As a form of public service, I thought I would tell all you parents of babies that them being completely unwilling to wear appropriate clothes for the weather one day is a verifiable life phase.
It isn’t you. You didn’t break them.
You didn’t do something wrong.
You haven’t actually raised cave people, even though it feels like you may have.
(Imagine me patting you here, and assuring there is nothing more you could have done for them)
One day that little cherub you have just swaddled will inevitably burst right out of that loving cocoon,
and will, instead, choose shorts and a T-shirt when it is 38°, and there is frost on the rooftops, no matter what you do.
When you ask them why they aren’t, at the very least, wearing pants to cover their goosebump-covered kneecaps, they will tell you it is because you haven’t ever bought them any,
(Just one more proof of your abuse) even though you will have just returned from a trip to Target for this very thing with said pants in your arms.
Don’t let them gaslight you.
Come summer, when the sun beats so hot on sidewalks and seat leather that people have been given a right to break the windows of cars for trapped dogs,
that child you made absolutely sure wasn’t overheating in their footie pajamas nearly obsessively will – guaranteed – come out in three layers with a thick hoodie on top.
Their lip will have beads of sweat.
You will feel concerned about them.
The proper procedure is to say nothing here, and, at MOST, only give a side-eye.
Due to the heat exhaustion they will be in denial of, their gaze will be glazed and far.
Yet, out they will go to join others like them: A group of Hoodie Wearing Lemmings, just minus the fur.
When you read of emergency cooling stations being erected around your town, you will remind them that this would be a good time for a tank top.
They will, in turn, say the Patron Phrase of All Teens – “I’m FINE,” and, as if they have harnessed all the solar power absorbed into that sweatshirt,
they will glare at you with the power of a thousand suns, reminding you that this subject is to be off-limits to you.
You’ll try to remember next time.
After they pass age 12, you are just supposed to know that their body temperature is no longer any of your business.
This phenomenon will never make sense to you.
File it with the building of the pyramids.
You could read every single book written on teen brain development.
No matter how much information you attempt to relay about various thermias and what causes them,
they will never listen or learn, though.
Basically, the ages of 12-16 are a Bizarro World.
Take everything you once knew, and flip it on end.
Although Dr. Spock has left this out, I am here to warn you:
The warming and cooling of their bodies will be mostly all you talk about in the car for the duration of this age range, and even though you will feel like it, as they close the car door with slumped shoulders, and you are left listening to your SadFM in the school drop-off, you are not at all alone. I bet a gaze in your rear-view mirror at other cars in line would look like one of those infinity reflections.
The only conversation that will come close to matching the frequency of this one will be how often they tell you they feel kind of sick/dizzy/kind of like they’re catching a cold,
which will bring you back to saying, well, maybe they should add or remove a layer.
It’s like “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie,” but with teens instead of cute little quiet mice,
and all the cookies have mold on them.
This will repeat for what feels like an eternity, until – like a gift direct from the heavens to your weary soul – they will suddenly descend the stairs one day wearing a coat all on their very own;
Like with True Love’s Kiss,
the curse will be broken.
Maybe it works like some slow-going Easy Bake Oven. Maybe that hoodie just finally cooked them into being done.
The timer will ding.
They will crave warmth.
It will happen.
Just wait and don’t even try to fight it in the meantime.
This is my fourth rodeo.
You’re better off saving your energy for locating where your forks are.
Consider this fair warning.
Consider this Emergency Broadcasting in its truest form.
If we can’t insulate them, we can insulate each other, friends;
My gifts to you are warnings and bits of knowledge.
I gave you some of mine,
Now give me some of yours.
What should we break to the new parents?
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
