They say it all slows down once you have a baby. You might do it once or twice, but not that often. And hopefully, you never get caught by your kid and have that awkward moment when you have to explain what mommy and daddy are doing.
For my husband and me, the opposite happened after the birth of our son. We didn’t slow down at all. In fact, we’re at it a few times a day, sometimes even in front of the baby. We can’t help ourselves. We just can’t stop saying the word FUCK.
Curse words may not be polite and certainly should be used sparingly but oh, how good it feels to belt one out. Your car gets hit, you scream, “FUUUUUCK” and magically you feel better. A friend tells you she caught her guy cheating, you offer an empathetic, “FUCKKKKK.” Your boss passes you over for a promotion. You think, “what an asshole,” but it feels even better to call him, “A FUCKING Asshole.” Fuck is to language what garlic is to pasta. It adds flavor and spice and makes life a whole lot more fun.
Except when you’re a parent.
I have about ten thousand new parent books. They cover the gamut of subjects related to child rearing. Sleep books tell you that if your kid doesn’t sleep, he’ll likely become a serial killer. Nutrition books suggest that if you’re not giving your kid completely organic food, he’ll be unable to get past the third grade. And discipline books say if you haven’t taught your kid the word “gentle” by the time he’s three hours old, there’s a good chance your kid will be taking the short bus from school directly to “juvi.”
I’m now reading a book about how to increase your baby’s intelligence, which states that babies can understand language long before they can verbally respond. If you were to spend time with my husband Justin, you’d know that this presents a problem; a big fucking problem to be exact.
You see, the word FUCK is an important part of Justin’s vernacular. When he’s angry, he channels his inner Larry David and proudly exclaims, “Go Fuck Yourself Larry.” A martini might be described as, “so fucking good.” And a bad day on the stock market might be explained with, “we’re fucked.” For him fuck is an ever-present friend whom he relies on to add color and express his truest emotions.
But we’re parents now. He’s got to clean up his act. He’s got to change his ways. It’s time for him to go on the Fuck Diet.
