My three year old has his very own iPod Touch.
Yep. F’s actually shockingly tech savvy, bless his little heart. It was a two-pronged decision, buying the iPod. He calls it his phone and it’s a lot like Mommy’s, only without the option to call random people and waste my daytime minutes or run up my long distance. The children’s apps make everything from grocery shopping to waiting at the doctor’s office a little smoother, but I consider my phone an extension of myself and sharing just couldn’t be done any longer.
I also imagined hour-long FaceTime conversations with F, like the ones he used to share with J a year ago. I can see him carrying my phone around the house, showing his Dad his toys, the dog, and blabbing away in his own little language. It was going to be great, and the money well spent.
That was a bust.
For the fifth time tonight, F had more interest in using the potty (another battle of ours) than he did in speaking to me.
“I don’t want to talk to Mommy,” he started, turning his back to the iPod as my Mom held it for him. “I don’t want to. Go away, Mommy. I don’t want to talk to you!”
Enter broken heartedness here.
|Screenshot from a successful call last week.|
Both of my parents rushed to create excuses and try to gloss it over. He’d been away from his toys all day, he was hungry. Maybe it was time for a bath and bed but none of it helped my hurting heart. Is he mad at me for being away? Is that even a reasonable thought? Probably not.
I thought about going home this weekend and while I’d really like to, 12 hours of driving for a day and a half with F is a lot. Saying goodbye for another week is just too much. Maybe I’ll catch him at a better time tomorrow when I call his “phone”.