I have a mouth like a sailor. This is not conducive to raising a socially acceptable child. So, I have changed my go-to phrase from “mother f***er” to “come on” (which actually gets drawn out so it sounds more like “coooommmmmme ooooonnnnnnn”). Last night, as M was trying to slide my phone open to no avail, he said, “Coooooooommmmme onnnnnnn!” At that moment, I felt AMAZING relief at my decision to give up my potty mouth for something a little more tame.
I have a very distinct memory of being 4 years old and going to see Santa at the local mall. I was in line with a million other children dressed to the nines in their winter best while I was wearing a white button down, jeans and rainbow belt. Foreshadowing? Perhaps. Once I got the chance to sit on that strange man’s lap, I took as much time as I wanted to tell him all about my brother and my toys and my just about anything else I could think about. When I was finally done and beginning to walk away, I realized I had forgotten something, “Oh shit, Mama! I forgot to show Santa my new belt.” Audible to all the parents in line and their little girls in their frilly dresses, my mother must have been just a little mortified.
That memory, along with my mini-me repeating everything I say, has solidified my decision as the right one (though I miss saying a good ‘mother f***er’ when the appropriate occasions arise).