“Gone are they, the days of coming by with chicken noodle if you were sick. Now I would rather send you an e-cauldron of broth via Facebook.
I have no humanity left. … I text before I speak in the morning. And the dawn is interrupted by the illumination of my cellphone. And I know that God is upset with me.
I am dying to live again.” Azure Antoinette Full video of her spoken word performance here
As predicted she wakes every 2-3 hours (once or twice she teased with four; her sense of humor dark) though optimistically I say each night before bed to my husband “tonight is the night. I can feel it. We’re gonna sleep FOUR hours straight again tonight.”
And we don’t, and we didn’t expect to. Of course, like we knew would happen at 11:49PM, or 2:10AM, 4:37AM, or God forbid, twenty minutes after we’ve just fallen asleep, we awake to the bird calls of a five week old baby girl. I check the time on my cell phone, and stumble from bed to crib, phone still in hand.
Her feet kick wildly signaling her anger as the quick chirps she began with have turned to real tears welling in her ears preparing to make the leap down her brand new cheeks. I scoop up the little one, settle in the rocking chair and calm her down. She nurses quickly, angrily at first, for my delay in responding, and then settles down. Seeking not only her fill for a tiny belly but the comfort of her mama’s arms, a familiar scent and face, and the gentle sway of the chair.
Once positioned, I reach for the phone again and begin scrolling through the feeds. New York Times, Facebook, Instagram, Huffington Post, obsessively check email…anything really, to keep a connection to the outside world during these twilight zone hours I’ve been keeping.
During one late night evening feed, in my usual seeking of connection, and conversation pieces, I read the above passage and paused at the line “I text before I speak in the morning. And the dawn is interrupted by the illumination of my cellphone.”
As I seek connection through the feeds, the baby in my lap seeks connection too, and is often interrupted by the illumination of a cell phone on her mama’s face.
Since then, I’ve made a conscious effort to scroll less in these moments, and be present more. For these little eyes are looking for connection, and what’s she’s seeking, real human interaction and connection, won’t be found in a newsfeed. I won’t find it there either.
Look up from your phones. Or else, we might miss little things like this:
M looking for me