn, before shuddering, turning off the computer and grabbing a beer, that male and female burying beetles both care for their offspring by regurgitating rotten food and spreading the carcass with anal secretions to keep it fresh enough for the maggots to eat. It's okay, I'll wait. Go get a beer. But here's where it gets interesting. If you take one or the other partner away, the remaining parent is equally capable of performing these tasks and the offspring are fine.
So are the parents in this case completely interchangeable? Truly equally helping each other out in a completely cooperative manner? Evolution would suggest that this wouldn't be a stable situation. And sure enough, the females to tend to specialize in direct care more when both parents are present. So the authors of a particular study (Walling et al. 2008. The quantitative genetics of sex differences in parenting. PNAS, 105:47. Spoiler alert: there are pictures.) investigated whether this situation would be stable. Say if perhaps the situation changed and the species were forced to evolve such that either males or females became the predominant caregiver. This is a new and interesting type of question: basically the authors were curious as to how evolvable these traits were. And surprisingly, male direct care was less evolvable than female direct care. In other words, lack of direct investment by males wasn't just the evolutionarily smarter thing to do, it was the only option available genetically. If selection increased for male direct care, there wasn't a lot that would change in the species, because the gene for direct care in males was incapable of increasing its influence. The reason for this is the title of this post - intralocus conflict. It's complicated, and not that interesting. The take home message is that some solutions aren't necessarily the smartest evolutionary strategy: they might just be the most convenient for your genetics.
As evolutionary biologists we spend a lot of time coming up with explanations for why things are the way they are that credit selection for everything. It's nice to be reminded every now and then that selection doesn't determine everything. Thus no one gets to use "I'm evolutionarily inclined to spread my gametes" as an excuse for infidelity. And the whole question of evolvability adds another layer to the old question of nature vs. nurture. It asks us: just how written in stone is the "nature" portion of ourselves?
Parental investment varies a lot in the animal world. From fish that lay eggs and swim away, to seahorses in which the male invests a lot of time and care, harem-maintaining mammals, and monogamous birds. Again, from an evolutionary perspective, a lot of it boils down to the only reliable difference between males and females, in plants, animals, and insects (notably not always fungi - there can be hundreds of mating types in fungi, but I digress). Females produce larger gametes - the egg. That's it. Only difference. But from that, so much follows. Males therefore have an easier time producing gametes, hence produce, and spread, more gametes than females. Females invest more from the very start, so automatically have more reason to continue investing in this one egg. From this initial imbalance, there is a selective pressure for males to invest less, and females to invest more. But let's not take this to mean that males have it easy: even in harem maintaining species, males have to invest a great deal in fighting, attracting, and guarding females. Yet it still remains a truism biologically and in human societies: males benefit from spreading their seed far and wide and females benefit from tying them down to take care of their offspring. Bring home the bacon. Thus males are cast as rogues and women as the ball and chain.
CLEARLY this doesn't explain everything, because if life were that simple then the animal kingdom (and Calgary) would be full of harems. I was MOST disappointed, as I did research for this post, that a great model system for investigating parental investment is burying beetles. That's right. Beetles that burrow into a carcass to lay their eggs. Who knew that carrion-eating bottom feeding insects were instructive to everyone, not just Wall Street executives? Intellectually, burying beetles are quite interesting because they're the only non-social insect in which both the males and females invest care in their young. But in reality they're disgusting, their offspring are maggots, and they live in rotting dead animals. And try googling "sex determination in burying beetles" and finding anything to read that does not contain pictures. And if you know me, you know I'm TERRIFIED of bugs. I'm ashamed to admit that I have invited people over (begged?) for the sole purpose of killing a silverfish in the bathroom. Anyway, I did manage to learn, before shuddering, turning off the computer and grabbing a beer, that male and female burying beetles both care for their offspring by regurgitating rotten food and spreading the carcass with anal secretions to keep it fresh enough for the maggots to eat. It's okay, I'll wait. Go get a beer. But here's where it gets interesting. If you take one or the other partner away, the remaining parent is equally capable of performing these tasks and the offspring are fine.
So are the parents in this case completely interchangeable? Truly equally helping each other out in a completely cooperative manner? Evolution would suggest that this wouldn't be a stable situation. And sure enough, the females to tend to specialize in direct care more when both parents are present. So the authors of a particular study (Walling et al. 2008. The quantitative genetics of sex differences in parenting. PNAS, 105:47. Spoiler alert: there are pictures.) investigated whether this situation would be stable. Say if perhaps the situation changed and the species were forced to evolve such that either males or females became the predominant caregiver. This is a new and interesting type of question: basically the authors were curious as to how evolvable these traits were. And surprisingly, male direct care was less evolvable than female direct care. In other words, lack of direct investment by males wasn't just the evolutionarily smarter thing to do, it was the only option available genetically. If selection increased for male direct care, there wasn't a lot that would change in the species, because the gene for direct care in males was incapable of increasing its influence. The reason for this is the title of this post - intralocus conflict. It's complicated, and not that interesting. The take home message is that some solutions aren't necessarily the smartest evolutionary strategy: they might just be the most convenient for your genetics.
As evolutionary biologists we spend a lot of time coming up with explanations for why things are the way they are that credit selection for everything. It's nice to be reminded every now and then that selection doesn't determine everything. Thus no one gets to use "I'm evolutionarily inclined to spread my gametes" as an excuse for infidelity. And the whole question of evolvability adds another layer to the old question of nature vs. nurture. It asks us: just how written in stone is the "nature" portion of ourselves?
Friday, May 14, 2010
MEN
At the risk of sounding trite, I really have to talk about how men aren't necessarily natural mothers. I mean, some are great. Well, all are great once they get a bit of practice in and stop being so afraid of the baby. And having said that, I needed a bit of practice and thought that I broke Hannah when she was a day old. (Her shoulders made a clicking noise! I thought I broke one!) But let's be honest, sometimes watching dad change a poopy diaper is pure comedy.
The topic came up when I was chatting with some friends. A good friend of mine was waiting anxiously to find out if her IVF treatment had worked, so was relaxing at home watching Baby Story. (Interesting aside to pregnant women out there - DON'T WATCH BABY STORY!!! When I was pregnant a male friend of mine asked if I watched it, so I tried, and in this particular episode a WOMAN GAVE BIRTH TO TWINS IN HER KITCHEN!!! SHE DIDN'T EVEN HAVE TIME TO GET HER PANTS DOWN! I threw up and stayed awake for three days.)
But I digress. In the episode that my friend was watching, the woman opted to have a water birth. Was there ever a nouveau hippie birthing innovation that teed up more one liners? I don't think so. I'm going to change their names for privacy, so let's call them Jenny and Ted.
Ted: Won't the baby drown?
Jenny: No, it's still attached to the umbilical cord.
Ted: Like baby scuba?
Oh, Ted. This is the same man who days earlier had asked how old babies are when they open their eyes. ("They're not kittens, Ted!!!") And who recently confidently asserted that babies can't feel the difference between hot and cold.
I don't mean to pick on Ted. He's not alone. When I first told a colleague that I was pregnant, it didn't immediately dawn on him that this meant that I would not be able to spend half the year in the states anymore. When I broke the news, he said "Can't you just put it in a carboard box with some lettuce?" Although, having said that, if lettuce keeps her occupied for more than five minutes, it might not be such a bad idea.
Even Brian, who has had seven, count them, SEVEN nieces and nephews and is a natural father, does things that drive me mental. QUIT LEAVING HER UNSUPERVISED ON THE COUCH! He's a lot more physical with Hannah than I am. He gives her the airplane rides, tickles, and pretend air tosses that terrify me. He'll pick her up by the sleeper with his teeth. And you know what, SHE LOVES IT. Is DELIGHTED! Boys naturally express their affection with roughhousing more than girls - ask my sister - her three year old Harrison just cracked the cartilege in her ribs by jumping on her for a cuddle. So maybe if they're not natural mothers, they're natural something else. So even if it means answering weird questions, you gotta let them do their thing.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Mother's Day
It's late, and tomorrow is Mother's Day. My first Mother's Day as a mother. I'm a complete hypocrite when I tell you I'm excited; my family didn't celebrate the Hallmark Holidays, and we were instilled with a healthy disregard for marketing. However, to quote a friend, motherhood has made me maudlin, and I'm going to enjoy this milestone.
I was one of those women who was convinced that motherhood would be a dreamy time of watching my body do its natural, beautiful thing. In actuality, it was 9 months of nausea, swollen feet and carpal tunnel syndrome. If there was a possible weird pregnancy symptom, I had it (except for hemorrhoids, I hasten to add). I ate whole jars of pickles, a couple small packages of mustard, threw up at a conference, and lived off of apples. I got up in the middle of the night every night for a bowl of cereal, the better to avoid early morning nausea. Turns out that pregnancy was not a magical, lovely time. It was disgusting.
So in the spirit of balloon popping, I thought I would discuss the fascinating world of mother-child genetic conflict. Common pregnancy complications and side effects can be considered from an evolutionary perspective; there is evidence that gestational diabetes and preeclampsia can be the result of genetic conflict between mother and fetus.
We usually consider pregnancy and childbirth to be a cooperative endeavor between mother and child. However, as was elegantly pointed out in Richard Dawkins' seminal work the Selfish Gene, the picture is much different if you consider human procreation from the point of view of the gene. Genes are the primary vehicles of inheritance, and the only thing that matters from a gene's perspective is propagation into the next generation. Both the mother and child have a genetic interest in the survival of the child: the mother shares 1/2 of her genome with her, therefore has a strong stake in her survival. However, the mother also has the opportunity of making more offspring, so the investment in current offspring has to be balanced against the potential for investing in future offspring. The fetus has some interest in the survival of siblings, as she shares 1/2 of her genome with them, but has a 100% stake in the survival of her own genes. Thus, it can be hypothesized that the child might be interested in acquiring more of the mother's resources than the mother is interested in giving.
So the baby wants as much food as possible, and the mother would like to not have to nap in the car after she parks at work each morning. I stumbled upon an older paper that reviews some of the evidence for this sort of conflict: Genetic Conflicts in Human Pregnancy (1993, Haig, Quarterly Review of Biology, 68:495). At the beginning of pregnancy, fetal tissue embeds in the maternal endometrium and alters the tiny blood vessels it contacts to make them more porous and less able to constrict. This means that the mother is no longer able to regulate blood flow to this area and thus is unable to restrict nutrient uptake by the hungry baby. To add insult to injury, the fetus is now able to release hormones directly into the mother's blood stream such as human placental lactogen (hPL). It acts to increase the mother's resistance to insulin, thus increasing blood concentrations of glucose. If the mother is not able to release enough extra insulin to combat this, then gestational diabetes results. Did I have this? CHECK! It really meant that I had to be annoyed by ignorant dietitions (Her: Maybe you should get up two hours after your middle of the night cereal to check your blood sugar. Me: Maybe you should go fuck yourself.) It is also hypothesized that the fetus can manipulate the mother's blood pressure to increase vascular flow to the baby, resulting in preeclampsia. Again, CHECK!
Even nausea, which strikes approximately 2/3 of women, may have an evolutionary advantage. Morning sickness is prevalent in cultures around the world, and commonly involves aversion to meat, poultry and dairy products (especially HAM and the smell of skin care products from Bath and Bodyworks). Women who experience morning sickness, especially vomiting, are significantly less likely to miscarry, and vomiting peaks during the weeks where the fetus is most vulnerable to exposure to weird toxins that may be a result of food poisoning. Interestingly, morning sickness is not commonly found in parts of the world where meat consumption is much lower. All this suggests that morning sickness is an evolutionary adaptation to protect the fetus from food borne pathogens, especially those in meat (Flaxman and Sherman, 2000, Morning Sickness: A Mechanism for Protecting Mother and Embryo. Quarterly Review of Biology, 75:113).
After nine months of nausea, vomiting, diabetes and preeclampsia, I then delivered the most beautiful baby girl in the world who then goes and looks more like her dad than me. That leads to another interesting evolutionary question: is there a selective advantage for babies to look more like their fathers than their mothers? The identity of the mother is not in question, however, the father's continued support of mother and child is a lot more likely if the father is certain that the child is his. BUT - what if approximately 20-30% of babies are actually fathered by the non-resident male? This percentage is largely true for most human cultures, and also most monogamous birds. If this is the case, might there also be a selective disadvantage to looking like your father, if your father is not the one who's currently bringing home the bacon? (Daly and Wilson, Selfish Genes and Family Relations. In: Richard Dawkins: How a Scientist Changed the Way We Think. Eds, Grafen and Rifley.) Stew on that one for a while.
Was all that nausea and time in the doctor's office worth it? No question. I miss my little darling if I'm away from her for even a few hours and 1/2 of my genome is especially happy. And am I celebrating tomorrow? Damn right I'm celebrating tomorrow. I earned it.
Monday, May 3, 2010
THE RULES
1. No come ons while chewing food.
2. Only the driver can choose Sirius radio stations.
3. Pasta bowls, soup bowls and large glasses all have their own spots in the dishwasher.
4. Rules can be made up at any time.
5. When someone else is in the room, the laptop goes down.
6. The person using the laptop should not yell at the awkward keyboard.
7. No chewing gum in the car.
8. No chewing gum unless there's enough for the other person.
9. No come ons while chewing gum.
10. Only the passenger can choose Sirius radio stations.
11. No animated movies for falling asleep movies.
12. No unseen movies for falling asleep movies.
13. No more Matrix for falling asleep movies.
14. No emotional shopping.
15. No criticism for emotional shopping.
16. Make more than enough coffee.
17. Only fold your own laundry. Don't try to fold Brian's.
18. Laundry shall only be left in the machine for one day.
19. Every load of laundry for every person has a prescribed detergent/cycle/fabric softener.
20. No opening clean dishwasher without putting dishes away.
21. No Newfie jokes, sexist jokes, or jokes about the Pope.
22. Extra points for the most offensive joke.
23. No getting the dog excited about a walk with the intention of making the other person take the dog for a walk.
24. Please check separate list for rules on loading the dishwasher.
25. Every item has a place. It's just that sometimes, that place is stupid, and needs to be changed.
26. No opinions on placement of diapers is allowed unless you are the primary diaper changer.
27. No talking on the phone in the same room as someone who is watching television.
28. Turn off the television if the other person gets involved in an important phone call.
29. Turn off the television if you want to talk.
30. Turn off the television if you are not watching it.
31. Turn off the television if you can't agree on a show.
32. Turn off the television.
33. Turn on the television if Hannah is fussy.
34. No Disney movies for Hannah after the big fish in the beginning of Finding Nemo made her cry.
35. No playing of Diana Krall while Carla is in the house.
36. No making fun of Diana Krall's narcoleptic singing (she's so relaxing. Makes you just wanna get up and stretch.)
37. Take turns on wii tennis.
38. Person holding Hannah during wii tennis has a Hannah-cap, therefore, Hannah holding duties shall be shared during wii tennis.
39. No Boneyard on Sirius Satellite radio, and no Left of Center.
40. Person who made elaborate dinner is exempt from dishes duty, but not from keeping dish-doer company.
41. Person who made elaborate dinner should clean as they go.
42. Not every large dish needs to sit overnight to "soak."
43. Dice rolled on the floor during Yahtzee can be played as they landed, or rolled again.
43. No one can roll dice on floor during Yahtzee to take advantage of rule 44.
45. Person who encourages Hannah or Stella to make a mess must clean it up.
46. Stella gets first dibs on crusts.
47. Stella is not allowed on furniture, unless she asks to come up.
48. Don't make Stella come up on furniture for cuddles.
49. Rules are subject to change, challenge, ridicule and disregard.
50. No more making up new rules.
Maybe this work thing isn't so bad......
It's been a rough week for the science/mom interface. I've passed the six month mark, which I had decided while pregnant was when I thought I would definitely be ready to go back to work. I thought, ok, I can probably stand to stay home every day for six months! No more!
Turns out, I'm enjoying this dream state of new motherhood. The rhythm of Hannah's naps and meal times, hearing all her cute noises, and selfishly making sure I'm her most favorite person in the world. I'm enjoying having time to explore creative projects that I never could have before - the elaborate meals (succotash!), the interior decorating projects (the guest room!), and not least of which, this blog.
Science is a bitch of a mistress. She's fickle, mean, and likes to tease. She gives you delightful ideas, promising pilot experiments, then power failures for the big experiments. She gives you uninterpretable data, then when you finally do submit papers for publication, she gives you dick head reviewers, political decision making and slow deadlines. And this is if you manage to have a position from which you can enjoy these aspects of the job. As a postdoc, I am constantly worrying about new sources of funding and about whether I will have a job. And if I do have a job, it's borderline as to whether my position will pay enough to justify the expenditure on day care. AND, if I reach the holy grail of a faculty post, then I just get to start worrying about grants and keeping all my students, postdocs and technicians employed.
So why, why do I do this to myself? I'm not exaggerating to say that every six months or so I burst into tears and apply for crap jobs in the oil and gas industry. I remain a scientist because like a rat in a cage, I am addicted to the irregular payoff. I remember my PhD supervisor telling me that if you train a rat to hit a lever, and it gives him a reward every time, then the rat will get bored and stop hitting it. If, however, the rat gets rewards at unpredictable intervals, the rat gets addicted. It may be the basis of gambling behaviour. And is also the reason that we remain scientists.
Last week was a typical scientific rollercoaster. On Monday I learned that my favorite prof at the UofC does not have the money to hire me as a postdoc right now, so I remain unemployed. On Thursday, I learned that a paper I submitted a month after Hannah was born was accepted to BMC Systems Biology. This experiment was my favorite from my PhD and I was pretty proud that I managed to get it through the pipeline during my maternity leave. AND THEN, I got an email from my other favorite prof at the UofC asking me to meet later this week. Is there a possibility of work there? I don't know. Do I want it? I also don't know.
Meanwhile, an article I submitted to the blog carnival All Things Eco was accepted (do they accept them all? I can't help but wonder!!!) and there are some interesting articles in this issue: http://focusorganic.com/all-things-eco-blog-carnival-volume-ninety-nine/
So, whether I return to science, like a beaten wife, convinced that this time it will be different, or indulge in my fantasy of being a writer or interior designer with no training or track record is an open question! I will keep you posted.
Turns out, I'm enjoying this dream state of new motherhood. The rhythm of Hannah's naps and meal times, hearing all her cute noises, and selfishly making sure I'm her most favorite person in the world. I'm enjoying having time to explore creative projects that I never could have before - the elaborate meals (succotash!), the interior decorating projects (the guest room!), and not least of which, this blog.
Science is a bitch of a mistress. She's fickle, mean, and likes to tease. She gives you delightful ideas, promising pilot experiments, then power failures for the big experiments. She gives you uninterpretable data, then when you finally do submit papers for publication, she gives you dick head reviewers, political decision making and slow deadlines. And this is if you manage to have a position from which you can enjoy these aspects of the job. As a postdoc, I am constantly worrying about new sources of funding and about whether I will have a job. And if I do have a job, it's borderline as to whether my position will pay enough to justify the expenditure on day care. AND, if I reach the holy grail of a faculty post, then I just get to start worrying about grants and keeping all my students, postdocs and technicians employed.
So why, why do I do this to myself? I'm not exaggerating to say that every six months or so I burst into tears and apply for crap jobs in the oil and gas industry. I remain a scientist because like a rat in a cage, I am addicted to the irregular payoff. I remember my PhD supervisor telling me that if you train a rat to hit a lever, and it gives him a reward every time, then the rat will get bored and stop hitting it. If, however, the rat gets rewards at unpredictable intervals, the rat gets addicted. It may be the basis of gambling behaviour. And is also the reason that we remain scientists.
Last week was a typical scientific rollercoaster. On Monday I learned that my favorite prof at the UofC does not have the money to hire me as a postdoc right now, so I remain unemployed. On Thursday, I learned that a paper I submitted a month after Hannah was born was accepted to BMC Systems Biology. This experiment was my favorite from my PhD and I was pretty proud that I managed to get it through the pipeline during my maternity leave. AND THEN, I got an email from my other favorite prof at the UofC asking me to meet later this week. Is there a possibility of work there? I don't know. Do I want it? I also don't know.
Meanwhile, an article I submitted to the blog carnival All Things Eco was accepted (do they accept them all? I can't help but wonder!!!) and there are some interesting articles in this issue: http://focusorganic.com/all-things-eco-blog-carnival-volume-ninety-nine/
So, whether I return to science, like a beaten wife, convinced that this time it will be different, or indulge in my fantasy of being a writer or interior designer with no training or track record is an open question! I will keep you posted.
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