"Isn't that how you do this in python?"
"No, but that's how you'd do it if it was math."
So I'm not sure. I was dumb and smart all at once. That probably just evaluates to dumb, but complicated.
This should possibly be in tech but I didn't want to describe the syntax so you're all stuck with it.
OK Fine I'll write one more thing.
So we ran out of time for being wishy-washy about parenting, and went for it last year.
For starters, Lottie is great. I characterized babies as "eating shitting machines" prior to having my own. That's a part of it, sure. But changing a kid's actually pretty fun - they do it so often they know what's coming up, and are enjoying the time with you. (With a boy this may be different; aiming the pecker is innate to our biology and hitting things with urine is a favorite pastime of almost a third of the male population, and I estimate conservatively)
But the pooping/shitting/sleeping becomes less and less who they are, and more time is them "booting up". It's like the linux boot sequence, listing everything in order.
pooping/peeing, check (this sometimes comes ahead of breathing, as ours did)
Vision, check with problems - out to five feet, black and white only
Motor skills - "WHAT THE HELL ARE THESE LEGS AND ARMS"
Hunger - my stomach's the size of a pea. OF COURSE I'M HUNGRY!
And everything gets a little bit better, day after day. They figure out their hands (vaguely, still pull a "why are you hitting yourself?" a fair amount) and start seeing more, red and yellow coming next. To me this was rather annoying because of this tool lyric:
black and white are all I seeThere's all this debate about the lyric because the following lyrics are alchemical in nature, but I'm sorry, Maynard took a baby class and snowed all of us.
in my infancy
red and yellow then came to be, reaching out to me
lets me see
But back to babies, and not the no-clothes wearing emperors of profundity known as Tool.
The thing I started out saying is this: Lottie IS great. There's a lot of reward here already, and I am happy about my choice.
But it is a damn scary choice to make.
You can dabble in painting. "I think I want to paint!"
Nobody's going to make you do it for eighteen years.
And if you're bad at it for the first eight years and start not caring for your brushes, the state doesn't step in and take your paints away, and everyone looks at you as an asshole because your sable brushes were ratty as shit - no, nobody actually cares that much that you quit painting.
I sort of painted myself into a corner with that analogy, didn't I? I have to assume you inferred parenting is the counterpoint so I can't say that without sounding patronizing and/or condescending. Time to break the fourth wall I guess - oh look, I already did that when I changed voices. Fuck, that was condescending. I am sorry, Dear Reader. (I address you singularly, and thank you heartily for hanging in there. I promise you the payoff hasn't been thought out at all, much like the rest of this prose)
Parenting isn't something you get to dabble in. It's jumping in head first and praying it's deep enough to not break your heart.
It's just... scary.
I don't know how to articulate it. My neighbor across the alley is an old Irishman. I ran into him the other morning for the first time since Lottie was brought home. His well wishes were thus:
"Congratulations on your little one. So you know what that's all about now."
He smiled, and I knew what he meant.