Phineas will be two years old on March 5. He has picked up a great many words and phrases in his 21+ months of life thus far, including (but not limited to): uh-oh (his first word), bubbles, eww, party, woof, berry, sock, fixed it, uncle, kitty, and so on.
And as of yesterday, shit.
Which he learned from me, but after you hear this story, you can tell me what you would have done differently.
James was out on a Sunday run, and I was home with Phineas. Phineas is fairly good at entertaining himself, so I went to take a shower. I left the door open so Phineas could come in and out of the bathroom as he pleased - while he does entertain himself, he does like to have access to the on-duty parent.
Typically, Phineas really enjoys hanging out in my bathroom while I shower. I keep my lipsticks in mason jars in teal rolling cart near the sink due to a lack of built-in storage, and Phineas finds great joy in taking these lipsticks out and throwing them on the ground.
Lately, Phineas has also enjoyed gently taking the empty mason jar out of the cart and carrying it around with both hands. He had been so cautious and thoughtful; it had never been a concern.
Until yesterday.
Phineas had emptied the lipsticks as usual and set the mason jar on the edge of the tub. That was new. I took it off the edge and set it on the ground so it didn't accidentally get knocked off and shatter. And then - Phineas took the jar and threw it at my feet.
Of course, the jar smashed into a zillion pieces upon impact. Instinctively, I yelled "SHIT!"
Phineas then gleefully repeated "Shit! Shit! Shit!"
(Now, I do not believe Phineas had malicious intent, even though I fully intent to joke about him trying to kill be before he was two for the rest of my life. Phineas tosses all sorts of things he finds interesting in the bathtub, like my hairbrush, a retro pitcher, various plastic drinking cups, and non-bath toys. And now, glass.)
I hopped out of the tub right away and quickly put in my contacts (being blind without them) to assess the damage. I immediately saw I was standing in a pool of my own blood. I had tiny lacerations all over both of my feet, but the top of my right foot had a deep cut in which a piece of glass remained.
Meanwhile, James was still gone. I called and texted him to no avail. I dug the glass out of my foot, but I bled through eight regular Band-Aids and needed reinforcements. Plus, Phineas was running around somewhere yelling "shit" while I was stuck in the bathroom creating a crime scene.
(Phineas did come back a few times and rub my back while I was digging for more Band-Aids. Pretty sweet, I guess.)
When James finally did get my message, he brought back a bunch of giant bandages and got me patched up. I got to relay the story of how I taught our child to curse, and James had a hard time not busting a gut when he heard Phineas say "shit" to his face.
I am obviously under no illusion I am mom of the year, but I may be willing to say this particular lesson in cursing was unavoidable. What would you have said if a toddler threw a glass jar at your bare feet? I'll wait.
