Today’s moanermum commandment… Thou shalt not f&*king swear
After hearing my 3 year old blurt out “for fuck sake” at a family birthday party, I knew I had to give up swearing like Gordon Ramsay and drastically modify my language. I now have the internal monologue of a tourette’s sufferer, and thanks to the swear box that takes my money like a fruit machine, I may need to take Kerry Katona up on her payday loan offer. Self-censorship is so hard after you’ve stepped on another piece of Lego and wiped shit off the bathroom wall for the tenth time. Don’t ask me why my boys refuse to use the toilet paper I’m the only one who replaces, but it’s the cause of most of my colourful language.
Swearing has a legitimate function, Kids can push your buttons, and swearing can prevent you from hurting somebody. We’re warned that smacking and swearing at your kids doesn’t work, but how many times can you put a kid on the naughty step before it renders it powerless. Sometimes I wish somebody would put me on the naughty step, just so I could get some ‘me’ time.
Parenting pushes you to your limits. Sometimes there’s just no substitute for a F-bomb when the pressure’s really on and it’s way to early for a glass/bottle of wine. Driving in rush hour traffic can see you spitting out profanities like Catherine Tate’s nan, and even a nun with a vow of silence would fire out expletives after she’s sat in piss because somebody’s forgotten to lift the toilet seat, AGAIN. Not being able to swear is like having an itch you can’t scratch, a spot you cant pick. But Kids are like parrots, and if you don’t want to be cleaning potty mouths along side potty bums , stop bloody swearing.