74. son and moon

I just got my emotional ass handed to me by my child. 

Not for the first time. Hell, not even for the first time today - the big kid pulled me through a hurricane of their emotions earlier today, an hour plus of stormy weather, heavy tears, wailing, crumpling heap of a body collapsing to the floor, anguished - because we asked him which activity of five options he’d like to choose, to start in a few months time (hockey, tennis, swimming, karate, music lessons). He didn’t want to do one. It’s a big, deep thing, perhaps. 

Makes sense, after all, it's a Pisces new moon.

Also maybe my big kid was hungry, and tired, and grumpy that his dad took away video games for a week. But it was a doozy, a real bender of a space holding experience. It always is as a mom, as I find myself torn or vacillating between overflowing compassion, grace, patience, and kindness, then suddenly on a knife edge, a razor blade of fury and frustration, impatience and exasperation. 

I made sense of it after the tantrum by checking his chart. I decided that because this new moon in Pisces is in range of his natal Neptune and Chiron, sure, his wounds are gonna be activated, maybe it doesn’t even matter what we do, or what we did, big kid was going to melt down today. 

Nodding sagely to myself, I decided that was it, we’d figured it out. Then we went to the grocery store and I bought him a granola bar (with chocolate in it) and thought how glad I was that the new moon is conjunct my other kids natal Venus.

Reflecting on what a good mood the other child, my little one, was in, I thanked my lucky stars that at least the moon wasn’t hitting both of them. 

We came home, had dinner, started to get ready for bed, but bedtime came and went, too many stories, a little spot of tea, and the little one wanted to move to the couch.

No, the bed. No, it’s too dark! Turn the light on! No, I wanna watch a movie! No! NO! NO! 

I danced with the cyclone, dodging the screams, roars, deflecting, pivoting, practicing all the gentle, respectful, mindful parenting strategies. Giving him options, giving him space, giving him love. Being screamed at, “I DON’T LOVE YOU! I DON’T LOVE YOU!” until his little voice grew hoarse and the breaths came ragged between the screams. 

When little one is in meltdown, he doesn’t like to be touched - except, his little body is aching for it, calling for it, conflicted in it, desperately needing to coregulate but wildly angry and ferocious and terrible and pushing away everything that smells like love. It’s me, his mama, the truest scent of love he knows. If I’m lucky, if we’re lucky, I’ll still smell like his mama when I’m 72, just like my mama does to me. I’d know her smell anywhere. 

The second battle raged on for over an hour. I sent my lieutenant to bed, because we are both bone weary, and I knew I still had to write. I wasn’t going to put him in the line of fire so I could go fire away at the keyboard. No, not tonight. 

Turns out, a new moon in Pisces is fickle, fluid, shapeshifting, changing even as we think we have our finger on it. It’s bewildering, confusing, emotional, compassionate. It’s sailing the emotional and energetic seas in a white out fog, no markers of land in sight, with a broken compass. All we have then, to navigate, is the deepest layer of intuition - that, and of course, prayer. Surrender. The white flag hoisted high from our hearts, calling in divine rescue. 

The tantrum took us there. We sat by the light of the salt lamp, in the living room, listening to his cries of rage, until my heart finally broke a little, and I cried with him. Still with love, still with open arms, just quietly, just waiting, just reaching, just hoping - come to me, baby. Let me love you. Let me be your mama. 

Please, God, Great Mother, help me. Help me be his mother. Help me when I don’t know how. 

He felt my tears. I felt him feeling them, in true Pisces form, and his own sniffles slowed some. A yawn broke through his snuffling sobs, and he let me put a blanket on him.

He finally got close enough and quiet enough, and I asked, “can I put some quiet music on?” 

“Yes,” he whispered, “put some music on.” A flood of gratitude, swirling with grief, and through my blurred gaze I manage to open Spotify and toggle to the only playlist that is right for this moment - River’s Birth Playlist. 

I am crying now, and he can hear me. Where there was venom, now only tenderness in his voice, soft and tired as he says, “it’s okay mama. You’re gonna be okay.” 

“Yes baby, I’m gonna be okay,” I affirm, feeling the hot tears stream down my cheeks, tears of frustration and surrender to this thing I do not know how to do, and he doesn’t know how to do, but somehow, maybe, we know how to do together, once we lean into the mystery. 

Within 60 seconds, he is asleep, curled up in the corner of the couch, tucked beneath his animal blanket. The song playing is “Birth of a River,” and I am crying as the moon creeps closer to the sun, only minutes away now, their energies merging. Ego and unconscious. Light and dark. Sun and Moon. Son and Mother. Flowing, merging, blending, dissolving, crashing into each other in the sensitivity of the interconnectedness of all beings. 

My mind flashes back to four years ago this night, when I held him in my arms, just one day old, much like this, tearful, bewildered, wildly grateful, full of grief, for to love a child in this vast way, in this realm of chaos, suffering, and beauty, is a thing that is not just one feeling, but all the feelings. 

I will wake up tomorrow to the clatter and clamor of children rustling in the house. They will come to me and give morning hugs and kisses, and I will love them with all I am. Within minutes, they will whine, wrestle, argue, crash, bang, yell, one will hit, the other will cry, and perhaps before I even take a sip of matcha I’ll whisper “what the fuck,” under my breath, take a breath to try to ground myself, and promise myself that today will be a good day. No yelling, no fighting, no crying. A day of fun, and connection, and presence - in which they know with every fiber of their beings how much I love them, my boys, my sons, my suns. 

And like the sun and Moon, we will dance, shifting shade, light and shadow, and the moods will follow. If I’m lucky, we’ll make it to lunch before someone loses their shit. Maybe, if I’m wise, I’ll remember to put on the music, lean back into the mystery, and know that no matter how many times I am the worst, I’ll also always always always be their mama, their home, that truest smell of love. So I’ll sip that matcha, take a breath, sound the foghorn of my heart to all the other mamas sailing in a white out fog, and just keep going.