Baby Swears

Junior giving us a bit of the ‘you have no assblasing idea how hard it was to get here’ look from the fall line.

As adults, we try not to swear in front of our spawn.


With that said, our wonderful offspring aren’t as thoughtful. In fact, they can’t even really speak. So this is a parent’s guide to understanding the capitulating world of baby swears.

The ‘you son of a bitch’:

They are screwing around with some laundry detergent and about to stuff a couple of table spoon fulls into their gaping maw. You sweep in and save them from themselves. That look they give you? That is the ‘you son of a bitch’.

The ‘what is your goddamn problem’:

They got ahold of the pet. Be it by the ears or the tail or the face, whatever, they are having a great time on the Manhandle Ranch (Womanhandle? Personhandle?). Then you hear the growl that says, “I’m going to chew on your neck” and you pull the animal away. That look, the one that usually follows with a couple of frustrated head slams into the floor, that is the ‘what is your godddamn problem’ look.

An example of the ‘you woke me up for this bullshit’. Mr. Zyp feels the pain.

The ‘you woke me up for this bullshit’:

It’s 5:30 am. You have things to do and since you are an idiot, you thought you’d try to get them done early and have the rest of your day free to quietly whimperbate in the shower. Aside from thinking that was a possibility, your other stupid move was waking up your toddler* and trying to dress them in order to get them associated with the program. That look, the one when you are getting while trying to change a diaper super fast because you got things to do…that look you get right before a level seven meltdown…the one equivalent to an infant claymore…that is the ‘you woke me up for this bullshit’ look.

*My little hell sleeps until 10am every morning. I’m sorry if this does not apply to you.

The ‘you have no assblasting idea how hard it was to get here’:

By popular demand.

They’ve pulled themselves up onto a chair and placed their hands on the kitchen table. They look around, surveying the area. They spot a pen. Then they see something to write on and formulate a goal. They slowly throw one leg up on the table. They stop to think. Was this a good idea? Come to think of it, what the crap is a good idea? They plow through this existential blockade to drag their padded asses up onto the table with the endgame in sight. The pen…in hand! The thing to write on…placed within writing distance! And right before they put the quill to the parchment, you sweep in and bugger everything up. That look of betrayal and denial, that is the ‘you have no assblasting idea how hard it was to ge here’.

The ‘fuck it all fuck everything’:

Tantrum. Drug store. You just want to buy some goddamn condoms. Then the…you get it by now.

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