There's a reason why teenagers don't get adopted

There's a reason why teenagers don't get adopted
6 March 2013

True story.  I actually don’t think I need to elaborate.  And if you have any doubt as to the veracity of my statement, simply ask any parent of a teenager.  I’m sure they will concur.  In fact, they might just try and palm theirs off onto you, so be warned.

And can one blame prospective parents eager to adopt?  I somehow don’t think so.  If you compare caring for a baby as opposed to caring for a teenager, the baby somehow seems like a way better deal.  Even given the expected sleepless nights, the drooling, the three hourly feedings in the beginning, endless burping, dirty nappies, being barfed and pooped on, their lack of scintillating company, their propensity for crying and their lack of mobility, they still seem like a winning prospect when compared to teenagers.

And just to illustrate, I’ll take some of the abovementioned examplea, point for point.  Comparatively speaking of course.

The goo-goo-gaa-gaa baby talk you get from littlies is somehow far more sensible, audible and indeed understandable than the drivel teenagers seem to sprout.  With babies, you certainly don’t expect them to make verbal sense.  But as for teenagers!  Surely it is not unreasonable to expect them to have a certain level of verbal proficiency?  I’m not take great orators or captains of the debate team.  Just normal everyday conversational requirements, they should surely be able to meet?  They mumble, they grumble and they have a lingo completely of their own.

The lack of mobility thing with babies is awesome.  It actually works to your benefit.  You tend to always know where they are at any given time.  Hello!  They can’t crawl or walk.  Whereas teenagers – jeez!  You simply don’t know where they are the second they leave a room.  They roam in packs when they’re with friends and tend to act like a swarm of locusts.  Moving from house to house, devouring everything edible within sight.  And then, when they really want to be mobile, it is up to you to act as their chauffeur.  Such an honour – NOT.  They somehow think that they’re doing you a favour by allowing you to cart them around.  As a baby, you simply scooted them around on your hip, or resorted to a pram, if you really felt the need.

Teenagers also provide ample sleepless nights.  Even more so than babies.  With your baby, you are suffering from sleep deprivation, because they’re crying, have a dirty nappy or they’re hungry.  With teenagers, you are having sleepless nights, because they’re out and about somewhere.  Not safe and sound under your roof.  Ironically, even when they’re under your roof they’re still getting up to trouble and costing you sleep.

My fifteen year old still pretty much has three hourly feedings.  In fact he seems to be a bottomless pit.  Continually hungry and always on the lookout for food.  And very little somehow seems to make the grade of awesome gastronomical treats.  When they’re babies they simply adore their milk.  Easy enough.  Nothing picky or choosy, they just drink their fill of their favourite nourishment.

When it comes to the whole crying thing though, the babies are champs.  I’ll happily concede that point.  Yet somehow, even more aggravating and annoying than a colicky baby crying for hours on end (been there – done that) is a teenager giving into a bout of whinging.  Boy, they’re hard done by.  And they’re alarmingly persistent.  Life sure is unfair and in their opinion they always seem to get the shortest end of the stick.  They whine about absolutely everything.  From what they eat, to what they don’t have to wear, their unfair teachers, their strict parents, their small bedrooms, the junk on TV, their irritating siblings.  Their list seems endless.  In fact, you name it, and chances are they’ve got a reason to whinge about it.

So, with babies, you pretty much go into it, with your eyes wide open.  Having certain expectations that you just know they will meet.  They are helpless and completely at your mercy.  But then again they’re also utterly pure, adoringly cute and they have not been corrupted at all.

Now as for teenagers, there are times when I fully understand why the Mama Polar Bear occasionally eats her own young.  Though, technically, you’ll probably find that she turned only her teenage bear cubs into culinary treats.

In fact, if it wasn’t for my firm conviction that mine would give me indigestion, I might have indulged already.

And so, when you eat lamb, you have mint sauce or mint jelly on the side.  When you eat pork, you have apple sauce or apple jelly.

So what exactly would the right condiment be with an offspring entrée?  I’m thinking a spot of chilli, to help flush them down.

Followed by a celebratory shot of tequila when the dirty deed is done.

[Warning - please ensure that you have a handy supply of antacids at the ready - chances are you'll need it.  As well as a slice of lemon (for the tequila you ninny!).]