I finally did what I’ve needed to do for the past five weeks, and hadn’t done it: I turned off my email. You see, I left for maternity leave at the end of June, but as my personal and work email share an account [boundaries mistake #1…], I continued to be “on.” I somehow justified that I wasn’t working because I wasn’t – usually – reading Young Life emails. But still, I’d glance at the title …and think about work. I’d see one from a work contact …and begin thinking about work. I’d convinced myself that as long as I didn’t check said emails on my laptop, that I was fine – but still suffering from what our sad technological generation prides itself on, I was “on” all the time. I told myself that it’d be okay to check them on my phone and on the iPad, thinking that there just might be an email so important (about Canon, not YL, of course), that I couldn’t miss it.
But how is that worth it?
So two days ago I finally officially uninstalled my email account on anything and everything that might tempt me. ‘Bout time, self.
Recently there have been a slew of articles bouncing around Huffington Post and the greater internet alike encouraging mothers (in particular) to stop making the w-w-w more important than their kin. I couldn’t agree more. Much of today’s news was filled with accounts of the world’s reaction to NBC still living in the 20th century, so to speak: what do you mean you expect us to wait until prime evening hours to find out whether or not Phelps won a 19th medal? Tweet that!
I don’t want to miss his sweet little sleepy smiles because I’m browsing Facebook status updates. (I mean, seriously now – status updates. Are they exciting? Not really. But are they addicting? Yes).
I don’t want his little fingers wrapping around my one because I’m playing Words with Friends.
I don’t want to miss noticing how he’s grown already – little man is almost up to 9 (whole!) pounds, finding himself in the 50th percentile for weight and 60th for height. I hear how the first few months are just a blur, and I suppose that’s true given the fact that sleep now doesn’t come in more than two-hour increments; but truthfully, I do feel pretty alert, and therefore pretty good, so in that way, it seems like it’s no fault but my own if I find technology more interesting than this perfect little creation.
I don’t even want to miss those poop stories, like today [insert poop story now…] when he was working so hard to poo and nurse at the same time that when he finally finished (both feats), it was his greatest work-out to date. He was fully out of breath, huffing and puffing, the greatest of Olympic contenders.
You get the picture. I get the picture. I desire not to take this little campfire for granted, and instead get to know him by making him my priority.
I mean, how can you refuse this little bundle of goodness? (And the accompanying HBH).
So, how do you remain present in this technological world of instant gratification we’ve bought into? If you’re a nursing mama in particular, how do you combat being present with your little one?0