Commode conversation

Yesterday Leta started playing peekaboo with me, lifting up a blanket, hiding her face, and then jerking it down to reveal her smile. We played it seven or eight times before I had to get up and call Jon to tell him the news. The baby! Playing peekaboo! BY HERSELF! CALL HARVARD.

So I picked up the baby, grabbed the phone and headed to the bathroom. I set Leta on the floor where I could see her playing with my deodorant, and then I called Jon.

“Jon, you are not going to believe this.”

“Believe what? Wait a minute,” he said. “Are you doing what I think you’re doing.”

“What, you mean peeing?”

“Yes, that.”

“I’m multi-tasking. That’s what mother’s do,” I explained.

“I don’t really want to know that specific part of your multi-tasking experience.”

“Give me a break. Beth and I do this all the time. And according to Beth there is no better place to talk on the phone, a place so warm and quiet.”



“I can hear it.”

“That’s the thing about pee, Jon. It can be heard. Anyway, I don’t have time to use the bathroom and make a phone call. There are only so many minutes in a day.”

Later in the afternoon I called Beth to see how she was doing and I could hear her voice echoing off the walls. “Are you in the bathroom?” I asked.

“Of course!”