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By Root 495 0

oldest friend, who found out at forty that she was pregnant with twins. In typical fashion for her, she had researched the parenting experience. She had told me that the studies showed that if you were parenting correctly, you would not have time for many of the things that you thought were important before you became a parent, but you would feel more fulfilled as a result. I’d had no idea what she meant. At the time she told me this, my hobby was photography, and I was working in my darkroom twice a week until 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning. I could not imagine giving that up. I have spent a total of two nights in the darkroom since the boys came home, printing up photos as a favor to a friend. I have never once missed it.

“Congratulations,” I informed Jennifer. “You’re a mom.” Then I added, “It’s twins.”

I hope that I was smiling as I said this, but I really can’t remember. Jennifer shrieked, “What?!” and jumped off the couch as though she had received an electric shock. She grabbed the receiver and started talking to Susan. I mentally drifted away, trying to absorb the information and figure out the next step. At some point Jennifer began to cry. If I recall correctly, she did not stop crying for at least two days.

Finally, Jennifer hung up the phone. Mascara colored her face beneath her eyes like an athlete’s eye black. “They said we can show up anytime after twelve,” she told me, sniffling. “The birth mother is still there. She needs some time to say good-bye.”

I nodded, pursing my lips. “That’s understandable,” I said.

We realized that we needed to get dressed and go to a baby store. We had absolutely nothing in the house for a baby, because in Jewish tradition the keinahora says that it is bad luck if you plan for a baby before it arrives. All we had was a room on the second floor painted dark yellow, which was where the baby (one!) was to go, and which held only a tan couch, a set of curtains and a window shade for each of the two windows, and three bare white bookshelves anchored into the wall. We had no baby clothing, no formula, no bedding; we had no books, no toys. There were no bottles, no cribs, and no dressers. We did not have a name for one baby, let alone for two. We had nothing. We were completely unprepared for this. We hugged each other and went upstairs to get dressed.

I put on my tuxedo. How often would I get to be a father and bring two boys home? I wore bright red socks and my black sneakers so people would know that on some level, at least, I wasn’t taking myself too seriously. In later years, the boys admitted that they were very impressed to learn that I treated the event with such significance that I went to the trouble of wearing a tuxedo (even paired with red socks) in order to go meet them for the first time. The tux was a hand-me-down from my dad, whom it no longer fit. Somewhere in there, a circle was being completed, but I didn’t have time to think about this. We called Jennifer’s parents in Bethesda to tell them the news; they said they would pack and arrive later in the afternoon. My own parents were out, so we were not able to tell them yet that they had finally become grandparents. We called our siblings, scattered around the country. We called some friends. We asked people to spread the word that the next day we would have everyone over for an open house. Jennifer called a caterer to arrange for food to be delivered. The real estate agent who had sold us our house, and who had become a friend, ordered two stork signs for us to plant on the lawn to announce the boys’ arrival.

We drove to the closest available baby store. Jennifer went to look at furniture. I explained to the saleswoman who approached me that we had two newborn boys coming into our house and had absolutely nothing for them but an empty room.

“Congratulations,” she said. “You’re on the way to pick them up now?”

I nodded. “In an hour,” I told her.

“Well, to start with, you’ll need car seats,” she pointed out.

She walked me over to a little room off the main part of the store, took a gray plastic car seat off a shelf,