The night I went into labour with Stella a full moon rose. Hugo was born in the morning as a new moon set.
At certain angles they seem poles apart. But with a head turned just so or the light falling a certain way, they could be the same baby.
Stella was frantic, urgent and intense as a baby. I could could pick up her cry from a full nursery of infants. It was acute and several decibels louder than the rest. She kept her little fists clenched, and her toes turned down into the soles of her feet. Her eyes were alert and searching, she never wanted to close them, not even for sleep.
Hugo is languid and quiet, his cries are mouse-like. He slept most of his first two weeks, and now when awake, he snuggles into that corner between my chin and my collarbone and just watches with big eyes.
My full moon baby, my new moon baby. These two little ones of mine, these two little beings are so very themselves, yet also so much part of eachother.