Swear jar

Sometimes there is no better word than fuck. It has so many meanings! 

Fuck this! 

Fuck that! 

Fuck you! 

Fucking amazing! 

Just. Fuck! 

But now I have a child. A new sponge that is soaking in all the shit that is spilling out of my potty mouth. I have no brain to mouth filter. How do I stop it? How do I prevent him from becoming that kid at school who knows all the bad words?

I was taught that swearing was naughty at a very young age! I remember giving my mum the middle finger and saying ‘Hey Mum! What does this mean?’ I think she was gobsmacked! I got a right bollocking. 

Growing up you learn all these obscene words at school or from your friends etc. I never learned any from home. There was the occasional ‘shit’ or ‘bloody hell’ but nothing detrimental to my young impressionable brain. 

I want the same for Henry. I don’t want him to grow up flipping the bird to random people or telling his teacher to piss off! 

I am happy to contain my foul language to my blog. I can vent and fucking swear until the cows come home. But I am drawing a line now. No more swearing at home! 

So what will it be? A swear jar? A black mark against my name? Do I put myself on the naughty step? 20 press ups everytime I let a bad word slip? (That could work! I would be super fit in no time)

I will start with the swear jar. Well, kind of a swear jar. Every time I swear I will put money into Henry’s money box.

Wish me all the mother fucking bastard luck! 

#swearjar #motherhood #forfuckssake 


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