They’re Totally Right — My Kids Got All of Their Behavior From Me

I’ve made my living telling parents not to feel all-encompassing guilt whenever their child’s behavior is less than ideal. I’ve been pretty adamant about the fact that kids can be influenced by many things outside of just their parents, even at a young age. They can be influenced by friends, by media, and by their own biology, to name a few things. At least…that’s what I’ve been saying.

Imagine my embarrassment when I realized that, apparently, I am wrong. As mentioned by a few thoughtful commenters, a child’s asshole behavior — even the stuff that I thought was purely developmental — is all due to our influences. Whoops.

I realized this one morning, when I walked into my children’s room at 4:30 AM and immediately shit my pants. When my husband wandered in behind me, I didn’t say anything and instead started jumping on my children.

“I want breakfast.” I said.

“Mommy? Is that you? It’s still dark out.”

“I want breakfast.” I repeated.

“Honey, did you poop your pants?” My husband asked.

I looked dead into his eyes and told him I had not. I had, but I was certain that my lies would cover up the smell. His eyes lowered to eye my pants, which were now bulging with turd. I could tell he didn’t believe me, and I responded to his doubt by stomping on my kids some more and demanding breakfast.

“We need to clean your pants.” My husband said.

“NO!” I responded.

He tried to lunge at me, and I skirted him. I then waddled down the hallway, my shit-filled pants struggling to keep up with me.

Eventually, my husband caught me, and I screamed at the top of my lungs the whole time he tried to clean me up. I even kicked him in the chin, and then cried harder when he told me I’d hurt his face.

Another time, my husband took out a bag of chips. Though I’d just finished eating a giant-ass dinner, a decadent dessert, and I’d also just downed a giant glass of water, I immediately felt that those chips should be mine. I stood at his shoulder and breathed on him until he noticed me.

“What do you want?” He asked, trying to hide the chip bag.

“Are those chips?” My eyes were glued to his movements. I drooled on his arm a little.

“Yes. But…”

“Can I have some?”

“It’s a small bag.”

I stared. He shifted uncomfortably. Then: “These are my chips.”

I then told him that I understood completely that this snack was something he’d clearly been looking forward to, and I walked away to enjoy my already-full stomach.

Haha, just kidding. I instead asked again. He said no again.

“Please.” I said. It wasn’t a question in the slightest.

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Pleeeeeeeease.”

“NO!”

He’d raised his voice, and I couldn’t understand why. All I’d wanted was for him to give me his snack. So I screeched. I lunged at him and tried to take the bag from him. Then I called him mean and stomped away. He later felt bad and offered me some of his chips, to which I responded by grabbing as many as I could in both of my fists and running away with them, trailing crumbs in my wake.

Another time, my husband asked me if I would clean my laundry from the floor. I told him I’d get to it. I meant that I’d do it some time before I die, but that wasn’t good enough for him. Nooooo.

“Arianna, please,” he begged, “I’m about to put some laundry in the wash. You could just scoop your clothes up and put them in the wash with mine, and I’LL do the washing and folding. Please can you just do this now?”

I was suddenly very angry, because I was in the middle of staring at the wall and imagining myself rich and naked with many attractive movie stars. How dare he. How. DARE. He.

So I screamed at him and asked him why he must ruin my life.

“WHY MUST YOU RUIN MY LIFE” is kind of how it sounded. But, I imagine, much sexier, like a mixture between Jessica Rabbit and a purring sexy thing. Were I on a TV how, the audience would immediately side with me, and also wish to be just like me.

“Arianna,” my husband said, trying again, “I’m just asking you to help me with the laundry. I even offered to wash and fold. You’d just have to put it in the washing machine and put it away after I fold it.”

“OH, SO I HAVE TO PUT IT AWAY, TOO? SO I SUDDENLY HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING.? THAT’S NOT WHAT YOU SAID BEFORE. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO TRUST YOU WHEN YOU CHANGE THINGS ON ME?”

I suddenly felt as if he hated me. I knew I was being a dick but I also couldn’t stop. So I just screeched a bunch of nonsense words at him about never wearing clothes again, slammed the door, and sobbed into my pillow for the next two hours.

So you see, we as parents are clearly lazy and unrealistic, believing that children can get any of their frustrating, dickish behaviors from anyone other than us. Development is a myth. The outside world is a myth. Every child would be a smiling, well-adjusted one if we’d only admit that we brought this on ourselves.

It’s also Opposite Day.

So if you say this absolutely stupid, untrue, parent-blaming drivel, do what all of our assholes kids are doing and grow the hell up.