Who Taught Him to Talk?

First words. The babble of that first word fills a parent's heart with pride and anticipation. Ah, just think of all the amazing things he or she will say in the coming years. Look at how communicative this little person is becoming! Imagine the insightful conversations we'll share as they learn and grow...sigh...it's a beautiful thing. Except that not every word they say is cute. Owen's picked up the odd curse word and, of course, I have no god-damned idea where he got those shitty words from. Those little gems are easily dealt with though. When we're done disguising our giggles as coughs, we've explained to Owen that a word he's using is ugly and unwelcome in our house. Usually, he's accepted that and traded out the offending word for something cuter. Done and done. Problem solved. Aren't we just the greatest parents ever? Nope.


Owen screwed me over recently and I wish it had been a swear word he'd dropped in the home of one of my friends. It wasn't. Let me explain- I've been lucky enough to connect with some other moms at the local rec centre, and I could tell right away that a couple of them could easily move out of the "mom friend" category and into the "actual bonafide girlfriend" category. Who couldn't use a few more of those, right? So one of these lovely gals invited my kids and I over to her place for a tea party (I know, how distinguished, right?) I chatted with the other moms while Owen played with the kids in the room next door, everything was great. Just the bees knees (that's tea party talk).  That is until my friend told the kids that the T.V. was out of commission and needed a repair. Owen waltzed right over to her and said (very articulately) "Why is your house like garbage?" Her house isn't even remotely like garbage, not that it matters. Her house is beautiful, immaculate and easily puts mine to shame, but that's not the point. I grabbed his skinny little arm and dragged him to another room to explain just how rude and embarrassing a comment like that one is. I turned him around and marched him back in there to apologize but, holy crap, that one-liner took the wind right out of my sails. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me and the mouthy brat I came with.

 By spending the past 4 years assuring him that everything he has to say is valuable to me, have I encouraged him to feel that every fleeting thought he has is worthy of expression? Have I encouraged him to articulate his frustrations at the expense of others? Should a four year old be the proud owner of a "think before you speak" filter? Maybe I've dropped the ball on the "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all" lesson. I'm trying to comfort myself with the belief that I'm probably not the first mother to be embarrassed by the crap her kid has come out with, I probably won't be the last. It's only mildly comforting, I'm still going to need that Merlot. Now, I can't help but look at Simon with unease. That baby, with his sweet baby blabber, is a ticking time bomb. How long until he drops the f-bomb at a kid's birthday party? Or tells my friend that he doesn't like her ugly pants?

Tonight, when I snuggle that sweet baby before bed, I'll remind him that there's no need to rush the whole talking thing. When I put Owen down, I'll kiss that little fartface and remind him that I love him no matter what mistakes he makes.


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