This Is How It Always Is

Roo is born first. Rosie and Penn hyphenate his name, Roosevelt Walsh-Adams, so his grandfather’s name, Roosevelt, doesn’t sound “too presidential” next to their last name, Adams. Next is Ben, and then the twins, Rigel and Orion, because Rosie and Penn thought they would try for “one more.” Now, despite being a doctor and a woman of science, Rosie is moving her bed to go east-west instead of north-south. According to the Talmud, Rosie’s mother swears, sons are born to men who sleep facing north. Rosie has been feeding Penn salmon and cookies in response to old German folklore, which claims men desirous of male heirs should eat red meat and salty snacks. Those desirous of daughters, the same stories say, should have sex in the middle of the afternoon.

It is also recommended, according to numerous sources, that missionary style is best, which is fine with Rosie. Sex with Penn has always been good without imaginative positions or toys. Besides, Rosie prefers to face him and look into his eyes. Penn sits on the side of the bed, a highlighter and an article about food shortages during World War II in his hands. He doesn’t want to discourage Rosie, he says, but sex in the middle of the afternoon is how they got where they are, and he doesn’t think the house can get much messier. That afternoon, Claude is conceived, and he quietly begins growing and “dividing and dividing and dividing.”

Other people are constantly asking Rosie if she is Catholic, or if she understands how babies are made. There are things to prevent pregnancy, they say jokingly. “I don’t know how you do it,” a woman from the PTA says to Rosie at the kids’ bus stop, adding, “Or why.” The bus is late again, which, in Madison, Wisconsin—a particularly snowy place—happens a lot. Of course, the woman says, it helps that Penn doesn’t work. Rosie corrects her. Penn is a writer, she says. Writing is not a “real job,” the woman implies, at least not in the same way Rosie’s job as a doctor is. The woman giggles and walks off.

Back at the farmhouse that Rosie shares with Penn and the boys, she takes over cooking dinner for Penn, who has gone to pick up Rigel and Orion from preschool. The farmhouse is huge and sits on 15 acres of land. Rosie and Penn don’t farm anything, but they are usually up before dawn. The house has plenty of bedrooms—including a small nursery, painted yellow, just in case Rosie ever does have a girl. The house is old and full of dings and dents, but Rosie loves it. Plus, when the boys break something or color on the walls, she doesn’t have to worry about it like she would a new house in the suburbs.

Nine months pass as Claude continues to grow, and Rosie knows she will soon go into labor. She has been feeling it come on for days, and her feet itch terribly before her contractions begin. On the way to the hospital, all Rosie can think about is a name: Poppy. She has had the name picked out since before Roo was born. Rosie’s sister, who died of cancer when they were just kids, was named Poppy, and Rosie has always known she would name her daughter after her sister. In the delivery room, with the doctor telling her to push and Penn telling her to breathe, Rosie hears the words again. “It’s a boy!” the doctor cries.