Two years ago, my friend gave birth to a beautiful set of twins -- a boy and a girl.  Within two weeks, she asked me over to her house with all my camera equipment, including additional lighting and a backdrop, to take a black-and-white portrait for a birth announcement. This was remarkable efficiency given she has three other children at home as well, for a total of five children in all.

I negotiated my way through the house with my camera equipment, grazing port-a-plays, nudging electric swings, and stepping on toys age-appropriate to the older children. It was a mayhem for which I have an affection; childhood energy coupled with a sense of urgency to settle a crying newborn baby . . . or two. And, as one might expect at noon, there was the well-known and sweet smell of peanut-butter and jelly with a hint of baby formula.

My friend and I took the babies upstairs with my equipment while her husband stayed downstairs with the other three children. Taking a portrait of two, two-week-old babies together presents challenges anyone would expect: One baby crying; Two babies crying; One with a soiled diaper; Two with soiled diapers . . . Given these challenges, however, the process went smoothly --- not seamlessly, but smoothly.

In attempt to keep pace with my friend's timeliness, I delivered a disk with the images of the babies to her within a few days. I waited to hear from her regarding the image of the twins she wanted to use for a birth announcement. And I waited . . . and waited . . . and waited.

Making meals and mixing formula, cleaning the kitchen after meals (or not), feeding the babies, clean clothes for all, matching socks for all (or not), matching shoes (more important), looking furiously through laundry for clean onesies and burp towels, diaper changes, play dates for the older children, transportation to preschool . . . perhaps a bit of bonding here and there: All of this and more broke my friend's original stride.

When my friend was finally ready to choose an image for a birth announcement, I returned to her house to help. She told me how stressful life had been as a new mother of five. She pointed to a window toward the front of her house and confessed, "Sometimes I actually want to jump!" I would have found this concerning if the window wasn't only four feet from the ground. I warned her that a jump might not have near the dramatic effect she hoped for.

We sat on the couch to review the pictures. I immediately saw color rush from my friend's face as we reviewed her choices. I knew why immediately: The babies now looked completely different. They were a month and a half old and even more beautiful than before. They had grown into their skin. (The baby girl was curiously without a chin, but she eventually grew one to complete her profile.) They even touted charming personalities. My friend sheepishly asked me if we could take new pictures. I had a camera with me, but no extra lighting, and no dramatic black back drop. So, we decided to be creative.

My eyes canvassed the living room and the office. Aha! I saw her husband's black sweater thrown over a desk chair. The idea came to me that we could place the sweater on a chair and place the babies on top of the sweater. I could take a pseudo aerial shot by standing on the chair's foot stool. Such could lend the same effect as using professional accessories. I took two lamps from the living room and took off their shades. I placed one on either side of the chair to sufficiently light the area. This caused stark light as opposed to softly diffused light, but I could not expect perfection.

So, my friend and I placed the sweater on the chair and placed the babies on the sweater. I stood on the foot stool, which was perilously bouncy.  My friend was cringing with fear that I might drop the camera on the babies; I was concerned that my unsteadiness would blur the exposures. My friend held my legs to steady me, thereby allowing less of a chance that I would drop the camera on the babies and also a crisper exposure. Only one problem remained. The sweater was not large enough for the coverage we needed.

There was, however, hope. I spotted a hamper filled with laundry to my left and an electric swing to my right. I took one arm of the sweater and ruthlessly stretched it until it caught between the brim and the lid of the hamper. I took the other arm of the sweater and stretched it - again, ruthlessly - far enough that I could tie it to the electric swing. Perfect! I was able to press my shutter button ten or twelve times before the arms of the sweater sprung wildly away from the hamper and swing -- as if they were their captors - and land on the babies' faces. My efforts were not in vain . . . or our efforts. (I did not want to be solely responsible for the demise of the black sweater.)

What is truly important is that my friend was able to choose a recent image of her babies, one which she adored. And, even with two years gone by, I recently saw my friend's husband wearing his black sweater. The cuffs did fall over his hands because they lost their elasticity due to trauma, but for nothing less than a good cause.

By Erin Heffernan

Erin Heffernan is a photographer in Scituate. Her Wink South series, "Shutter to Think", explains how looking at life from a different angle, even if it's via the viewfinder, can offer valuable lessons (and sometimes comic relief!).