In which your humble narrator, after attending to his infant daughter's attempt to sabotage his blog activities, compares her to Bea Arthur and tries again.
Having been blessed with two children, I am now involved in raising them. Their mother works full-time as a sort of statistical wizard, leaving them in my care most of the time. Child #1 is male, almost two and verbal. Child #2 is female, almost four months old and non-verbal, though very noisy. She sounds like Bea Arthur. Well, like I imagine Bea Arthur sounded as a baby. She has a low, throaty voice that carries throughout our modest abode when she's peevish. Fortunately she is much more agreeable than Child #1 who screamed pretty much non-stop until he was four months old. She only employs her aural assault weaponry a couple of times per day.
Child #1 has turned into an interesting, if confounding little person. I have high hopes for both children that they'll grow to be excellent caregivers for me when I'm old and infirm. I figure that succesful propagation of one's genetic material and the ensuing investment of blood and treasure should ensure that I don't die alone in one of those nursing homes that's occasionally featured on "60 minutes." This shall be referred to hereafter as "The Big Payoff."
