October 28, 2011

Mum's the Word

Potty Mouth has always been my household name, but now that Vienna is beginning to repeat my every word, we're going to have to keep anything 'potty' in the john.

What am I going to do? The f-word is not a swear, it is a mantra; a deep long exhale on my downward dog; it's a sigh of relief. 'Fudge' as its replacement isn't cathartic, it leaves me feeling saccharine, goofy and embarrassed. F. (I said the real word out loud right there- it's best to get it out now while Vienna's still young... and napping.)

Who died and became the curse word delegator? You know what word I find repulsive and literally grating to my ears? Moist. I just threw up in my mouth a little. I hate that word so much that if someone is enjoying dessert with me and uses that word to describe our delicacy, I lose my appetite. I drop my fork with an emphatic expletive muttered under my breath and excuse myself from the dialogue. Do not use the m-word in my presence. It's totally uncalled for.

Its not just the effin f-bomb either. It's all the swears. I like them. They're my comic relief. My brief moment of sanity when I acknowledge the chaos and unleash the inner demon, I mean monologue.  I understand that a person with a foul mouth comes off as brash, inarticulate, possibly classless, and... Guyish. But only a highly intelligent individual with a keen sense of comedic timing can pull off a foul mouth effectively and hilariously. Like me.

This is not to say that I'm defending the right to swear in front of the little nugget sponges that emulate our every move. It is an honor to parent a child and it's a privilege that needs to be taken seriously. I do not want my daughter talking like me til she's at least in her mid-teens and it'll only be OK if it's funny, spot on, and amongst an appropriate audience. Otherwise she'll be up shits creek.

My husband is not a frequent swearer (is that even a word?). I realize I'm not really the best candidate for determining a 'typical' volume of swears per sentence, but he just doesn't by nature. The guy can throw a few f-bombs around when he wants to- which I find kind of hot. He's been reminding me that pretty soon I'll have to curb my voracious appetite for f's, s's and b's around the baby and I quiver in fear of utter failure. It's so deeply ingrained into the fabric of my language that I'm scared I'll not even see them coming after my stubbed toes, knocked over things and paper cuts. That and I'll probably need to take up the shooting range to blow off the steam.

The seven year old in me thinks it's side splittingly funny when a toddler swears.  This is also a problem. You're supposed to ignore an under-aged curse so that the juvie doesn't relish the attention and consider it positive reinforcement for their naughty language.  But me?  I'll laugh.  I'll say, "What did you say, sweetie?" just to hear it again cause it's amusing to me.  I'm deranged.

Living a double life as a rambunctious seven year old and as a well educated mother can be confusing at times.  Right now we're working on Vienna learning everyones names.  She says mama, dada, apparently she's said aunty, she says hi, and mmmm when she likes her food.  I hope she doesn't hear me call myself a douche bag the next time I do something stupid.  I have enough people referring to me as such, I'd rather her just call me mum.

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