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.
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.
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.
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.
