In this thought experiment, there is a toddlermouth containing a finite number of existent teeth, a geiger counter, a hammer, a vial of acid, and a finite number of probable teeth (which is to say, it contains a finite number of existent teeth, likely screaming gums, negative eleventy sleep, possibly painful vocalization, and a finite number of probable teeth). Without viewing said mouth or irrefutable x-ray evidence of future probable teeth, one is unable to predict with certainty the likelihood that current or future probable teeth will irritate aforementioned hammer, nor will the toddlermouth open widely for anything other than a vitamin D milk delivery system of some sort; it will most certainly not avail itself to scrutiny.
One may presume, when presented with all available data, that the toddlermouth is either in a state of intense pain, or severe sassiness. While the scientific evidence remains inscrutable, the toddlermouth simultaneously exists in a superposition of the states "in-pain," and "attention-seeking." Only when the toddlermouth gains fluent speech is true observation attained, and the wave function collapses to reveal the identity of the fussypants' inception. The real difficulty is that it is also deterministic, or more precisely, that it combines a probabilistic interpretation with deterministic dynamics.*
Even if she could speak fluently, she'd likely blame her attitude on teething, new molars or no. Hell, I would, and I've had all my teeth for a while now. It's a handy excuse for unrestrained crankiness. I completely understand, and of course, observation is always subjective.
Points of Interest: Iris now calls me "Mommy." This was completely her idea, as Kyle and I have always referred to ourselves as "Mom," and "Dad," perhaps sometimes I threw out a "Mama," but never "Mommy," and certainly never "Daddy." The fact remains, I am now "Mommy." She also says "ducky, doggy, yessie, no-ie, shoesie, shirty, flowery, planty, foody, etc." Every word now gets the "y." Funny how steadfastly we avoided those parental titles, and not only did they happen anyway, but they make us totally melt upon execution. WHY, with the cuteness, Luella?
Short Story Time: Iris and I went for a walk after dinner tonight. She really enjoys simply walking; no stroller, no holding, just walking beside you and taking in the neighborhood. We circled a three block radius and headed towards home. As we approached our street, a dog barked kind of frighteningly in a neighbor's yard, and a car turned town the super-remote street on which we'd decided to amble. I tossed her on my shoulders and jogged home. The baby bounced and giggled, and I held her waist and unnecessarily jostled her, and it was seriously the best time ever. We were both laughing so hard we were snorting by the time we got home. She had a bath and we read some books, and she asked to go to bed. She kissed me goodnight and went to sleep. It was a good day.
*Shamelessly ripped off this entire sentence from wikipedia
One may presume, when presented with all available data, that the toddlermouth is either in a state of intense pain, or severe sassiness. While the scientific evidence remains inscrutable, the toddlermouth simultaneously exists in a superposition of the states "in-pain," and "attention-seeking." Only when the toddlermouth gains fluent speech is true observation attained, and the wave function collapses to reveal the identity of the fussypants' inception. The real difficulty is that it is also deterministic, or more precisely, that it combines a probabilistic interpretation with deterministic dynamics.*
Even if she could speak fluently, she'd likely blame her attitude on teething, new molars or no. Hell, I would, and I've had all my teeth for a while now. It's a handy excuse for unrestrained crankiness. I completely understand, and of course, observation is always subjective.
Points of Interest: Iris now calls me "Mommy." This was completely her idea, as Kyle and I have always referred to ourselves as "Mom," and "Dad," perhaps sometimes I threw out a "Mama," but never "Mommy," and certainly never "Daddy." The fact remains, I am now "Mommy." She also says "ducky, doggy, yessie, no-ie, shoesie, shirty, flowery, planty, foody, etc." Every word now gets the "y." Funny how steadfastly we avoided those parental titles, and not only did they happen anyway, but they make us totally melt upon execution. WHY, with the cuteness, Luella?
Short Story Time: Iris and I went for a walk after dinner tonight. She really enjoys simply walking; no stroller, no holding, just walking beside you and taking in the neighborhood. We circled a three block radius and headed towards home. As we approached our street, a dog barked kind of frighteningly in a neighbor's yard, and a car turned town the super-remote street on which we'd decided to amble. I tossed her on my shoulders and jogged home. The baby bounced and giggled, and I held her waist and unnecessarily jostled her, and it was seriously the best time ever. We were both laughing so hard we were snorting by the time we got home. She had a bath and we read some books, and she asked to go to bed. She kissed me goodnight and went to sleep. It was a good day.
*Shamelessly ripped off this entire sentence from wikipedia
LMAO so hard might have had a little leakage. Kewt, kewt story Mommy! xxoo Patty
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