Faces

My babies look alike.

It didn't knock the wind out of me when I first saw Angus emerge alive from my belly, as he wasn't a lot like her in those early days, but as the months have unfolded before us, I see her in him.

But she's fading. Fast.

He's growing. Changing. Becoming more of a little boy, less of a baby. Not many ever asked of Angus "boy or girl?" and the likelihood of that happening now is slim to none. He's certainly his own little person, a real little boy, and for that I am grateful. He was never sent to replace her. That's not how the loss of a child works. One does not replace the other, despite what some well-meaning folk out there may think.

It's when he sleeps (obviously) that I see her the most. And these days, that's not nearly enough for my liking, but somehow we're all surviving. And I'm certainly not complaining. But to escape the winter chill and get some much needed respite myself, Angus and I often nap on the couch together of an afternoon. He seems to do better when he can see me and smell me close, so if that's the only way I can get him to sleep, then I'm fine with that for now.

And as I glance down his forehead, down over his nose, over the soft contours of his peachy face, I see her. It has to be just the right angle and then bam, I'm back in that hospital room somewhere in the early evening of August 19 2008. Thank god for the rosy complexion. The soft, plump, wet lips that still suck in his sleep. The breath that pours out of him. Because that's the only way I ever want to stare at his face. Obviously alive. I can make myself physically ill thinking about ever seeing him the way I only ever got to see her.

But as the winter ticks by, these moments of seeing both my babies as I stare at the one I got to keep are becoming rare, sadly. He's moving out of his babyhood, surging towards turning one and toddlerhood. And she's forever frozen as my baby. My little newborn. Once upon a time I had an idea in my head as to what she might have looked like at all the stages. I would see other babies her age and have a clear sort of picture in my head of what she might have looked like. But now, I have absolutely no idea. I try to picture the two year old daughter I might have and I draw blank every time. She's just not there anymore. Short, chubby, slightly curly blonde hair? A girly face that sort of looks like Angus? Ugh. It is impossible so I really don't even waste my time trying most of the time. Doesn't help that I've cut myself off from most people in my life who have two year olds. At this point in time I don't know much about them, and I'm really ok with that. And when I see those random two year olds in the street, I no longer stare at them and wonder who she'd be. The idea of who she might have been has all but vanished from my imagination.

So as I see her less in my wee boy and less in the corners of my mind and daydreams, some days it really does make it feel as if I'm losing her all over again. Surely once was bad enough?