My blood pressure fell suddenly, like it sometimes does these days. I came alive maybe half an hour later after Sasha took this picture, when medicine was found.
The baby started moving just two days before. It woke me up on the train. It’s too early for me to actually feel kicks, but I feel it float to the surface from somewhere deep inside me, like a bobber, up to meet my hand or the Man’s hand, when we place it on my just slightly rounded stomach. The Man felt it move for the first time on New Year’s Eve, in a cafe on a central street in clean, sparkling, snowy Kiev. “Feel that?” I asked in between sips of hot chocolate. He did.
On the train to Ukraine, I had felt three gentle taps when I used my hand to trace the movement. It was like someone knocking on a door in the middle of the night. The train had been standing still in the snow, under the sudden stars, the snow clouds having parted briefly. I had been looking at the sky when I felt it. There was no motion, the only motion was inside me. “I’m taking you to visit the place where I was born,” I told the baby in case it didn’t realize, and then the train started again.