the delivery-room corner, still wearing a paper gown and hairnet, Mike pressed our newborn to his chest and sobbed. TrackPregnancy
“Hi, buddy,” he whispered. “I’m your dad.”
Ben arrived March 24, two weeks afterward.
Eight pounds, five ounces. Dark hair. Gray-green eyes.
Dana called me from the hospital. “He has your kid’s dimple,” she said. “Left cheek. I swear to God.” ChildSafety Locks
For months following their births, Dana and I debated the future.
Whether to tell the boys, when, and how.
Support-group counselors advocated honesty. Children, they advised, should
