Bitti hears a fair few swear words around here. I did start trying to minimise the blue language, but frankly I just don’t have enough fucks to give about it to stop completely.
Designating certain words as ‘naughty’ or ‘bad’ is just another reminder to her that she is not free to be herself at all, that society is going to dictate how to act, how to speak and how to think. I’d like for her to be quite a bit older before she realises she might have to compromise herself to be considered an acceptable facsimile of a human female.
A friend who knows me very well gave me Swearing is Good For You by Emma Byrne for Christmas. I have been reading this with great pleasure because of course it backs up my theory that swearing is actually the best. Not only the best, but super healthy! Well, I would be depriving Bitti the pain alleviating and all round beneficial effects of swearing if I didn’t model it for her, wouldn’t I? Also, how will she learn to swear adeptly if she has no example?
To my amazement, she doesn’t swear. Well, she uses ‘bloody’ on the odd occasion, which is cute as hell and makes me strangely proud because she mostly uses it in reference to something the cat is doing (very appropriate). However, she has mistakenly uttered the most diabolical swear word (well, the worst where I am in the world).
It was a mad rush weeknight evening so I set up a scavenger hunt for her to keep her occupied while I cooked tea. I drew ten different coloured squares on a piece of paper and asked her to find objects that matched the colours. It was working well, she was off doing her thing and I was concentrating on cooking without being dragged away just at the moment our irritatingly delicate burger buns were under the grill (28 seconds they’re perfectly toasted, 32 seconds and they’re charcoal) to explain why stickers that have been stuck and peeled off a thousand different surfaces will no longer stick to her face.
After a while she ran into a roadblock while searching for a grey object and interrupted me at the stove to announce, ‘I need help with my savenger cunt!’
It took a LOT of effort not to laugh at this, which I will take time to congratulate myself for because frankly that was superhuman. If there is a parenting award competition I can enter based on this act of restraint, let me know. I kept as straight a face as I could manage, gave her a hint for the game, and silently noted this mispronunciation to share here. You’re welcome.