The same, so different.

All four of my children have looked similar at birth - there is no mistaking their sibling relationship. But Emma & Toby ... perhaps because of their colouring or perhaps I just want to see it more ... they are so very, very alike.

I am happy and I am content. I am totally and utterly in love with the tiny boy who snuggles in my lap. But when I hold him as he naps, I can look up and see her photograph (the same picture as the one on this blog) and the tears fall so easily. In his sleep, the similarities are painful because that is how I remember her - the stillness. And yet, it isn't the same. Even in his sleep, Toby is not still. He frowns, he makes little milk moues searching for the breast he is dreaming about, he squeaks, he melts our hearts. He wriggles with wind.

I call Emma our forever baby - I don't like the term angel and this description sits more easily with me. The truth of it hurts though. At one week old, Toby has changed more, grown more than ever Emma will. I am forcibly reminded of what I am missing as the mother of a child forever a newborn. And yet, I agree with Jay when she speaks of the thinness of the veil separating us from our children. I feel Emma's presence so profoundly and strongly right now and I'm so glad of it.

I'm relieved that I was prepared (a little) for this. I have read lots of blogs by mothers raising subsequent babies so the grief that is entwined with our joy has not taken me by surprise. I have always been clear that none of my living children bear any responsibility for healing me. They simply make my heart sing - and that is the same for Toby as it is for Ben & Lucy.