When my oldest was around 9-10 months old I used to hand him the cordless phone to play with while I did important things like eat a meal or take a shower. One day I noticed he'd accidentally dialed somewhere so I quickly turned off the phone and went about my day. About thirty minutes later I heard a knock at my door and when I looked through the window I saw two sheriff officers.
It's important right now to let you know that growing up in a major city like Miami I'm not an ingenue. I remember being completely freaked out the first year I lived in North Carolina when our mailman just left a package on my doorstep. Um, that doesn't happen in South Florida. Lock and key, bars on doors, alarms installed in homes, signatures for that $3 comb you ordered online. Mr. Maricucu just laughed at my ranting about that "crazy mailman leaving my package unattended on the front porch." He's from the gentile south where this type of thing is normal and no one walks off with the makeup you ordered from Sephora. When I saw the uniform I did what any logical and paranoid former South Floridian would do - I asked them for their badge number through the door. The officers didn't really appreciate my questioning but I didn't care. There's no way I was going to make it easy for some maniac to make off with my baby. Maternal hormones are an amazing thing.
There I was indignant, fired up on adrenaline and dialing 911 to verify that these men were who they said they were. The officers were getting even more agitated as I dialed without opening the door. Finally I got through an operator for non-emergencies and she verified that yes these were real officers and that someone called 911 from my home then hung up. Doh! So I sheepishly opened the front door in my ragged ponytail, breastmilk soaked t-shirt and Mr. Maricucu's bathrobe to let the officers know that everyone was okay and that my 9 month old had dialed without my knowledge when I hung up the phone. They were thrilled and delighted that a baby had been the cause for their drive out to my home - not. Despite my crime against fashion, I evaded arrest that day.
So you'd think that with such an experience behind me I'd have learned my lesson to keep the kids away from phones forever and ever. Not. My second son, one day at the ripe old age of 12 months, program dialed my sister in law's home and proceeded to let her answering machine record about 45 minutes worth of me yapping around the house. I'm sure the conversation between me, a 3 year old in the throes of "no!" and a 12 month old were just fascinating for A. and her family. But still, I've not changed my ways. Here is the baby, phone in hand and might I add she has the "text hands" position down pat at 9 months old.
Though the risk of her calling the cops or ordering a pizza was for a good cause and involved chocolate. More on that later. However, I might have to somehow deactivate the number 9 on the keypad. Just to be safe.