Having a Phone Conversation with a Toddler (or Two)
by Erin Davis
Question: How does one have a productive phone conversation with twins and a toddler?
Answer: You don't.
When I try, it goes a little something like this:
"Hi Natalie, how are---No, no baby don't eat that piece of chicken, that's from two dinners ago. Sorry Natalie, what were you---No, not the stairs; how did you get through the barricade? Okay Natalie what--Oh what on earth is that smell? Gotta go. I'll call you later."
Or, perhaps like this:
Me: "Hey Natalie-"
Toddler: "Mommy, I need a drink."
Me: "Okay sweetie, just a minute, Mommy's on the --"
Toddler: "Mommmmmyyy, I need a drink."
Me: "Please be patient sweetie, Mommy's talking to --"
Toddler: "MOMMMMYYYYY!!!!"
Me: "Bye Natalie."
One of the things I miss as a stay-at-home mom of 11-month-old twins and a two-year-old is adult interaction and conversation. Despite the aforementioned scenarios, I still attempt a few phone conversations per day. But productive conversations? Productive conversations are reserved for time away from the house or, on occasion, during naptime when I'm not passed out---which is rare.
I know it's a trade off---adult conversation equals constant interruption and devious behavior from kids. Yet, most of the time, I'm willing to take a gamble, especially when I'm having one of those days---I woke up on the wrong side of the bed and they woke up on the wrong side of the crib. These are the days that mandate venting.
I recall one particularly grueling day when a fortuitous golden opportunity presented itself. My 2-year-old peacefully watched cartoons while her nine-month-old baby sisters engaged in a friendly game of peak-a-boo. It was as though I didn't exist; it was great!
It was the perfect moment to make phone call. And for two blessed minutes I was able to unload a few of my woes to Natalie.
Then it happened.
Tiny invisible radars in little bodies homed in on the device against Mommy's ear.
"Oh great!" I exclaimed. "Julia just spit up on the carpet...oh lovely, now she's raking it with her fingers. Gross, she's bending over to lick it!"
Still on the phone, I removed the baby from the contaminated area (I was slow to give up on my vent time), and grabbed a towel to clean up the spit up. When lo and behold Elizabeth made a beeline for the not-completely-cleaned-up puddle.
A few feet away big sister Laura begin screaming at Julia, who had grabbed a toy that Laura had absolutely no interest in---until Julia wanted it.
"Do you want me to let you go?" Natalie asked.
"No...but yes," I sullenly replied.
I should have known better. Baby radars are much more effective at detecting adult phone conversations than is my ability to foresee mass chaos on the horizon. Haven't I yet learned that multi-tasking and talking on the phone don't go hand-in-hand when children are involved?
I remember the time I was on the phone with, yes, poor Natalie, while trying to bathe squirmy nine-month-old twins. I had successfully completed Julia's bath and dressing session, and was ready to pat myself on the back after successfully bathing Elizabeth (I have not yet mastered tandem bathing) when the crazy, but somehow predictable, occurred.
I was idly chatting, phone cradled on my shoulder, naked baby on the diaper table, when I stepped into something that felt horribly unlike the carpet, a toy, or any other typical household item.
"Oh my gosh, I have poop on the bottom of my foot!" I screamed upon inspection of gooey mass. Uncontrollable laughter erupted on the other end of the phone.
I stared incomprehensibly at the smooshed pile of baby poop that had somehow attached itself to my foot between twin one's and twin two's bath, and made its way to the changing table.
Again, phone conversation ended, pat on back withdrawn.
I don't know whether it was the hidden baby phone radar that prompted either (or perhaps both) twins to poop when I wasn't looking. Perhaps it was some sick form of phone karma---the universe's way of issuing payback for the childless years during which I rolled my eyes when friends chatted on their phones with kids on the playground or, heaven forbid, stepped in unaccounted-for poop.
If it's the former, I dedicate my life to the location and removal of tiny baby phone radars. If it's the latter, I deeply apologize to all my pals who are mothers, and I vow never to roll an eye again.
To Natalie, and all of my single friends, let this be a warning to you.
In spite of it all, I won't forsake my nonproductive phone calls, no matter how cumbersome. Sure, you can text and e-mail, but there's nothing like speaking to another human being about something beyond Dora, fruit snacks and the big girl potty.
Got to go. Phone is ringing!
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