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Don't Call Me, I Have a Toddler

My Dearest Telephone,

I have loved you for so long. From prank calling cute boys in junior high to getting my own private line at 14, we have spent precious ages together and the time was beautiful.

When call-waiting came into my teenage life, I realized I need never worry about who was trying to reach me to discuss 5th period. With 3-way calling, the heavens opened by giving me the ability to conference my girlfriends and gossip about the day’s events, even though we had spent the entire day together. There was just always more to say; you understood.
The emergence of the cell phone rocked my core and we took our relationship to a deeper and more profound level. The cell phone gave me the freedom to be in constant communication every second of every day, teaching me valuable lessons involving hands-free devices and the cost of exorbitant cell phone usage.

Telephone, our love was real and it was true, but I must regrettably say goodbye now that I have a toddler. As a mother, I have come to the painful realization that I must forfeit recreational usage of you, my beloved telephone. You see, I am no longer able to carry on intelligent conversations free from distraction as my toddler despises you. Whenever we attempt to spend quality time together, my child morphs into a crazy monster who vies for my attention and cannot be tamed. Something about spending time with you makes me overwhelmingly popular with him; a shift in attention most deeply rooted in jealousy.

Sadly, the time of reckoning has come - it’s not you, it’s him. I hope in time - as BooBoo grows - we can rekindle our romance for there’s a time and a place for us…someday, somewhere, somehow.

Stay true dearest telephone, may you continue to connect 13 year old girls to discuss important matters involving Facebook and Twilight.

You are never far from my heart; you literally had me at “hello”.

Hanging up now *sniff, sniff*,

More on Toddler Times:

How to Make Sure Your House Doesn’t Suck This Halloween

My Kid is Right: Clowns Are Scary

My Son Thinks I’m a Slot

I’d Rather Starve Than Eat Off My Kid’s Plate

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