Page 78 of Babies for the Boss
The books arrivedin a box that Igor carried in with the particular expression of a man who has been asked to do something that falls outside his professional expectations and is adapting without complaint, which is the Igor way.
Fourteen books, which I ordered after a research exercise that began as a practical information-gathering effort and became, somewhere around midnight, something more like an obsession. I have two months to learn everything I need to be a good father, so there’s no time to waste.
I sit in the study with the first of the books, and I read about sleep schedules, developmental milestones, and the requirements of twins versus single infants, which are considerable and varied and occasionally alarming. In six weeks, there will be two people in this house who are entirely dependent on Molly and me for everything, every single thing, including their continued existence.
It’s the best and most terrifying thing I have ever looked forward to.
Igor sums it up succinctly. “Nervous?”
“Preparing.” I am preparing. I’m also nervous. Both things are true, and neither of them is the whole picture.
My empire will have heirs. Two of them, simultaneously, which is either efficiency or abundance, depending on how you frame it. Boys, girls, one of each—we have decided not to know, which was Molly’s preference. I do not tell her that ignorance is not bliss, nor do I tell her I cannot prepare for that which I do not know.
She is the mother. The ultimate authority on who and what is in her body. We are following her birth plan. On all matters pregnancy, she’s the boss, as long as she stays healthy and happy.
On all other matters, I’m the boss. Which leaves me to the research.
Igor sits across from my desk and reviews the morning’s items. The supplier updates, the communications from the eastern operation, and the property maintenance report that I have requested on a regular basis since Molly moved in.
“The garden assessment came back,” Igor says, setting a page on the desk.
I look at it. “What does it say?”
“The soil is good. The positioning is right for most of what she wants to grow.” He pauses. “The man I consulted suggests starting with raised beds for the spring. Easier to manage, better drainage, more productive in the first year. He also says tomatoes are ambitious for a first season but not impossible.”
I look at Igor across the desk. “You consulted a garden specialist.”
“You asked me to look into the garden situation.”
“I meant generally. I did not expect a specialist.”
“General inquiries produce general results,” Igor says, with the slight elevation of the brow that is his version of a shrug. “She mentioned heirloom tomatoes specifically. Three times.”
I look at the page. The specialist has included a planting schedule and a soil amendment recommendation and a section on companion planting that I didn’t know was a category of information and am now aware exists, which is the experience of the past several weeks in miniature—daily expansions of my awareness into territories I hadn’t previously mapped.
“Order the raised beds,” I say. “And whatever soil materials he recommends. I want it ready before she has the babies, so it’s there when she’s ready for it.”
Igor makes a note. Then, without emphasis, “Miss Kohler is still here.”
I look up.
“Three days,” he says, with the neutrality of a man reporting a fact.
“She’s Molly’s closest friend. She’s welcome to stay as long as she likes.”
“Of course.”
“Molly’s been isolated. Having someone she’s known since childhood here is good for her.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“And that guest room is not being used for anything else.”
“It is not,” Igor agrees, and his face is doing nothing, which is occasionally more communicative than if it were doing something. He looks at his notes and makes another notation. “She asked about the library yesterday. I showed her where it was.”
I put my pen down. “Did you?”
“She seemed interested in the photography collections. There are several good ones on the east shelf.” He says this to his notes, in the tone of a man reporting something professionally relevant.
