My phone vibrates itself awake, disturbing my baby, who has only just dropped off after an hour of my shushing in the hazy, sepia-toned dark of the early hours. It’s a WhatsApp message from a mum friend. Another buzz signals another message. And then another one. Everyone is up. Everyone – and every baby – is sleepless. Everyone is typing.
My own baby cries as I turn over in bed to soothe him, flicking open my messages to catch up on the gossip as I do so. One mum is asking about the right Calpol dosage for a teething nine-month-old, while another wants to know what time we’re meeting tomorrow. Someone else has forwarded a syrupy-sweet Instagram reel about motherhood and the power of women, and her friend has replied with a supportive: “We can do this, mamas!” But I don’t feel powerful and, right now, I really can’t do this. It’s 3.07am. I’m tired, overwhelmed and, thanks to the glaring blue light of my phone and the adrenaline galloping through my body, wide awake.
It’s in this moment that I make my change, swiping my finger down from the top right-hand corner of my phone to bring up its control centre; thumbing, wildly, at the little crescent moon icon that stops notifications in their tracks; and hanging up my virtual door sign: Do Not Disturb.
That was three years ago, and I’ve only flipped the door sign back around on a few occasions: when waiting for callbacks from doctors, for example, or if I’ve pre-arranged a phone call with a contact. Instead, in the main, my notifications remain firmly, resolutely, off. I do not want to be disturbed; nor, actually, do I want my phone to demand as much of my attention as my now toddler or his new baby brother do. Sure, I’m probably a nightmare to get hold of at a moment’s notice – and should never, ever be someone’s In Case of Emergency, much to my partner’s chagrin – but I’m immeasurably calmer now I’m not perpetually available to the world and his WhatsApp-mad wife.
I’ve still had to work on my self-discipline, so that I don’t spend all my time checking my phone to see what I’ve missed. This is, arguably, the hardest part – the lure of a potential unread message can be profound – but I remain convinced the net gain to my wellbeing, my sleep and my parenting is positive. My phone is still a big part of my life but it doesn’t intrude on my living as much as it once did.
I think – I hope – my change has made me a better, more present mother. There are, after all, few things that seek quite as much attention as toddlers and WhatsApp groups. If I had to choose, I’d rather give that attention to the three-year-old trying to climb the curtains/put the dog in the washing machine/feed his baby brother a stick of chalk, than a phone that fizzes and bleats with alerts that masquerade as urgent but, really, are anything but.
