I Blame Everything On My Kid And I Don’t Even Feel Guilty About It

I Blame Everything On My Kid And I Don't Even Feel Guilty About It

At least once every few days I hear the phrase, “I don’t know how you deal with a kid man, I’d never be able to do that.” Fair assessment. It’s either one of two reasons:

1. I’m an awesome human being and a parenting genius.
2. It just comes naturally and anyone who isn’t a dipshit can do it.

Now whoever said the previous statement usually follows up with a spiel about how they can barely take care of themselves and would hate all the sacrifices they have to make. Just like their fair assessment, this is a fair point. The list of things you give up seems to grow by the day.

Sometimes, though, the person you’re discussing this with then asks, “Is there even any benefits to having a kid?” Now there’s plenty, but two come to mind:

1. The corny one — you know, having someone you care about more than life itself, that whole thing that I’ve gone on about before. It’s the best, don’t get me wrong, but also…
2. You have someone to blame a lot of shit on.

Newsflash: no one can get mad at kids. At least publicly. You look like an asshole if you blow up on a child, because up until a certain age kids have no idea what they’re doing is wrong. Despite them infuriating you, all you can do is smile and say through gritted teeth, “It’s ok little buddy.”

The other day at my offspring’s gym class, some toddler got snot on my pants. As much as I wanted to scream at him like Nick Saban at a penalized player, I just smiled and walked away. You know, like a grown up. This can be frustrating, but when you’ve got your own miniature living excuse just walking around and causing terror, it gives you ample opportunity to pass the blame for things onto someone who can’t pay for his actions.

My Farts

A few weeks ago, after enjoying a fine dinner filled with Cuban food, my stomach started to make me pay. I don’t have a problem with heartburn (#blessed), but when my body wants to let it go out the back, there’s no stopping it and it’s not pretty.

Fat Bastard once said “Everyone likes their own brand,” but no one could love what was leaving my body that night, and I was spending at least another two hours subjecting people to that gaseous hell at my parent’s place. So, I did what any mature human would do. I trailed my kid like the plague every time I needed to let one go. Every person in my family said at least once, “Wow, I think the little guy needs a new diaper,” upon which I would scoop him up and “go change him.” No shame in my game.


Kids spill a lot of shit. Their sippy cups, plates of food, basically anything those little shits get their hands on is tractor-beamed to the floor. And that’s great news, because if you’re clumsy like me, you spill shit too.

Those stains on the carpet? Well, that one is definitely juice, and not my beer from last night. That one that’s sticky and smells a tad? It’s from his milk cup, not the Blue Bell I was inhaling straight out of the carton. More than once I’ve shown up to work, notice a self-inflicted stain on my pants, and insisted that it was some child-related action that had put me in need of a Tide-To-Go pen.

Enjoying Kids Movies

Initially what kids watch on TV is horrible. Disney Jr. and Nick Jr. theme songs will be scarred in your memory forever like a childhood tragedy. Once you get over that hump, however, it’s Pixar and childhood classics central. In case you forgot the movies you grew up with, they’re awesome. The problem is you can’t exactly take some time out of your day to watch Toy Story 2 when you’re a grown ass adult and the golden age of TV is available to be binged on Netflix.

That’s where your procreation comes in. Tell your friends all you want that you wish you were binge watching Mozart in the Jungle (because according to the Golden Globes, we all should be), but you’re fired up that your kid decided to watch Hercules instead. I watched about thirty minutes of Mulan fucking up the Huns the other day before noticing that my kid wasn’t half as into it as I was.

At this point, I’m really looking forward to when he’s theatre-ready, and I can go see Toy Story 4 in 3D while excusing my son’s gas to the person next to me. He’s my favorite excuse in the world.

Image via YouTube

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Kyle Bandujo

The artist formerly known as Crash Davis. My kid doesn't think I'm funny.

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