Not Again

I realize that my hubby has a potty mouth. There is not much I can do about it. It is just a part of him. Thanks to teaching, I am so used to censoring myself around children that using "fudge" instead of "fuck" or "shoot" instead of "shit" is second nature. I have tried to correct him, but I don't like to be a nag. Now I just tell him that he will have to deal with teacher calls over inappropriate language.

 

Surprising, the naughty language perpetrator was Angela. As I made breakfast for Alice, I heard her happily babbling in her crib. I went upstairs to take her out. Upon seeing me, Angela became very excited. She tried to hop up, but she got tangled in her sleep sack and fell down.

 

"Oh, fuck."

 

My brain shot into overdrive. "Did I hear that right? Did my toddler just use the word 'fuck'?" I had just convinced myself that I must have misheard her when Angela tried to stand again and fell over.

 

"Oh, fuck."

 

There is nothing quite like hearing your 20 month old drop the F bomb first thing in the morning. While a large part of me was horrified, I have to admit to feeling a little bit proud. She did use it in the right context, after all.