It started almost a year ago when we ventured out to church for cousin Erin’s baby’s blessing in Newton. Calvin dropped his sippy cup and it rolled under the pew in front of us during sacrament meeting. “Oh shit” he clearly said. For quite some time this remained the only incident. Until about a month ago. I was getting ready in my bedroom and Calvin was in the living room. He was playing with the car seat and the handle fell back and I heard, “Oh shit! Hunny?“ Then he started to come get me because he thought he broke it. “Shit” I thought. “It’s time to take responsibility.” (Since then it’s become slightly more common in his vocabulary.) But can you actually blame me? Sometimes it’s an “Oh shit” moment and that’s all there is to it. Nothing else can bookend the event except that 2-word phrase. Say your 2 ½ year old decides to climb the bookcase to reach something he shouldn’t and you turn around while vacuuming just in time to watch it fall on top of him. Although unharmed and saved by the LoveSac, that’s not a situation I look at, pause, meander over to and say, “Oh my goodness! Just look at you stuck under there!” Or how about when the same 2 ½ year old topples over the baby gate and lands flat on his back on the kitchen floor. (He thought he could scale it with the grip of his toes. Good plan Son.) Or when he pulls the candle warmer off of the mantle and the glass shatters everywhere, or pushes the TV off of the stand and onto the floor, or throws his head back and splits your lip open. Does this sound like a child you want carrying your 3 month-old baby around? Imagine my horror when I turned around to find him carrying my infant across the room to put her in her car seat because he's ready to go and tired of waiting. By now he's getting close enough that there's no time to jump up and physically save my baby so I say it... "Oh shit!" Then I hold my breath for the 1/100th of a second that felt more like 10 full ones until I could reach out and assist him. Now for my battle. You may call this 4 letter word a bad habit, but I consider it part of my Mother's Instinct. That's that unexplainable wonder that tells you to always assume the worst and you'll be right 99% of the time. And what would be the point of having one if I'm just going to fight it? So go ahead and judge me and my child if you want. But just remember, while you’re judging us, my kid is teaching your kid naughty words.
