Potty-trained Potty Mouth

1. Zoey is nearly 100% potty trained. Like, even at night. Like, to a point where I am so very confident in her lack-of-accidents-a-majority-of-the-time status, I am sending all residual diapers and wipes in the house to be donated to the daycare. Tomorrow will likely be the day she comes down with the stomach flu and I find myself dealing with diarrhea mixed with big-girl Dora panties. Because that's just how 2009 is treating me.

2. On Saturday morning, nearly every other word out of Zoey's mouth was 'shit' or 'damnit'. Those of you who know me understand that this is likely all my fault. (Although she tried to blame it alternately on her classmates AND her Grandma Heather. With all the praying going down at school, I'm guessing it's unlikely that potty mouths are tolerated long enough for it to spread like wildfire to the rest of the class, and I think that in the 10 years I have known my mother-in-law, I've heard her swear twice. But it might have only been once. But I digress.) Several hours of coaching on acceptable substitutes for bad words seems to have done the trick, as I heard her mutter several times yesterday 'shoot' or 'darnit'. My specific instructions to her on the way to the birthday party were: "Be nice and play gently with the other kids, let the birthday girl open her presents, AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PLEASE DO NOT SAY BAD WORDS."

3. But the sort of funny part about the whole things was the way in which she was swearing--exactly like me. As in, under her breath, quietly, thinking nobody would hear her. Her train track wasn't cooperating with her? "Damnit, tracks!" Because when Zoey is choosing not to cooperate with me, what is it that I typically mumble under my breath? "Damnit, Zoey..." I thought it would take many, many years before I would hear my own voice mirrored in my daughter's. So much for that idea.