Pretending I Didn't Hear That

For Californians, it was the coldest day of the year with a 46 degree high. Despite the unusual chill, I was feeling optimistic. After all, it was New Year’s Eve and I was finally putting the Lego Land tickets Dylan got for his 1st birthday 10 months ago (which by the way, were to expire the following day) to use. It was a procrastination win! But twenty minutes into the drive, Dylan began showing signs of restless toddler vehicle syndrome. I knew things could be taking a turn for the worse because such a condition not only affects the child, causing rowdy behavior, unbearable screeching, temperamental mood swings, and unpredictable aggression, but it also affects everyone else in the world car. So naturally, like a boss- I ignored him. 

Dylan eventually took my negligence as a hint and downgraded his screams into mere grunts and whines before putting in a request for a toy truck. I reached in the backseat and offered said truck, which was quickly whisked out of my hand. But Dylan wasn’t done with me. You see, this kid knows his stuff and pulls all kinds of attention-seeking tricks. Like when I tell him “no,” his finger suddenly develops a debilitating injury that must be addressed immediately, pleading, “Owee? Owee?” His most successful manipulation technique comes in the form of kisses, which he often uses when he simply must have a treat he knows is a long shot- tugging at my leg and begging, “Mommy?” right before laying the smack down smooch and sealing the deal with a, “Please Mommy?” UGH. HOW CAN I DENY YOU CHILD? And then I heard his truck fall. 

Okay, it didn’t fall. Dylan violently tossed it on the floor,  which is quite typical of him, as he frequently throws things then follows up his very intentional acts with fake-shock and, “OH NO!!” But instead of an “oh no," I got an, “OH FUCK!” 

Wait- hold on. NO NO NO NO NO! That can’t be right- there was no way my toddler said the f word, right? “Fox? You see a fox Dylan?” I questioned, knowing how ridiculous and nonsensical my method of damage control sounded out loud. 
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Dylan contended. 
This was so not happening, I couldn’t possibly have THAT kid! Clueless, I decided to disengage. Option B involved advising him that we don’t drop f bombs and explaining that it’s a “bad” word, but that option reeked of backfirey. I mean come on, the kid is 2 and a thorough bred rebel-rebel who loves defiantly pushing the envelope...just like me someone I know. Oh and here's a fun fact, one of Dylan’s favorite songs to sing is “Bad boys bad boys, whatcha gonna do…?” 

I don’t know where on earth the little shit picked up such foul (yet contextually correct) verbatim. If Dylan’s New Year potty mouth is any indication of how 2015 is going to go, please pray for me, for I have a high absorption sponge toddler.