Split-Screen Brain: Lab Notes & Lunch Notes

Expectation vs. Reality, plotted on one very caffeinated timeline. Reheats: x3. Blueberries: everywhere.

Two open tabs in my brain:

At work: I’m supposed to be sketching the experiment plan - timelines, growth factors, the whole “how to grow spinal cord organoids to cure chronic paralysis” thing. Instead I’m annotating the protocol with a grocery list.

• Day 3: add BMP growth factor (also: do we have broccoli?)

• Day 7: a skosh of retinoic acid growth factor (vitamin A like in Wesley’s carrots.. no, Wen - focus).

• 37°C incubation (a.k.a. Crock-Pot temperature for tonight’s marry me chicken? mmmm…).”

At home: I’m steaming carrots and suddenly calculating ventralization. “Do we push this puree toward sweet potato (FGF-ish energy) or introduce peas (dorsal nuance)?” Nap window = incubation time. Plating cells = plating dinner. Gentle agitation at 60 rpm = shaking the pouch up with some water so he’ll actually be hydrated and not get chapped lips

The punchline is: the tabs never close. Science sneaks into the kitchen; the kitchen sneaks into the lab. And maybe that’s okay. The same muscles - planning, timing, noticing - grow both tiny neurons and a tiny human. Precision at work makes me calmer with dinner. Tenderness at home makes me more patient with cells that refuse to grow on schedule (rude).

Working theory: parenthood doesn’t steal focus; it re-routes it. I’m not failing at balance - I’m cross-training.

If your brain runs two programs at once, you’re not broken. You’re bilingual.

Now excuse me while I label tomorrow’s media… and Wesley’s meatballs.