“D***,” I cry as I wrestle Mister’s stroller up two steps, through the door, and into its parking space in the kitchen. Immediately, I’m hit with guilt. I swore. Again. My mother is gentle and soft-spoken. I’ve never heard my nana swear. Motherhood seems to have made these women warm and snuggly. Motherhood makes me want to curse like a sailor. I don’t know if it is the pressure of being responsible for another life, my own lack of adjustment, or pure exhaustion, but I do know that I’ve let more swear words slip in the last few months than I have most of my adult life. Don’t worry, most of the time I remember my audience and keep them canned in front of Mister.
Who is the intended audience for your writing?