In case this is the first time you’ve ventured to this blog (if so, I say 1) Why? and 2) Welcome!) I must tell you that I swear.
OK, a fair bit.
But now that I know Great-Grandma-In-Law found the url, I promise I will try to cut down on the swears, especially the big one that rhymes with puck, and truck, and muck, and duck, and stuck, and … ah you get the point.
But I can’t make any promises for The Hurricane, who, by all accounts, used her first swear – in proper context, that is – in the bathtub Sunday night.
Now, I did not witness the heinous act, as I was diligently working on yesterday’s post, but I ran to the bathroom when The Boss called out to me through fits of laughter.
So this is how the story went.
The Hurricane was having a bath, surrounded by bubbles and toys. She reached for a toy just out of her grasp and began to fall.
As she put her hands down to block her descent, she said “Oh shit”.
That’s right, my 18-month-old daughter said “Oh shit” in context, in the exact scenario as her father would.
Especially since she only first heard the word at Christmas, when her Auntie Janine dropped something in the kitchen and bellowed the expletive in front of The Hurricane’s virgin ears. Now, she’s maybe heard it a time or two since when The Boss or I let it slip, which is rare, because we try to be careful because the kid is like a giant freakin’ sponge.
So, yeah, I get that she might have picked the word up on the rare occasions she hears it, but to actually use it properly in a sentence, when faced with a definite “Oh shit” moment … well, that’s some messed up shit.
Swearing can sometimes be nasty, or funny, or necessary, and sometimes it’s just cute as all hell.
Until she says it in public … then we’ll be up shit creek.