12/26/2023 0 Comments Gray felt klipped kippahOnce we brought the twins home, I noticed that both you and your mother preferred holding Evan, and that when our friends came to visit, you always handed them Evan first. He seemed puny, underdeveloped, like a plant left too far from the light. Jacob was yellow and waxy in a way that disturbed me. She cradled Evan in my hospital room and observed, “He’s very red.” She arrived in Minneapolis the day after the twins did, bearing two knit blankets, a suitcase of black-and-white cookies, and a horseshoe-shaped ice pack that she promised I would appreciate. She gave a toast to the great state of Minnesota, may you remember it fondly when you leave. Yours wrapped herself in Brighton Beach furs, though it was April and unseasonably warm. At our wedding, my mother refused to shake the rabbi’s hand. Our previous compromises, the intentional ones, had infuriated them both. No imaginary friends.Įven our mothers were pleased. They would never have to scrabble for attention. Of course, there were longer-lasting appeals: the neat family unit, the air of compromise. We’d always wanted two, and I was happy not to repeat the cracked nipples and swollen flesh. We had thought twins would be convenient. For the first few weeks after they were born, I felt a phantom kick each time one of them pedaled his little leg in the air. In the spring, you took me canoeing on Lake Calhoun, and I was afraid that the babies’ war in my uterus might capsize the boat. The twins kicked each other inside me, and though the nausea got better, the president and the kicking got worse. It was winter, and mostly I wanted to die.
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