My big-small baby. You were my second twin, my ‘naughty’ twin. You spent the pregnancy sat on your brother’s head, defiantly measuring above the average whenever we were scanned. A five-ounce difference in weight between you and your brother at birth has meant that I have always worried less about you, as though a more robust frame offers protection against all of life’s ills.
You have made time stand still this past week. You have reminded me, brutally, of your own mortality. Of how easily life can be snatched away. Of how small you still are.
There is nothing in the world so forlorn as a baby in a hospital gown.