"Fuck, Mommy! Please, fuck, Mom! Mom, fuck, fuck!" said my two and a half year old while watching Zootopia one evening during dinner.
My husband and I looked up from our food/computer and stared at each other wide eyed. Then our our expressions began to change slightly. His look became that of a quiet accusation, and mine, guilt.
Our toddler is saying "fuck" over and over again, and we both know who she heard it from. It is 100% Mommy's fault, and I know it.
Obviously, if you've read previous posts, it's no mystery that I am a person who swears. I swear alllllllll the time, and I always have. As I turn to avoid my husbands gaze of disapproval I flash back to my past filled to the brim with potty mouth behavior.
It all started when I was about two or so. My grandpa was holding me, cooing, making me laugh. And as he came in for a snuggle I flashed a big smile and said, "Fuck bullshit shit dammit!" then let out one of those precious baby laughs that all parents live for. I only know this because this moment was recalled every family holiday for years and years.
Then I'm eight and riding my bike in our downtown San Jose neighborhood when I accidentally slide and tip over going at a decent speed, skinning my knees and palms. Sitting on my ground I let out a "Mother fucker! Shit!" I must have said it loud enough for one of the neighbors to come out of her house to see who this filth mouth was, and was she in need of an ambulance. I didn't think anyone could hear me and I was instantly overcome with the feeling that I was going to be in trouble for swearing. In an attempt to cover my tracks I tried to casually glance down the street and asked. "Did you hear that?" Then quickly got up and limped my bike back home.
It was when I was 12, however, and in the seventh grade that I really took to the use of curse words. I started to own them, getting very cozy with them. It was one evening when I had some girlfriends over from my middle school for a sleep over, and we were allowed to watch the Madonna documentary Truth or Dare. I loved Madonna, she was such an inspiration for me, and one of the reasons is that she had the mouth of a dump truck. Everything was "Fuck this", and "Cocksucker" that. She gave a bottle a blow job, showed her boobs, had the balls to have sex with crusty ole Warren Beatty! I mean come on! What a woman!
That doc really empowered me to jump on the "fuck" train and from that day forward I would swear constantly. It made me feel like a woman. Like no one would want to mess with someone who said the word "bullshit!" when referring to a friendship bracelet they were given. It was sexy and bad ass. Everything I wanted to be at that age. (Not for nothing, I kind of still want to be that, but alas...)
The other thing was that in my house, swear words weren't such a big deal. Don't get me wrong, I didn't go around being all, "What the fuck Mom? I wanted pepperoni on my cunt pizza! Shit!" Nothing like that, but parents did swear and my mom sort of had the philosophy that if you make a big deal out of swear words then they are given more power than they deserve. Bad words are really just words.
Sadly, I took that reasoning and ran with it all the way to buttfuck where ever and back. I wanted those words to have power. I would give them said power. They were so fun to say!
I snap back into reality where in the present moment my sweet, golden haired, baby angel has just put a mirror up to my shitty parenting where I can't seem to pull it together for five fucking minutes and not curse in front of her, well aware that kids are sponges and everything we do, they pick up!
I say, "Love, no. We don't say those words. That is not okay!"
She gives me a puzzled look.
I have a quick day-mare where she's in preschool and exclaims joyfully "These raisins are the fucking tits Miss Renee!"
"Sweetie, those kinds of words are not okay. You can't say those things. Those are bad words, and though I'm pretty sure you've heard Mommy use that word before, it's not okay. I will do better, love. I will stop using those bad words because I owe that to you. Mommy has failed you in that way, and I'm so sorry, but I will do better, I promise. But you can't say that word again, okay? That is a very bad, bad word."
My daughter stares at me for a second. I can't tell if she's considering challenging my request, or is choosing another bad word she's heard her mother say over and over just to show off her ever growing vocabulary.
"Foon, Mommy! Foon, foon. Please Mom, foon and fuck!" she replied.
As she speaks she points to the bakers rack where we keep all of our silverware. I realize what was going on. I let out a sigh of relief. She's not ruined quite yet.
She wasn't saying fuck. She was asking for a fork. A spoon and fork.
Fin.
Another great article. Love this shit!
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