So I’m not sure how it happened but I’m now almost 25 weeks into this journey. The time has gone so incredibly fast that I would very much appreciate it if someone could tell me where the last 10 or so weeks have gone. If the last 10 have gone so fast, the next 15 are no doubt going to be over and done with in a flash. Then, we have a child.
(stepping away from laptop to have a mild panic attack about that – be back soon)
Ok, so I’m back. Lets stop thinking about the impending arrival of this little person and get back on topic.
According to all of the pregnancy related crap you are supposed to read whilst growing something inside of you, my baby now has ears. This is awkward – for more reasons than one. But mostly – I swear. A lot. Too much many would say.
It’s no surprise to anyone that knows me that, as much as I can be a bit of a princess, I tend to have the mouth of a trucker. A pretty pissed off, drunk on cheap beer trucker. It’s not something I intentionally do and to be honest I don’t think I even realize I’m doing it most of the time. There is no denying it though. I’m a total potty mouth.
I don’t use all of the swear words. You could say I’m a snob when it comes to my swearing. The C word is totally off limits and I will judge you if you say it in my presence. The F word however, is pretty much a staple and the S word, well, that’s not even a swear word anymore is it? Oh, it is. Well, the problem may be worse than first thought.
I don’t tend to swear with malice and I try to curb my swearing when in the presence of children (not sure if I have been successful but I’m sure my friends will let me know). I do my best to keep the swearing at work to a minimum, but I don’t think I’m very successful at that. My relaxed relationship with my parents makes it hard to watch my language around them, although Dad does still tell me off (never too old hey!) and I try to not swear within 5 minutes of meeting someone for the first time.
Even with all of those things in mind, I’m still a drunken trucker most of the time.
But now HE can hear me. I’m not silly enough to think that he can understand my words, but the knowledge that he has tiny, perfect ears that have never been exposed to the foul mouth of a drunken trucker, makes me want to keep them that way.
So mission number one in the quest to preserve my little guys ears – STOP SWEARING.
Well, cut down at least. Shit, lets be realistic, you have to run before you can walk.
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/kato_von_kiwi/712869704/”>KatovonKiwi</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/”>cc</a>