There has been a little ghost running around my house for the last few days.
We have friends visiting. Their daughter is 2 months younger than Eva and petite like she would have been. We used to nurse our babies together when they were itty-bitty. We were both so happy to have a daughter.
We were at the beach with our families a few days ago and there were my kids and there was little M running around and it was like Eva was there with us. Not the imagined Eva that accompanies me everywhere but actually right there.
I know little M is not Eva but it's like a ghost anyway. Normally I can see little girls around that are close to Eva's age and I can seperate them into the 'not my daughter' category. Look at them for a few moments and reach inside my chest to grab my heart and wrench it a little but know that even if my daughter had lived she would have looked different than those other little girls. They are not my daughter.
But little M twists my heart in a strange way as she struts around in her tiny jeans. As she plays naked in the sand. As she throws her bowl of food on the ground whilst sitting in Eva's high chair at our table. The high chair we've kept because we like it so much and because we like to have Eva's chair at the table and because we know so many people with small children that it gets used alot-and stabs me in the heart almost every time cause we should be using it for Eva and finding another solution for these other kids. Whew! Run-on sentence.
And yesterday I picked her up for the first time and she squirmed to get away. Definitely not my daughter. I held her for a few minutes and she stared at me with angry eyes that gradually shifted to laughing.
Not my daughter, but a little ghostie nonetheless.