F Bomb

We were nearing the end of my pregnancy with Henry and the weekly trips to the doctor were too frequent to be exciting for 19 month old Charlotte. This meant that  we had to come up with some new ways to keep her entertained.

That day we had all of the necessities including her favorite toys, books, crayons, and most importantly,  a snack. This week she chose to bring a bag of black beans to munch on.... not weird at all.

Everything seemed to be working out. The waiting room was actually entertaining enough that we didn't have to pull out the big guns until we made it into the exam room.  I was starting to feel like we were going to make it through the appointment without incident.  Then the doctor walked in and in a matter of minutes Charlotte went from looking like a well adjusted child with an organized and prepared mother, to the next generation of damaged youth.

The inital red flag was when Charlotte spilled her beans on the floor.  Usually she would do something like eat them off the floor, stomp on them to watch them explode, or try to convince Petey (the dog) to eat them.   This time around she got all OCD and insisted on cleaning them up and even asked for a wet paper towel to wipe the floor with. If I was the doctor I would have been concerned that there were some child labor laws being seriously broken at home. 

The second concern was when she decided to hop onto the scale to see how much she weighed.  It unfortunately didn't come off as a small child engaging in imaginative play, but rather as more of a scheduled weigh in to ensure she was keeping a trim figure.  It certainly didn't help when she said "wow, that's a lot of pounds!"

I was already getting a little nervous that the doctor would suggest I take my child  in for a psychological evaluation (or myself to some parenting courses) when Charlotte decided to check her height.  She lifted up that little arm that hangs low on the height rod and slowly started sliding it up.  When she got it above her head she let it go assuming it would stay put but it slipped and hit her right in the head. 

C: "Fuck!"

Yup, mother of the year here.  My daughther dropped an F Bomb in the doctor's office. 

I learned a couple of things that day:

#1 When there is an audience your kids will never behave normally

#2 There is this thing called receptive language and it starts way sooner than you would think.

Do yourself a favor and get a quarter jar while you're still pregnant.




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