The baby was born prematurely, and the doctors and nurses were in fits of fear and anxiety with every check of my test results and dialation. I thought I would cry and scream and curse Dmitri upside down on this day but when I got there I was at my lowest with depression. They kept asking if they could call anyone for me, or they went on and on about this little baby I would soon have. I didn't answer until it was time to start pushing, and with each push they learned a little more as I pushed out the life in me and me story at once.
"I am alone - because the father – died in service – to his – country and – to the world – and because – I'm not – close – to – my – family."
"It's a boy."
The doctor said professionally while the nurses looked at me with pity and apology for assuming I was some sort of runaway screw up. Well, I was, but not quite the kind they had expected. They had to rush the baby to the side. He was so small and weak and premature and I finally cried at the thought he might not live either. One of the nurses took my hand and put his arm around me to rub my shoulder vigorously. That was pretty nice of him.
I lay in the hospital bed that afternoon, looking at the ceiling and wondering what to call him. Should I name him after his father? Or mine? Or one of my brothers? Should I name him after some obscure character I loved? Or a songwriter? Or should I pain through name-meanings and give him something relevant? Like tragedy or unfortunate soul. Should it be Russian? Should I call Dmitri's sister? Was she even aware she was someone's aunt now?
I found out that he had almost died while I lay thinking about stupid ways to name someone. It was my shoulder-rubbing nurse that ultimately saved him. His name was Mikael, and with a name like Cosima myself I was partial to unusual names. Mikael it was. I didn't need to sign the certificate straight away though; I needed more time to pain over my surname or Petrov.
Mikael was in the hospital 2 weeks longer than I was, and when I was finally allowed to break him free of the place, I felt like there wasn't a proper welcome waiting for him at home. A mad idea came into my head and I followed it to the McChord household.
After being allowed to knock the door by security, a young woman with long black hair answered and relayed my request to see Mr McChord via the echoes of their hallway. I shushed Mikael with a bounce and he looked shocked to see me.
"Cosima?"
"Mr McChord."
"Come in, please call me Henry."
"Thank you." I beamed as I entered. How welcoming! He turned immediately to Mikael and asked who he was, automatically going in for a hold of him. He was gone from my arms and I felt relief flood through me; I was yet to grow accustomed to the responsibility I now had.
"He's so small," he whispered as he looked to the heels clicking towards us, "Elizabeth, this is Cosima,"
I shook her hand, "And this is Dmitri Petrov's baby."
"Petrov?" she asked, confirming.
"His son," I provided, "Mikael. I'm sorry to just turn up like this, but he was premature and he had to stay in the hospital and I only got him out today and well, just taking him home didn't seem like any kind of celebration. After I met you, you seemed like you really cared about Dmitri so I thought this might be nice."
Henry looked over Mikael to me with earnest and said, "It is, thank you."
"Come in, Cosima, Mrs McChord began, holding her hands out for my coat and indicating the rest of the house, "Have you eaten? We have some left-overs from dinner…"
Mikael was fawned over. I stayed almost one hour before I carried on, with assurances that if I needed anything I was just to ask. They had showed me a lot about holding a baby, and passing him to other people, and had told me reassuring stories about their own children.
I felt soothed. Even as Mikael woke me up to be fed or changed with relentless persistence that night, I felt calm. Mothers say they're so full of love they can't believe it, but I didn't have that. I felt like I had a purpose. It was the first time I'd ever really felt that.
It was amazing.
