Thursday, I'm going on a writer's retreat. As part of the preparation, we're
supposed to do three time-outs over the course of a couple of weeks, consisting
of one hour without our phones in sight, while we keep track of the thoughts we
have in that hour. So, here's my writer's log for the first time-out.

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I just put our son to sleep. It's a process that usually takes half an hour and
consists of alternations between singing, humming, shushing (that's a term,
right?), rocking and comforting, as I coerce him to sleep. About halfway
through, he starts quieting down a bit, and I put him down to see if he'll fall
asleep on his own. A few minutes will pass and he'll start crying or thrash
about until I pick him up again. This goes on for a handful of times until he
finally falls asleep.

Usually, I bring my phone. In those few minutes where I'm waiting to see if
he'll fall asleep or not, I usually bring it out to do... well, nothing. I'll
keep up with my many group-chats, perhaps start a crossword or do another puzzle
of some kind.

Today, as per the requirement of the task, I didn't bring my phone. I didn't
really miss it (though, granted, it was easier to make him fall asleep today
than some other days), but I did find myself absentmindedly eyeing the
baby alarm once in a while. My sons crib is next to our bed, and the baby alarm
was lying in the bed, a black mass on white sheets in a darkened room, at a
glance easily mistaken for a phone. Every time I eyed it, it felt like I was
seeking that instant gratification that comes from looking at the phone and
seeing that there's a new message. Of course, no such gratification was had as
this was just a baby alarm, it was even turned off, but it was a weird sensation
to find myself looking towards it, hoping for something, realizing it's just a
baby alarm, and feeling a tiny bit disappointed.

...

The hour has passed. I'll probably leave the phone out in the kitchen for a bit
longer.