It blew through last night. The screaming, angry, thrashing, waves crashing down on my bed in violent ear pounding screams. Night time can be so dark. When you hear ‘no’, even gently, for so long, eventually it stirs up the waters until they begin to hit the shores of smoothed motherhood with harsher and harsher abandon. We’ve never night weaned. Ever has naturally lessened the frequency of her nursing, but her ferocity of love for this connection has never dried. And as it has ramped up and up the past few nights, I knew it was time for me to begin to say “not right now, in a bit” a bit more. And the storm has been brewing.
Coupled with a cold, and the day of chocolate before this… I knew I was tempting fate.
Her feelings are enormous, and familiar, and mine, and begin with a small cry that swells into a yell and a wave that crashes onto me. Again and again. Into the walls and pounds on the doors and hurts and grows and recedes and comes back, again, this time taller.
Ever is the ocean and I am the moon, my heart and words pulling her huge emotions into the shore again and her heart crashing into my beaches looking for soft landing. Finding it, and the arms smoothed by her weight, every time.
And as my heart rises and her tide recedes she melts into softness and ripples and deep breaths. The undercurrent gone. The crashing waves, calm. And my arms melted around her the way the sand melts around your feet as the water pulls back again. One. So connected. Both our tears dry and kisses wet.
Ever is my ocean, deeper than I can fathom and brighter and more buoyant than my heart can hold. I am her moon, consistent and ever rising and falling and pulling her into me and allowing her back out to grow. We depend on each other, connected and confused, and always knowing the parts that are most important. Even if we can’t grasp each others expanse or need, we can always pull back to the other. We always nestle into each other. We always ware each other smooth till the kisses come back and the calm returns and the stars rise and we are there again. Known again.
This girl is my tempest. My teacher. The exclamation point to our family.