Like Cussing Mother, Like Cussing Daughter

According to my sister Bridget, the first time I cussed was when I was four.  Eight siblings had just crawled out of the backseat of our dad’s station wagon.  I was about to follow suit when Bridget closed the door in my face, forgetting that I was still in the car.  Realizing her mistake, she turned around to open it.  Before she could, she read my little lips as I yelled, “oh shit.”  I was angry and surprised and I had no other choice but to curse my way through the situation.  I don’t think I’ve stopped swearing since.

Darla is an even earlier bloomer than I was.  It was a proud moment in my life when I realized that my 18-month-old daughter was a swearer.  This special occasion happened for me when I gave Darla a juice box filled with coconut water.  She took a long, satisfied pull from it, slammed it down on the table and said, “Oh S” (but it’s not just “s”) with a big grin on her face.  Greg and I looked at each other and put our heads on the table.  The most troubling part about this wasn’t the fact that she said it, but that she had reached a level of sophisticated cussing that she completely bypassed the frustrated or angry profanity and went straight for the joyful use. 

This is a wake up call for me.  Although I’ve been very conscious not to let vulgarity rein, I’ve let a few (or maybe a little more than a few…) muttered profanities pass my lips in her presence.  Sometimes, it came as a result of running late for an appointment and seeing that Darla had decided to take my bag and dump it all over the floor.  Other times, it was when I’d been so excited by something cool Darla has done (like dancing like a “Maniac”) that I exclaim, “that’s f’ing amazing.”  I’m 100% to blame for this and I apologize in advance to all of the parent’s Darla and I come in contact with.  Darla has been known to teach other kids such wonderful things as “no, no, no, no, no” or screaming at the top of her lungs.   Here’s just one more thing to add to your list of “things my child learned from Darla that I now have to unteach it.”

I’m at a loss of how to deprogram Darla, but I have been trying my hand at redirecting her language.  Here are some examples:  When Darla says the s-word I pretend she has said “cheese.”  With her garbled tones, it’s an easy mistake to make.  I’m hoping after enough rounds of this, she will get confused and think she’s actually saying cheese.  Also, I believe I’ve heard Darla say the b-word, but I just translate that to “peach.”  When the day comes when Darla says the f-word, I imagine I will have to think she’s saying “fork” and pass her the utensil. 

I’m hoping this plan works.  I try not to let my mind linger on the fact that she may just end up saying the s-word every time she wants a slice of cheese.  

Let Sleeping Darlas Lie

I was guilty and anxious before I had a baby.  The situation has not improved at all.  It’s actually gotten worse.  Especially on the days I work from home.   I want to give 100% to Darla and 100% to work.  Neither is possible and I end up feeling like a horrible failure as each only gets about 30% (don’t ask me where the other 40% is.  I think I lost it somewhere in my second trimester

Today was shaping up to be one of those frantic afternoons (darting between feeding Darla, doing laundry, setting up the bakery’s insurance and, maybe, squeezing in a bathroom break) when my working day came to a grinding halt.  After attempting to logon to my email, I found that the Internet was down.  I reset the modem several times.  I had no other solutions beyond this, so I started walking in circles.  I stopped walking when I realized that I had forgotten to pay the bill.

“That’s an easy fix,” I thought and called in my payment.  The automated system told me it would take half an hour for my service to be turned on.  I was at a loss and resumed walking in circles.  My plans for a frantic day were nothing without the Internet

Darla smiled up at me from her high chair.  She rubbed her eye and tugged her ear.  There was my answer.  I was being summoned to begin the most stressful part of my afternoon: getting Darla down for a nap.  This involves a lot of deafening howls and countless trips into her room to coax her down from standing up in her crib.  After a half hour, I would most likely give up on a crib nap and just put her in the car to fall asleep so I can run errands. 

Today, I didn’t feel like getting into the ring with Darla, so I decided to let her fall asleep on our bed.  After 15 minutes of shrieks and trying to keep Darla from sitting up, I gave up and gathered her into my arms.  I lay her head on my chest and she stuck her thumb in her mouth.  Within a minute, she was fast asleep in my arms and I lay back while she sighed deeply on my chest.  As I listened to her breath, sadness came over me.  I realized that laying her sleeping body across my chest on a warm afternoon with little strands of light coming through the window wasn’t going to last forever.  Her little roly-poly body would only be able to lie on me for a finite amount of time before she learns that she and I are not the same person.

For a moment, I thought about all the work I should be doing besides holding Darla in my arms.  This was a useless thought.  One year from now, was I going to regret not folding the laundry?  Probably not.  Would I regret not taking advantage of an opportunity to rest with my daughter?  Definitely. 

I hugged her tighter and felt incredibly sad that I couldn’t lay there with her forever and incredibly grateful for the fact that I forgot to pay our Internet bill.  I bought myself a chance to be 100% a good mom.   I closed my eyes to just let it all soak in when Darla lifted her head and poked my eye open.