I have a potty mouth. Always have. At the age of 3, I horrified my sweet, church-going, southern Granny when, while playing an innocent game of “This Little Piggy,” she stopped at my pinky toe and I said “GOD DAMNIT, I can’t find my way home!”…”Whaaaaaaaaat’d she juuuuusss saaaay?” When I was 4, I dropped a pair of my dad’s rosary beads and yelled, “JESUS CHRIST”…we were in church. While driving my mom’s best friend to the airport, I chirped from the backseat, “Mom, is mother f’r a bad word?!” I’ve eaten soap…more than once. Most recently was when one of the pgglets caught me dropping the F bomb – “I HEARD THAT MK!” “SHIT!” I took a squirt to set an example. That same pgglet caught me again just the other day. F!!! I don’t do it on purpose; it’s just part of who I am. I was actually surprised to find that other friends don’t have swearing arguments with inanimate objects. I’ve been known to call the ottoman a mother f’r after stubbing my toe. Salsa jars often get a “Oh, you wanna F w me right now!?” as I struggle to open them. Anytime my female dog walks into the room, I say in a high pitched voice, “Hi, you little bitch!!” My husband often gets the same endearing greeting.

I will say in my defense that I rarely swear in front of my kids. If I get caught, it’s because they sneak up on me. I try to keep my verbal indiscretions isolated to the laundry room, the pantry and the freezer when I’m wrestling with my huge bottle of titos the tater tots.

The point of all this backstory? My 10 year old son seems to have inherited my predisposition for profanity. Rewind 5 years. We are having a great mother-son moment in Dunkin Donuts over a few munchkins. I ask for 3 munchkins and we grab a table. Much to my boy’s surprise, he opens the bag and finds FIVE donut holes. “Oh my FUCK, Mom! Do you know why I said ‘OH MY FUCK’? Because I am so happy!” Holy shit, did that just happen? Did anyone hear that?!!? “Ok bud, that’s awesome but you CANNOT say that!!”

Fast forward to present day and my 5th grader has picked up ALLLLLLL kinds of words. For those judging, when pressed, he claims they were gleaned from the lunch table. Honest Abe would tell me if he learned it by watching me. That kid literally cannot tell a lie; one of the benefits of his Autism Spectrum Disorder, and one I hope to cash in on when he and his sisters are in high school. “Mom, there was a party, Charlotte had a beer and Reagan had 5 and ended up dancing on the kitchen table.”

Now, our conversations are more like: “Curse this bitch rain!” “Mom, I need to take a shit, not the swear word, the poop,” and my personal favorite, when getting dressed for Easter Sunday mass, “I hate these fuck pants! Why couldn’t Jesus have risen on a Monday??!!” I mean…he gets the meaning of the holiday!! Winning!!

Just a few weeks ago, we were cuddling at bedtime and this went down…(loud bang on wall from his sister in the next room) “SHIT! What the FUCK was that?!” LIAM!! Please, watch your language!!! “Sorry Mom! You know I have trouble controlling my language…why is God treating me like such a little BITCH!?”

I mean. If the shoe fits.

Seriously though. Does the language bother me? OF COURSE. Do I cringe every time at how much he has over-exposed his sisters to his extensive truck driver vocabulary. YES. Do I wish it would stop? DUH. But the bottom line is that he is in a very good place. Like, the best place he has been in years. He is happy; thriving socially and making great strides academically. He is about to launch into the world of middle school in a few short months, and I think he ACTUALLY might be ready. So, we pick our battles. He doesn’t swear at school or with his grandparents, which is more than I can claim.

In the meantime, maybe I should consider cleaning up my act a little too.

Shit.

~Mary