My 2 year old says ‘f–k you’ – I think it’s funny

The other night I was in bed reading to my two youngest daughters.

I heard my two-year-old mumble something, but I couldn’t understand it at all.

“Mommy, did you hear what Lily said?” my five-year-old daughter asked with wide eyes.

“No honey, what did she say?â€

She stood up on her nightstand and with a theatrical wave of her hands for emphasis, uttered the terrible words.

“She said” “f—ck youuuuuuu!” (with you particularly attracted).

“Angel face with a small mouth”

I should have been terrified, but for a moment I was stunned. Then I did what no one should ever do in response to a serious situation for their children.

i lost it. Like curled up in a ball, laughing hysterically, he lost it. It was the “youuuuu” that really got me – so personal!

My nine year old son came running over to see what all the fuss was about and I couldn’t help myself. I whispered in his ear what his cute as a button sister had said.

Then he lost it. Bent over. The effort to breathe failed him.

Now, the reason this reaction was so stupid, besides the fact that it wasn’t very mature or appropriate on my part, was that I know myself that laughing in these situations is the worst thing you can do.

How do I know this? Because that’s what my mother told me. You see, when I was the same age, I also learned the f-bomb.

“One of mom’s favorite expressions”

Mom always says I must have gotten it from my three older siblings when she tells the story, but we all know it’s probably fiction.

“For fk’s sake” is one of my mom’s favorite sayings.

Anyway, I somehow learned this word and would say it, and at first my whole family would lose it laughing.

I soon discovered that this particular word had power. Too much power.

We would go to the shops and mum would put me in the pram and wheel me around Woolworths.

“Mommy, I want lowwwwlies,” I’d say.

“No Milly, not today,” she would reply, panicking because she knew what was coming.

I would glare at him and repeat, “lovewwwlies.”

“No, Milly,” she would say.

Mom would start sweating, afraid of what would come out of my mouth next.

“F–k!â€

“F——-k! Yuuuuu!â€

Yes, I’ll admit I was a bit of a monster.

“What kind of parent allows that?”

Often the poor mother would throw me a lollipop just to calm me down, as the other mothers in the small Tasmanian town where we lived would look on in disgust.

“What kind of parent allows their child to use such profanity?” They mumbled as mom left, defeated by two year old me.

After a while, it definitely wasn’t funny anymore and my parents would scold me for using the f-bomb.

But I would say it even more, just to pity them.

In the end, my mom told me that the only thing that worked was to completely ignore me when I said it.

Suddenly, the word lost its power. I quickly got bored of her.

So, ever since my little-mouthed, angel-faced daughter started using adult vernacular — every chance she got, and mostly out of context — I’ve been telling the older kids not to take it.

It’s been a challenge, but we’ve remained a united front and Lily is finally learning that she won’t get the reaction she wants.

So far, so good. Then again, we haven’t tested it at Woollies yet.