I’m having a thyroid biopsy in about three hours. It’s my second one. The first one came back non-diagnostic, or in other words, result-less, which makes me want to say a bunch of bad words one after the other.
I’m driving to the appointment myself this time. Mike drove last time, because I said “Hell, YES!” to a small dose of Xanax to ease my anxiety over having several small needles inserted in my neck. This time, though, I’m fine. I got this. I know what to expect. No big deal. No drugs necessary. That is, unless you count the glass of wine – or two – last night and the glass of wine – or two – I’m fantasizing about right now.
Any-who, I’ve found that making lists help keep me calm during times of elevated stress, like before my last colonoscopy when I made a list of all the reasons colonoscopies are so awesome and a list of all the ways I’ve turned into my mother. (FYI, I’m wearing an apron…and not cooking…right now as I write this.)
Today, I could make a list of all the reasons thyroid biopsies suck or about the bazillion things I need to pack for my three-night trip to #Boston with Riley this weekend to go to a wedding with my folks. (Yes, Crazy Packing Mama has reared her ugly head.)
In 36 hours, I’m taking Riley on an airplane. To #Boston. Where it’s cold (for Floridians, anyway). Where he’ll have to wear long sleeves and long pants, some of which will have zippers, buttons, and collars, all of which he abhors. Yes, that’s a strong word. Yes, I meant it. Oh, and a belt. He’ll have to wear a belt. And a jacket. Dear God. It’s quite possible that I’m more anxious about dressing Riley this weekend than I am about the imminent attack on my neck. And, p.s., there’s a separate truckload of anxiety that I haven’t even spoke of regarding my packing. What the hell am I going to bring to Boston?
Deep breath.
I’ve been struck lately about how my boys are crazy sensitive about some “bad” words, yet they could give a rat’s ass about others, which inspired today’s anxiety-induced list. I mean, seriously, if I say “stupid” or if God forbid I shush someone (I’ve totally done this, by the way), I’m in deep shit.
Words and Phrases My Kids Think Are Bad
- Stupid
- Dumb
- Idiot
- Hate
- Baby (variations include Stupid Baby, Princess Baby, and Pink Princess Baby)
- I don’t care.
- Shut up.
- Shush
- Suck (on its own and/or preceded and/or followed by any other word)
- Tattletale
Mostly, I agree that these are all bad words, especially Pink Princess Baby. That one’s just plain horrific. It’s just funny to me that my kids don’t flinch, giggle, or care to repeat when I (accidentally, of course) say something like, “oh shit,” “crap balls,” or worse.
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention two bad word exceptions we have in our family: (1) We can say stupid in reference to traffic lights. I don’t know why, it just is. For instance, “Turn green, you stupid red light!” is sanctioned and encouraged, especially if we’re running late (and I hate to be late). Any and all other references to stupid, however, are effed up and totally unacceptable, and (2) At Zoo Miami, we can say ass as long as we’re within twenty feet of the Somali Wild Ass.
There really is a wild ass at the zoo.
Are there bad words your kids go ape shit about?
The Runaway Mama by Jen Gregory 
First: good luck with the biopsy. You’re in my thoughts.
Second: my kids still think “stupid” is “the S-word”. Maybe because they hear me mutter “shit!” under my breath on a regular basis but I rarely call something “stupid.”
They have also alluded to an “F-word” but because of their innocent interpretation of the S-word, they could very well think it’s something like “fart”. I’m not going to ask and I’m not going to be the one to educate them on that one (although I have dropped an F-bomb here and there within their hearing…Bad mommy!)
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Not a bad mommy…a real mommy!
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