I confess.

I confess. I confess I love Nathan. I love his chubby legs. I love his blue eyes. I love his brown hair. I love his double chin. I love his wrinkled ear. I love his ten little toes. I love his beating heart. I love his red colour. I love every single inch of him.

However, I confess, I simply adore Nathan's name. I love his name...Nathan Evan. I love introducing him to people and saying 'his name is Nathan Evan. Nathan means gift and Evan is in honour of Eva'. I have been allowed to say Eva's name more since Nathan's birth than in the past year. I have been able to say it without wigging people out with talk of my dead daughter. Because it's okay to talk about a living baby. It's just the dead ones that are off-limits. But when your living son honours his big sister in heaven, suddenly it's okay again.

I know this is a reprieve. A moment in time. And I'm savouring every second of it. A time when I can say Eva's name freely and openly without being labelled.  I'm drinking it in. Sucking the marrow. Cherishing the time. Savouring.