When my daughter was a baby I didn’t have a fancy phone. Just three years ago, I survived with a brick that had limited internet access. Back then, my time was devoured by a beautiful baby who cried for milk on-demand and constant entertainment. My phone just lived on the kitchen counter, occasionally ringing when someone wanted to talk to me. Some days I didn’t even answer it.

But then, in 2012, I got a new iPhone. It was a revelation. Finally, I could check my emails on the go! Log into Facebook whenever I pleased! I even joined Instagram, eagerly taking snaps of cups of tea and putting trendy filters on them before sharing them with the world. I started to see my phone as a lifeline to the outside world, wondering how I had never lived without it before.

Fast-forward two years and I’m starting to loathe my phone. It’s like having a newborn baby in the colic phase, forever. The baby needs supervision, reassurance, attention. Lots and lots of attention. I even find myself taking my baby phone to the toilet, lest it gets lonely without me. 

Time was, I would sit down at my computer, log into my emails and work would begin. When I finished, I was safe in the knowledge no one could reach me unless it really was an emergency and they needed to call. And you know what? They rarely called.

These days things are a bit different. The thing I used to love about having that instant connection has become the very reason I sometimes dread looking at my phone. Facebook groups and emails and tweets… constantly.

I love my job. I’m lucky enough that I get to mainly work from home around my daughter. But there are times when work (and that blasted phone) butts its way into those moments with my daughter. A notification on Facebook that I need to respond to. Or perhaps an email that needs to be replied to. And even if it doesn’t need to be replied to asap, I still know it’s there, waiting for me.

Just like that, whatever conversation I’m having in real life, whatever task I’m trying to do, is instantly derailed. I need to see to my demanding phone and put everything else on hold. The newborn baby is crying again, but this time it’s not even cute or cuddly.

I wrote about Phubbing over at The Motherhood recently. While my argument for that piece still stands – I’m sick of being made to feel guilty by experts saying mums who pick up their phone in front of their kids are BAD – I do recognise that maintaining the right balance is a tricky one.

For example, I still like the fact I can check my emails on the go. It makes working as a freelancer that bit easier, juggling motherhood with paying the bills. But it’s oh-so-easy to lose sight of what’s important when you’re checking your phone – those things that need an immediate response and the bits that can wait until later.

When was the last time you picked up your phone to check your inbox, only to find you’d been tagged in a conversation on Facebook?

The scenario goes like this: tootling over to Facebook to see what’s being said, an interesting article catches your eye, shared by one of your Facebook friends. You read the article and watch the accompanying video – something promising to be The Best Thing You’ll See All Day! and BOOM. You’ve just lost ten minutes of your life. That’s ten minutes that could have been spent unloading the washing machine, cooking tea or – *gasp* – playing with your child. I’m not pointing the finger here, I am more than guilty of falling into this trap myself.

Recently I’ve started leaving my phone downstairs when I go to bed. It’s just a little act of rebellion against the phone dictatorship, but it feels kind of liberating. Instead of letting my demanding phone sleep beside me, waking me for night feeds with its angry flashing, I now turn it off and put it in a drawer. If I wake up at 3am I don’t have the urge to check my phone. I just go back to sleep. Simple.

I’m not sure what the answer is to the rest of the day though. I try to stay away from my phone as much as possible at the weekend, although that’s not always easy – especially if I’m expecting an email. I sometimes wish I could have two phones, one for work and one for real life. But then, I know I’d end up just having them both on all of the time and it would be like having newborn baby twins, rather than just the one.

Do you ever feel like you’re being ruled by your phone? How do you manage the balance?

[Photo credit: Caroline Gue at CP Photography]

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No matter how mouldy, muddy or sparse the grass is on the other side of the fence, it’s always greener than mine.

When I was on maternity leave I regularly sighed after my friends who were conversing with other adults at work. When I worked from home I sighed after the old days of non-working, devoted baby time. Now I go out to a workplace AND work at home, I sigh after just the working from home status.

The grass is always greener. Contentment is always on the other side of the fence.

And the internet doesn’t help my inner grassy feelings.

Facebook makes me want other people’s partners, the type who lead to status updates of this variety – “xxx has just been cooked dinner by her wonderful husband!”

Twitter makes me want other people’s wit.

Instagram makes me want other people’s homes, crafting abilities, food, clothes, social life.

And blogging? All of the above.

It’s true. The internet makes me jealous.

I am coveting that beautiful Cath Kidston tablecloth you own. I am lusting after your stunning kitchen. I am pining for your children’s boutique Swedish designer clothes. I am full of remorse that I can’t sew as well as you. Or cook as well as you. Or weekend as well as you.

I want your life.

And then I look up from my computer or phone screen and see this…

And I laugh.

And I think, “Nah, actually. You can keep your life. Mine’s really rather alright.”

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It’s 5.58am. I’m two minutes from going on air to present a breakfast radio show. I’ve already eaten a bowl of shreddies, drunk three cups of tea and checked all my emails, Twitter, Facebook and showbiz websites. A rolling news channel is on the telly above my head.

I’m ready.

But while I scribble on my prep sheet, my mind can’t help wandering for thirty seconds.

I’m thinking of my nearly 2 year old daughter, probably still asleep in her cot. I’m thinking of my snoring husband, oblivious of the sunshine and the need to get the washing on the line before he leaves to do the childminder drop-off and make his own way to work. And I’m thinking of the fact I forgot to text my neighbour and ask her to collect a parcel from the post office before it closes this afternoon.

I look down and realise I’m wearing odd socks. And there’s a sudocrem mark on my shirt. This is what happens when you get up for work in the middle of the night and aren’t organised enough to put out your clothes the evening before. Anything goes at 3.30am.

But at least the sun was shining on the way into work this morning. And at least I now get to see the sun come up as I drive along the motorway Monday to Friday.

I smile.

And then the light goes on. “Morning”, I say into the microphone.

***

It’s now 8.30pm and I really need to go to bed. But I couldn’t resist the theme for The Gallery this week. Head over to Sticky Fingers to see the rest.

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When I rang my beloved mother yesterday in a fit of worry, terrified that my daughter was unhappy and withdrawn, that I’d made the wrong decision sending her to a childminder, that I should give up my radio job and just work from home, she didn’t answer the phone.

This was probably a good thing, because I would just have transferred the worry to my own mum. And, while Mother Worry is bad, Grandmother Worry is ten times worse.

So, instead, I turned to you.

I told you about my fears. I confided that I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing. I asked for reassurances, advice and shared experiences.

And – jeez – you came through for me.

So, in typical daughter fashion, I’m connecting with you right now to tell you everything’s alright. Frog spoke more than a tiny whisper at the childminder’s today. She even played with a new little girl there and did some dancing. This afternoon she happily ate cake and only screamed three times during her swimming lesson (this is an improvement, honest).

I think she was just mardy yesterday at being made to wake up early and leave the comfort of her own home after a two week Easter break.

Anyway, all is well. I hope. If not then I know who to call when I have the next panic.

The ability to eat cake and feed rabbit juice = no longer mardy

***

Disclaimer: It’s OK Mum – you’re still my number one.

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