An Honest Mom’s Voicemail Message

Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of Mom. I’m sorry I missed your call.
I opened my toddler’s bedroom door this morning and saw white carpet. The carpet in his room is not usually white. When my eyes adjusted to the whiteness, I finally spotted an empty can of white diaper cream beside a naked kid, also smeared completely white. I spent the entire day figuring out how to remove said cream from carpet. If you are interested, I would love to share my knowledge sometime. The process involves a comb and a trash can, followed by “tough on grease” dish soap and a scrub brush.

Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of Mom. I’m sorry I missed your call.
We took the kids to the fair today to make fun family memories. I bought a wristband for our three-year-old and put him on his first ride. He spent the entire duration of the choo-choo train track staring me down with a look of anger, disgust, and betrayal. I spent the next three hours trying to convince him to love me again, as trust had been broken, and he now only allowed Daddy to touch him.

Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of Mom. I’m sorry I missed your call.
My son was gifted a jumbo jar of bubble-blowing liquid. He ran through the house excitedly and tripped, cracking the cheep plastic bottle and emptying the entirety of its contents onto the wood floor. I found him crying in a puddle of bubble liquid—not crying because of the wasted bubbles—crying because he couldn’t move. Every time he tried to stand or crawl away, he immediately slipped and fell. As I tried to help him escape, I too slipped and ended spinning around the floor like an upside-down turtle. The upside to this upside-down story is that I now know how to clean a floor that’s as slippery as a skating rink. The downside to this upside-down story is that I think I broke a hip.

Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of Mom. I’m sorry I missed your call.
I told my kids about the amazing trip I’d planned to the dinosaur museum, which was apparently a mistake. One of my children panicked that he would be eaten by a dinosaur, punched by a dinosaur, or kidnapped by a dinosaur, in no particular order. Simultaneously, mostly. I then spent the next two hours with him, googling every single thing we are doing on the trip, showing him pictures, and reassuring him that dinosaurs are, indeed, still extinct.

Hello, you’ve reached the voicemail of Mom. I’m sorry I missed your call,
but I refuse to answer any more phone calls while my son is awake. Today I took a 58-second phone call. In that time, he ate an entire Family Pack of applesauce. 24 servings to be exact. Twenty minutes later the diarrhea started, and I’ve been changing his bum ever since. If you are listening to this message, could you please drop off a case of pull-ups? We ran out, and I am resorting to old t-shirts. Please don’t leave a message. Just the pullups.

I hope this little slice of life made you smile. All of these stories are true. I’d highly encourage any parents out there to write their own honest voicemail messages. It’s surprisingly therapeutic!