When I accidentally taught my then two-year-old daughter to swear I assumed that I was a terrible mother. I’d been doing so well to curb my potty mouth inclinations – I replaced my usual ‘go-to’ curse words with baby-friendly exclamations like “crab sticks” and “wally beans” (surprisingly effective actually) and fought the urge to yell obscenities at tailgating cars.
But, despite my best efforts, a bit of swearing slipped out. I was in the kitchen putting things away and dropped a big cooking pot on my foot. The pain was instant as was the vocal reaction, “FU*KING HELL!!” I bellowed as I hopped around in agony.