Diary of a Night-Weaning Co-Sleeper, Pt 2
First Mate’s Log. Thursday, September 4, 2014. Night 6.
We have hope that we are finally nearing our ultimate destination. Some of the crew report seeing glimmers of it on the horizon, though I remain cautious about entering into their enthusiasm. I do not want to give false hope.
The night was fairly calm. A few small storms, some rumbling in the distance, but nothing too severe. We were all thankful for a relatively calm passage.
First Mate’s Log. Friday, September 5, 2014. Night 7.
Rough seas, although some of the crew insist they see land yet on the horizon. We fought the storms as best we could to continue forward progress, but eventually the Captain couldn’t go on and advised we relent to the force of the gale. I was disappointed at turning back.
First Mate’s Log. Saturday, September 6, 2014. Night 8.
We recovered our route during the day and found ourselves not so far off course as I had feared. Tonight was almost smooth sailing – a few rough patches, but nothing our crew couldn’t handle – until just before dawn. It was as though the beastie lay in wait until we were confident of a clear night and then crashed in to destroy our hopes as well as our sanity.
For almost an hour we fought. The storm threw everything it had at us, but we fought back and held our ground.
First Mate’s Log. Sunday, September 7, 2014. Night 9.
He likes his new game, this merciless foe. We felt sure of a smooth seas by mere natural justice. It’s been too long. The crew felt deserving of a calm night, and they almost got one.
But again, just an hour before first light the tempest arose again, battering our senses and seeming to laugh at us all the while. He lured us again into a sincere calm, only to dash it away at the last moment. We fought hard nonetheless, and the vessel was strong. We did not relent.
First Mate’s Log. Monday, September 8, 2014. Night 10.
More of the crew are now insisting there is land on the horizon, and on a clear morning like this one I am inclined to believe them. It was a calm night. The beastie awoke once and the crew started to stir, but he swam right by as though he didn’t see. Some are saying he’s given up – realized he’ll never defeat our sturdy ship and determined crew, or we’re too close to journey’s end now for him to fight. Others are arguing he simply didn’t see us, or that there’s a God in heaven what kept us hidden for the night – knowing we need our rest.
I am hopeful the former are right, and I do believe there is something out on water’s edge – kissing the sun every morning. But I keep my opinion to myself for now. I do not want to inspire hope where there may yet be none.