Tomorrow May comes into the calendars of the sort of people that keep pocket calendars with notes in pen or pencil marking events and to-do’s for the day; organizing a life. I bought one of those in December thinking I will not have my phone near S for reasons I no longer believe. Reasons like not having plastic toys or formula or worrying about brand recognition and screen time. We used to turn off our modem at night before bed so that as little wifi waves penetrated my body when S was inside me. That was when we, J and I, used to sleep together in our bed at night, for many hours at a time. I cared so much then. I cared so much about all of that penetrating my womb. Now I sleep with the phone in bed, next to my head, close to S. In the first weeks after S was born, I would turn my phone on airplane mode, something I rarely do in the haze and hell of nights when he’s waking up wailing and my body doesn’t want to but moves to console him, nurse him, pet him, burp him—to get him to sleep again. I nurse and scroll through Instagram, mostly envious of moms that have book deals and newborn twins, 3-month-olds that sleep through the night, or tummy sleeping with Dockatot’s and other accouterments that I desired fetishized before the reality of our financial situation was made clear to me. I used to think stuff could make me happier, my life easier. Even still we have spent hundreds of dollars on stuff. Stuff that makes little difference to S, stuff that doesn't replace me in soothing him back to sleep.
A hedge against future regret.
A hedge against future regret.
A hedge against future regret.
Tomorrow May comes into the calendars of the sort of people that keep pocket calendars with notes in pen or pencil marking events and to-do’s for the day; organizing a life. I bought one of those in December thinking I will not have my phone near S for reasons I no longer believe. Reasons like not having plastic toys or formula or worrying about brand recognition and screen time. We used to turn off our modem at night before bed so that as little wifi waves penetrated my body when S was inside me. That was when we, J and I, used to sleep together in our bed at night, for many hours at a time. I cared so much then. I cared so much about all of that penetrating my womb. Now I sleep with the phone in bed, next to my head, close to S. In the first weeks after S was born, I would turn my phone on airplane mode, something I rarely do in the haze and hell of nights when he’s waking up wailing and my body doesn’t want to but moves to console him, nurse him, pet him, burp him—to get him to sleep again. I nurse and scroll through Instagram, mostly envious of moms that have book deals and newborn twins, 3-month-olds that sleep through the night, or tummy sleeping with Dockatot’s and other accouterments that I desired fetishized before the reality of our financial situation was made clear to me. I used to think stuff could make me happier, my life easier. Even still we have spent hundreds of dollars on stuff. Stuff that makes little difference to S, stuff that doesn't replace me in soothing him back to sleep.