Mommy-speak

Man. So – I went to read the NYTimes article about parenting and blogs that featured some of the more well known mommys out there such as Dooce. It was something of a ‘holier then thou’ article – and not on the part of the bloggers. No, it was someone else that was all “paying so much attention to every little thing your child does is suffocating” and worried about what the kids will think when they grow up.

That’s easy – they’ll think “FINALLY! now I can have kids and DO THE SAME TO THEM! Revenge! Revenge is mine!”

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How do I know? *L* I know because my mom did things too in her own way. For instance – for High School Graduation? There was a lovely picture of me in the local paper – TWO in fact. One? My Baby Budda Picture of me all fat and cute and NAKED in the bathtub sucking on a washrag when I was less then a year old. Next to it were the words “you must have been a beautiful baby, because baby, look at you now!” Cool huh? No way anyone would know who that baby was right? WRONG! Next to it? MY SENIOR PICTURE!

Yes, indeedy. This is a trick I’m saving for my kids too. *chuckles* It was embarassing, sure, but it was also fun and I loved every moment of it. I even have the perfect picture for the Boy when the time comes…. He developed a habit of reading in the bathroom just like daddy when he was about 2. Hee. I have a picture floating around here somewhere of him, swinging his little legs, reading a magazine – a perfect little minuature of his daddy.

I love to read me some mommy blogs – A lot of the times because I have SO been there done that. These are often new, first time mommies, who had perfect ideas of how wonderful parenthood was HAH! I, too, remember the awful poops and incredible ability to projectile vomit [not to mention the boys ability to projectile shit!] and the insistance that no toy is fit to play with but for the deoderant bottle. These are little slices of mommyhood reality, for sure. IN fact, in regards to the deoderant bottle – we had a teddy bear made special to carry our rings on for the wedding, and The Boy, a year old at the time, was to carry it down the aisle. Oh no. He carried the cap to my deoderant. *L* Wouldn’t TOUCH the bear OR the rings!

I read one blog today following the links in that article, where there was an entry about her two year old was listening to a song that “was about fucking” according to her little boy. I well remember My Boy’s inability to say “truck” around that same age. It was “Fuck, mommy Fuck!” much to my mortification. But even that wasn’t as cute as The girl. The boy was attending a church kids group called Cubbies at the time, and it was the Church-wide last night ending program. The Girl, a very precious and percocious 2 years old at the time, was something of a mascot for his class. She got to participate in the songs and such, so they invited her down with the class for their awards.

All should have been well, but for the fact I forgot one thing. Whenever someone said “stand up!” my daughter would very cutely repeat it. But it sounded exactly like this…

“dam IT!”

Yes. Somehow, in her mind, Damn it, meant stand up. Now picture this. The teacher says, to the class, in front of many many holier then thou church goers. “Alright class, stand up…” and my daughter right on cue pipes up loud enough for the entire congregation to hear. “kay, daaaaaaaaaaamnIT!”

Insert my hysterical laughter at about that point. I all but fell out of the pew I was laughing so hard. Mom and Dad both were doing their best not to outright gaffaw either while the Cubbies teacher just STARED at my preciously angelic baby girl….

Fucking priceless, it was. Absofuckinglutely priceless.

To this day, everytime someone says stand up, I am sorely tempted to parrot back “daaaaaaaaaamnIT!”