Why your kid is more annoying than mine

Alright- before the butthurt sets in- take the title of this blog with a grain of salt. A giant one. Ever heard of tongue in cheek? Generalization? Humor? Sarcasm? Go with all of those.
Now that we have that out of the way- let’s do this.

There were many reasons I had years ago for my stance that I “never wanted kids”– and not a single one of them had anything to do with blowing out my vagina. It should have… but ahhh, to be young and naive!

I vividly recall my childless self in public places hearing little ones screeching like their ass was on fire for seemingly no reason at all and thinking “holy fuck. I NEVER want that. Get it away!”
You know. That face.

Yes.  THIS face. This was me. Only with more hair and
immensely better groomed eyebrows.

All children were obnoxious little creatures that wet themselves and forced someone else to clean it up. Don’t judge me- I just wasn’t a child lover. Some people aren’t! Some people NEVER want kids for a multitude of reasons. I thought mine would be that I couldn’t stand them. I couldn’t stand them so much that I never a single time babysat- even though I looooooved money growing up- it wasn’t worth having to make that face

Any time any parent (that wasn’t horribly offended) saw me making that face, they would proceed to comfort me by saying “It’s different when they’re your own!” and I would think YEAH RIGHT, a whine is a whine is a whine and all whining is equally brain-searing and annoying. How can one outweigh another unless you add in the nasally-ness of each one and rate them on a scale from 1-10? 
Oh, ye of little faith.
Cut to years down the line after I’ve blown out my crotch and dealt with a child who thought the rising of the moon meant he had to howl at it. And by howl, I mean screech. Every night. All night. It didn’t matter if the moon was full or not- he wasn’t a fucking werewolf- he was a baby. With reflux. They tend to cry a lot. A LOT. Yes, I found it absolutely AWFUL- but it was MY baby. My sweet little baby that I spent hours writhing around in a hospital bed with people staring up my baby-hole and then forced him out of my poor unsuspecting va-jay-jay. He is MINE, and therefore his whining is not as annoying as the whining I experienced prior to having kids. People were RIGHT! 
After those experiences, I would go to the store and have the kid who was screeching and I’d look around and see the childless buttholes like I once was cringing about what a little brat I had and thinking “oh my, how wrong I had it”– or if I went somewhere and mine was actually QUIET for once and I heard someone else’s screeching- I would either thank the sweet grilled cheezus that it wasn’t me or give the parent a look of “Oh, I have been there. I know your pain”– SOLIDARITY, SISTER! (this is where you yell YAYA! Or at least say it in your head. Sheesh, work with me here!) 
And then, right in the middle of my non-judgy solidarity with other parents comes the moment that we all have- because we are all human. We are somewhere, doing something, maybe with someone or alone- when we hear it. The familiar sound of kid throwing an absolute shitfit. And instead of this YAYA whineyhood we had going on… we realize what people REALLY meant by “it’s different when it’s your own” business- here I thought the focus was on the fact that I could find my own kids tolerable- the truth is really that other peoples kids are NOT. 
I have built up an odd tolerance to the chicanery and assholishness that goes on day in and day out in my home- I am NOT however used to someone else’s kid’s chicanery and assholishness day in to day out and when you catch me at a bad time- holy shit. That kid is ANNOYING. I’m so glad my kids aren’t that annoying.
Here’s the thing- they are. They ARE that annoying. Just not to me. It’s quite possible they are even WORSE than the kid who is dancing a jig on my very last dangling nerve- but I’m used to it. Frighteningly used to it. Immune to the ultimate level of a-hole exuding from the confines of my home each and every day. 
Your kid is more annoying than mine because 
A) I shot mine out of my crotch and therefore have a bond that cannot be broken by even the most obnoxious of whines and 
B) because I’ve lost my fucking mind. That’s why.
“It’s different when it’s your own kid!”– yeah, you got that right. Help me! Help yourself! Help SOMEONE…. I’m not even sure anymore. YAYA! 
All of our kids are annoying and we love them anyway- and always more than the more annoying yet less annoying kid next to them. This is the madness that is parenthood. At least we have cookies.

Posted on January 28, 2013 by Holdin' Holden 5 Comments
Holdin' Holden

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  • LOL! Love it. Thank you. Brought back memories of my whiny ones also. 🙂

  • Yup.


    Oh man… YUP YUP YUP.

    I swear, I feel like you have followed me through my teen years, my first few years of parenting, and through EVERY GROCERY STORE THEREAFTER.

    I am so glad I am not alone here.

  • I agree that it’s different when they are your own kid if you know why they are whining/crying. Like the time I was in the laundromat and my baby was crying and some lady asks me if he has a pacifier. I’m thinking uh yeah lady if he would take one don’t you think it’d be in his mouth? Hello?!?!
    Anyway if they are whining or throwing a fit to me that is just as annoying when it’s my kid. Even more so at times, but at least when it’s your kid you can do something about it!

  • Completely agree. Ever since I went to my first multi-child playdate, I’ve had the internal motto “Just because I have kids, doesn’t mean I like yours.”