Mama Has a Potty Mouth

My not-quite four year old has an amazing vocabulary. She often saying things with 100% accuracy that amaze me in their complexity and correctness.

For example: “Mama, I need my prescription glasses to improve my vision.”


“I am quite dehydrated and need some water, immediately.”


“Excuse me? Why did you leave this out on the counter? It’s covered with condensation.”

These are all daily occurrences in my house. Or things of the same ilk.

So imagine my surprise when my daughter is playing with legos (yes, she’s three. We monitor her, she has a special area and only plays with them when the baby is asleep, so hush. I’m not pulling legos out of nostrils or anything, I swear) one day and she says, clear as a bell, “Where is that fucking suitcase?”

My husband and I stop and look at each other. I ask “What did you say?” (I think I was just stalling. There’s is rarely, if ever, any doubt what my daughter says. I think we can count on one hand the number of times she’s mispronounced a word).

Susan looks right at me and says, “I said ‘Where’s the fucking suitcase?'”

Scott and I typically just ignore these sort of outbursts. Yes, outbursts. I wish I could say this is the first time, but it’s not. I also wish I could blame even some of it on my husband or my teenage children. Nope, no chance.

“Damn cat!”  – that was me

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” – yup, me, too.

“FUCK ME!” – also me

“This is a big fucking deal.” – okay, that one was my husband (he was quoting Joe Biden)

Sigh. Mama has a potty mouth. I’ve never really cared before, but I’ve managed to turn my little one into a potty mouth too.

It’s not that I don’t care or that I don’t try. I do both of those things. Poorly. I try. And fail. In fact, I recently was at a fourth of July party and one of the fellow party goers kept throwing glow sticks at me and announcing “F-bomb!” every time I dropped it. Which was often. (It didn’t help that I’d had a fair amount to drink either…)

Unfortunately, this wasn’t even the first time that she’s used the word fuck as an adjective. So we decided to address it.

I said to Susan, “Let’s not use that word.”

S: “Why?”

Me: “It’s not really a nice word.”

S: “But you use it.” Touche.

Me: “You’re right, and I shouldn’t.”

S: “Listen, Mama. You should stop saying those things.”

Sigh. Yes, yes I should. My three year old is nothing if not right about every. Fucking. Thing.


Did I mention I need to stop cursing so much?


Anyone know how?


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