When my son was an infant, I used to hold him and imagine the life he would have. I dreamed of him growing into a happy, healthy young man. I envisioned the joyous moments we would share as a family. That was all taken from me. I know I would never wish that on anyone, because no parent should have to endure the heartbreak of having a shitty kid.
There’s nothing more difficult than living your life knowing your child is a total shithead. The pain of having a child who thinks he’s the center of the goddamn universe is something no one should have to experience.
No parent should ever have to watch their child become a tantrum-throwing little douche. No parent should have to see their son or daughter stealing another kid’s glasses and throwing them into the bushes just for fun. It’s an agony that no one who’s brought a child into the world is prepared for.
I wake up every morning hoping it was all a dream, praying to God that my child isn’t still the absolute worst. I know it’s not my fault, but it’s impossible not to blame yourself. Maybe I didn’t make my son an insufferable prick, but could I have done more to prevent him from being such a little turd all the time?
There’s nothing more difficult than living your life knowing your child is a total shithead.
My husband and I turn to each other for support, but it’s hard to connect like we used to. The fact that our kid is a piece of shit weighs on us every day. Looking through family photo albums can be painful, but it can also bring catharsis. The kid aggressively pulling the dog’s tail in those photos is our son, and there’s nothing we can do to change that.
Our friends try to comfort us, but they don’t know what to say. Their children aren’t rude little shits who won’t stop yelling until they get a candy bar. They can never know that torment. And who can blame them? The truth is no parent can imagine how watching your child do an incredibly racist impression of the foreign kid in his class feels until it happens to you.
I try to find solace in God, but it’s difficult to believe in anything when your kid is shitty. How could God let this happen? How could he allow my baby to be the kind of kid who thinks he deserves a present every time his grandmother visits?
It may not be soon, but I know my husband and I will heal. If anything good can come from this, it’s that every parent reading this will cherish the time they have with a kid who isn’t an intolerable son of a bitch, because it can all end in an instant.