My bestie, Adam, and I used to joke that when either of us had children they would turn out to be intolerably obnoxious, but hilariously funny, little creatures because, well, we are both intolerably obnoxious, but hilariously funny people. We are short-tempered, at times obsessive/compulsive, impatient, critical, and over-the-top sarcastic. Recipe for parent-of-the-year type stuff, certain to raise well-adjusted, tolerant, patient, and mild-mannered off-spring. (Case in point: there's the sarcasm.)
So, I'm nearly 3 years into parenthood, and there have been some funny moments courtesy of my little blue-eyed blond. However, none have rendered me more aware of the monster I have created than this little anecdote:
David was talking to my husband, probably asking for pudding, or something, and, being the in-charge mommy that I am, I of course piped in, probably telling him, no, or something. The kid looked me dead in the face, placed his hand on my arm and said, "No, mommy. I'm talking to Daddy!"
What. The. Heck.
I was just told by a toddler. I've been schooled by a preschooler. I got attitude from an ankle-biter.
Now, my little guy has said this to me several more times since then. My come back now is, "I don't care if you are talking to Jesus, Mary, or Joseph. I. Am. The. Mama!"
I'm sure you are shocked and dismayed, wondering just where does he get that little attitude? Beats me.