My parents didn’t swear at all when we were growing up. We were even dissuaded to use the word fart, our parents allowing us to say, “Who gassed?” instead. So how I ended up with a mouth that can put a sailor to shame–I don’t know.

I admit, at times, I have a potty mouth. I also admit that I have very poor timing. One instance involved both. Two Christmases ago I unwittingly blurted out WTF in a packed restaurant as we took part in a white elephant gift exchange. It wasn’t my fault entirely…tequila was involved. Which brings me to my next point.

There are 3 things that bring out my potty mouth: 1) drinking 2) watching football 3) getting woken up in the middle of the night. What am I a caveman?

They say that people with a poor vocabulary resort to cussing. Those people are wrong, cursing can be quite colorful and creative. I like to use it as decoration or an accessory, if you will. Sometimes it’s just a way to release. However, I realize that I need to put an end to it. I want my daughter to think the F word is fart and blush when she hears it. Didn’t work for me though, so I’m aware this will be a difficult job.

There’s no excuse for the first two things I listed. But I have to say that #3 is going to be a hard one to break. There have been many nights when I’ve pulled myself from bed without a word –a loud, exhaustive sigh–yes, but no words. But then there are those nights when a string of curse words escapes my mouth, grumbled to the darkness. I guess I won’t repeat them since I’m in the process of trying to break this nasty habit, but the latest was along the lines of “Bleep me in the bleep on Easter Sunday!” Not my proudest moment.

Maybe I acquired my potty mouth when I went to school in New York (for just 4 short months). People there pepper in “bad” words nonchalantly, so that you barely even notice they’ve said ’em. Or they just don’t give a fuck, whoops, shit, oops, care. When my professors used curse words, I thought “this is how the real world speaks.” Then I returned to my small town in California, and it was not how the real world spoke, not the world I was from.

I don’t want to threaten my daughter with washing her mouth out with soap (something my brothers and I heard from our mom, who once upon a time had it done to herself). But I don’t want her running around saying shitburger or ass clown either. Guess I’ll have to cut out drinking and football. Nah, I’ll just wear a muzzle instead.

Super Nanny = Birth Control?

Why didn’t I ever watch Super Nanny before I went and got knocked up?!? Had I tuned in, perhaps my husband would’ve won the argument to remain a kid-free household. (We all know who won that one!) But now that we have our beautiful daughter we’re glad we took the leap to become parents. I can’t imagine not ever knowing her. Ask us again in thirteen years…we might be singing a different tune. Then again, some of the worst of these hellions is under the age of five. So we might be closer than we think to dealing with our own little Tasmanian devil.

Lord, I hope that I never need the help of Super Nanny. The children on this show scare the crap out of me. Cussing, hitting, screaming, breaking things, extinguishing their parents’ will to live. I don’t know who’s going to be the disciplinarian out of the two of us. My hubby likes to think he will be a strict dad…but we all know what super strict parents gets you. Hello, rebel without a cause! I refuse to be a grandma at 45 though, so maybe he’s right when it comes to setting rigid rules. But our daughter already has him wound so tightly around her itty bitty finger, I doubt he’ll be anything but a big ol’ softie! I’ll probably end up the bad cop…naturally.

I never put much thought into the actual parenting part that goes in to bringing up baby, or at least I never made it past the diapering stage!(Surely, I can’t be the only one? ) You think you get pregnant, have your bundle, and ride, sail, or drift off into the sunset…until one day you realize that the decisions you make will shape this little baby’s world and then you have your first ever panic attack! So, I try not to think about the day she’ll shout that she hates me, wishes she was never born, and slams her bedroom door in my face. For now, our biggest hurdle is when she becomes a fusspot because she missed a nap…nothing Super Mummy can’t handle!