What should a parent do when a 2-year-old shrieks inconsolably because her string cheese wrapper tore “the wrong way”? Increasingly, the answer is “snap a photo, add a snarky caption and upload it to Instagram.”

Publicly laughing at your toddler’s distress has somehow become not only acceptable but encouraged. Websites offer “best of” compilations, or canned quips readers can use when posting tantrum photos and videos (“Metallica has a new lead singer.”).

As psychologists and parents ourselves, we understand the urge to laugh when a child howls because he’s forbidden to eat the packing peanuts from the Amazon box, and we also understand the impulse to make these moments public. The problem is the mockery.

Naturally, joking serves a purpose — it provides psychological distance from negative feelings like shame or anxiety. A study of 105 wheelchair-bound college students found that humor, especially concerning bladder and bowel problems, was a key method of coping with distress. As one respondent said, “we have to laugh at ourselves to make life easier.”

When a child cries, parents are biologically programmed to spring into action; blood pressure increases, for example, even if it’s not your kid. Because you know there’s no real danger during a typical tantrum, you joke in an attempt to silence the false alarm your ancient brain is sounding.

In addition, joking about difficulties with those who share your situation creates an in-group, a feeling of solidarity. In a classic experiment, a researcher observed that patients in a hospital ward were quick to joke with one another about their greatest discomforts: helplessness in the face of hospital routine or fear of the unknown. For parents, seeing that other children go boneless in the grocery checkout line offers the consoling knowledge that “I’m not the only one.” A popular 2015 book combined jokey name-calling with direct reassurance: “Toddlers are A##holes: It’s Not Your Fault.”

A##holes? Really? Well, the benefits of humor do come at a cost — someone must be the butt of the joke. Another hospital study noted that humor usually has an undercurrent of hostility, which is why jokesters felt compelled to respect social hierarchies. Doctors could poke fun at residents, and residents at nurses, but jokes directed up the hierarchy were not acceptable.

More formal experiments confirm the role of aggression in humor. In one, an experimenter interacted with subjects either rudely or neutrally. Later, the experimenter “accidentally” spilled hot tea on herself, and subjects to whom she was rude were much more likely to smile or laugh.

This perspective — that there’s a whiff of meanness in the tantrum-posting craze — may strike you as melodramatic. After all, he’s not crying because his dog died; he’s crying because the water in his sippy cup is too wet. It’s funny because there’s nothing wrong.

But in his 2-year-old brain, those two events may be equally tragic. The prefrontal cortex has not fully developed, making it difficult to appreciate that water can only be wet or that his dog will not return, or to regulate the ensuing emotion in either case. That his agitation is illogical makes it no less real.

Another person’s distress should not be a signal to pull out your phone, craving “likes.” That’s bad enough when it’s a stranger on a plane, but how much the more so when it’s your child, who needs your respect and compassion?

Yes, children should learn to laugh at themselves, and that type of learning should first occur in the safety of the family. But those early lessons should concern some harmless folly the child can understand, and a tantrum signals that it’s the wrong moment.

Instagram posters probably feel that their laughter is innocent, given that the child will never see the video. But if an action is wrong, awareness is beside the point; it’s not O.K. to cheat on your spouse because she stays in the dark about it.

Parents have needs too, but you can satisfy them without mocking your child. When a tantrum jangles your nerves, instead of laughing, try this empirically proven method of interrupting the “panic cycle.” Notice your body’s response — the racing heart, the shallow breathing — and remember that your reaction is biological, not cause for alarm. Further calm yourself with a deep breath or a quick 5-4-3-2-1 grounding exercise.

Solidarity with other parents comes from sharing your experiences in raising kids, so sure, continue posting stories and pictures of your children — just don’t mock them. If you must tell someone about your kid falling apart because you are “very bad at making lassos,” tell a family member or close friend. You can joke about your mom (but I can’t) because teasing entails trust; you are secure enough in your love that you can joke about sensitive things. Strangers on the internet don’t love your child.

Raising children is complicated, and few rules can be applied without exception. Humor offers one, though: Always laugh with your children, never at them.

Rebecca Schrag Hershberg (@littlehousecalls) is a clinical psychologist and the author of “The Tantrum Survival Guide: Tune In to Your Toddler’s Mind (and Your Own) to Calm the Craziness and Make Family Fun Again.” Daniel T. Willingham (@DTWillingham) is a professor of psychology at the University of Virginia and the author, most recently, of “The Reading Mind: A Cognitive Approach to Understanding How the Mind Reads.”

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