One time, during my turbulent teen years, my mother told me she hoped my kids were as bad as I was.
I retorted that it would never happen, since I’d do a better job raising mine.
I can still feel the whap I got.
My mother cursed me with children like me also. I often think my moderate, quiet daughter was a reward for my oldest surviving toddlerhood. Every time he complains about his brothers I laugh, and tell him he was worse. He was like his three little brothers combined.