#%@& happens.

A lot, when you're chasing after a 14 month old. And it comes in various forms. The literal kind, that you wipe off a pair of butt-cheeks 2 or 3 times a day and that- if you're unlucky enough to have raging pregnancy hormones- will sometimes leave you gagging for the duration of the diaper change. Then there's the more metaphorical, yet very real bull#%&@ that abounds in everyday life. (If only a box of wipes could take care of that, I'd have it made, but I digress).

The point is, %@& happens. And sometimes the actual word, "s**t" happens as well. I admit, it's more of a common word in our household than it should be, and this is one that I can't put on Jake. And so at last, I "out" myself. For years, I have taken some unknown, great pleasure in saying this word. Maybe it's the way you can really get into the "ssshhhhhh" part of it, especially if you're really peeved. In those instances, I pride myself on taking a one-syllable word and stretching it into two. More like "ssshhhheeee-iiiiiiitt!" It just feels good. And I justified this for many years. I figured, it's one thing to do it by yourself and no one's there to hear you as you sit behind the wheel of your Mazda V6 Wagon (because that's the kind of car you buy when you want to dominate the highway, right?). I also had a theory that there's a direct correlation between the amount of pain I'm in and the number of times I get to say this word. So that 5 lb bag of ice I dropped on my toes? That was worth a couple of expletives. But the sneaky thing about this word is that if you're not careful, it starts to randomly show up before you have time to stop it: your computer freezes and you're right in the middle of a facebook status update. (#%@&!) Then you can't open a jar of spaghetti sauce (#%@&!) You step in dog-doo (quite literally- #%@&!) You stare at a positive pregnancy test on a random Saturday afternoon and then it's HOLY #%@&! (saved for those truly momentous occasions). 10 months and 1 week later, and you've been in labor for 16 hours when the doctor informs you that you're going to need a c-section. (#%@&! #%@&! #%@&!)

And so life continues, and #%@& continues to make an exit from your lips every now and then. And it's all good for awhile because your little girl is just a baby. There's no need to censor the Lil Wayne and Nelly CD's just yet. But the weeks turn into months, and now you realize she's starting to listen to you. She wants to communicate with you. You think this is pretty much the coolest thing ever. And you're not much worried about the few times you slip, because she's still so little. She doesn't understand the meaning of that word anyway.

But she doesn't need to.

Because kids don't need to understand what they say before they say it. Remember the show "Kids Say the Darndest Things?" Someone got seriously rich capitalizing on little kids who made total @$$es of their parents by saying things within a context they didn't understand or repeating things they had no business repeating. And most of the time, it's cute. When you wait so long to hear them say their first word, the last thing you probably worry about is whether that word will be sandwiched between some expletives. Ella has always been quite the chatterbox, and so I became accustomed to listening to her experiment with combinations of vowels and syllables and talking nonsense to her Sophie and other animal friends for months. And like any other mom, I melted the first time she said "mama" and giggled at her attempt at "banana" ("nanana") and "kittycat" ("keekah"). And then one day- whether by chance or perhaps by, ahem, some *other* coincidence- I heard a different set of syllables and vowels coming out of her mouth. At first I reasoned it must have been the word "spit," but really, how likely was that? I walked back to her room, watched her throw her binkey on the floor and then, right on cue, "#%@&."

Fabulous.

It got even better when we would go to Target or the grocery store. I was now very well aware of her newfound vocabulary and as if in slow motion, I would watch as she would animatedly point at something and then proceed to yell out the same 4 letter word before I could get my hand to her mouth or shove a cracker down her throat. We got a few looks, needless to say. I prayed it was a phase. And thankfully, it seems to have passed for now. (And you better believe I've made Jake clean up his language....ahem...)

So I guess it's time for me to come up with another word that is just as gratifying to roll off the tongue in less than happy circumstances. I think I'm actually going to miss it. But it must be done. Apparently, little cornfields have big ears.