Tuesday, May 31, 2011

We Let It All Fly

I've tried to explain this to people before, but once you become a mom, everything changes.  Your personal habits get put under a microscope, as children watch and retain everything.  You learn very quickly that you model the behaviour you want them to have, because what ever behaviours you have, they will model.  So, when it comes to foul language, you just cut it out, or mostly out if you happen to have some serious road rage.  Regardless, you do your best to only use the kind of language that you would like them to have.  This is why, on any given night, if you were to pop in to a "Moms Night Out" somewhere, you might here the kind of language coming out of the mouths of those mothers that would make a sailor blush.  Well, not really.  As someone married to a sailor, I can say that it wouldn't actually make them blush, but they would be quite proud of you.
The point is that when we get together, sans little ears, we let go just a little.  Sometimes, we let go a lot.  As a mother, you have to repress a lot of urges.  You can't yell "d*mn it" because your child walked in behind you as you were getting their chicken nuggets out of the oven, spooked you so that you jumped, and you burned your hand.  You really can yell "Holy sh*t!" when you find sh*t left all over the bathroom by a toddler who has supposedly learned to wipe themselves when they go number two.  And most importantly, you can not yell "What the f**k?" when you walk into the play room, where your child has been "playing nicely" for the last 30 minutes as you do laundry, only to find massive piles of muddy dirt and sand, carried in one bucket at a time, in the middle of the floor, because Barbie wanted her beach house to really be on the beach.
You can't do any of these, and so many more.
So, when it is our time, we not only get to retell all of these fantastic stories, but you get to tell them in a very colorful, inappropriate language filled way.  In fact, you get to tell a lot of stories about things that you wouldn't normally talk about.  We talk about what our boobs look like, now and before children.  Moms talk about their birth stories, including how their vaginas fared. I mean, really, there is very little that I would say, in the context of being a mother, that is considered off limits.
That means, if you happen to be the college kids in the coffee shop on the same night as the moms meet for a Moms Night Out, you had better hope you brought your head phones for your iPod or laptop, because no matter how many dirty looks you give us, we aren't going to shut up, and no matter how hard you try, you will never get some of those descriptions out of your head.  Give us a break, though, we have had to wait weeks to be able to say all those pent up curse words you hear spewing out, and frankly, if your vagina had gone through what ours may have, you would want to lament about it to someone who can sympathize, too.  After all, miserable vaginas love company.  One of these days, when you are either a mother who needs to get out of the house, or a spouse who needs to get their other half out, you will totally understand, and hope they have a fantastic support group, with home your wife can curse up a storm with, as well.