You know me. I don’t allow profanity in my home. “No cussin’, no fussin'” – that’s my motto. (“Men shouldn’t wear shorts,” is another one of my mottoes.)
Well, my little miracle baby just about crossed the line last night while I was feeding him dinner yesterday. I was feeding him rice cereal, which he likes, but I periodically snuck in spoonfuls of mashed chicken and sweet potatoes, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
My baby’s face, which, as discussed, is very expressive, suddenly launched into a profanity-laced tirade that would make even the saltiest of sailors blush.
My stars, I swear to you, he did not learn any of those words from me. (I don’t want to point fingers, but it was probably his mother. Again, I’m not playing the blame game here, but I definitely blame her. Without a doubt. Still… not pointing or blaming. But it’s her fault.)
Me: Mmmm, yummy…
My Little Miracle Baby: Yay! Rice cereal! I could eat this all day!
Me: Well, that’s all I’m giving you, I promise.
MLMB: Yay! I’ve never been so happ… what the *@$! was that?! What did you just put in my mouth? It tasted like garbage. Like you spooned garbage into my mouth. Why would you do that?
Me: Oh, don’t be silly…
MLMB: Oh, my %&@^ God, I’m choking! I’m going to die! You did this to me, you &@%$#!&*@%@…
Me: There’s no need for that kind of talk. Here, try this one.
MLMB: Okay, fine, but this better be the sweet stu… oh, dear Jesus in %&@^, what is this? What the *@$! is this? What have you done, you sadistic &@%$#!&*@%@?!
Me: Okay, okay. How about this one?
MLMB: Ah, that’s more %&@^ like it… wait no! You’ve %&@^ fooled me again! You better not let me out of this *@$! chair because I will end you. Don’t go to sleep tonight, &@%$#!&*@%@?!.
Me: I can’t believe you’re saying all of this with just your face.
Of course, my son is also a fan of the crying/eating method, wherein he weeps forcefully, then takes a bite, then weeps forcefully, then takes a bite – which is more or less how I spent my evenings in high school.