Last Monday, I closed on the first apartment I have ever owned. It took a year to sell. We had to move to a rental to make room for the twins before it sold. It drained my savings. It is a huge relief.

Closing was, quite frankly, exhilarating. But equally exhilarating was the odd thrill of having now four-month old twins, and especially my four-month old daughter, in that fancy mahogany boardroom with me, where the signing took place. Gave a whole new meaning to that cliched car window sticker “Baby on Board,” if you know what I mean.

Closings themselves are surreal, with multiple strangers in the room–bank representatives, lawyers, agents, plus the parties involved in the sale–and reams of papers passing back and forth. In my case, there were also two babies and one grandmother. Talk about crazy soup.

Humor me for a moment while I recap.

The transaction begins with the buyers’ lawyer asking them about their wills, and how, since they are not married, they would like to transfer the property should one of them meet with an untimely end. I sit across from them and try to render myself invisible during what seems like it should be a highly private exchange. My daughter sits perched on the dark wood table, staring into the middle distance. My mother paces the hallway with my son. My lawyer arrives, late.

The payoff woman arrives and sits with her parka still on, reading Something Borrowed, a chick lit staple. I find it amusing that the mortgage lady is reading a book with this title. I reflect, for a moment, on what’s really happening here. My life has changed drastically since the day I sat across a similar table as a first-time buyer. I have a new husband, two kids. I am 41 and at the beginning of what already feels like the very best chapter. Something old(ish) and something new. I inhale deeply. Baby Girl burps, then falls asleep.

Everything seems to be going swimmingly. Then, suddenly, mass panic over a missing lien search. Everyone’s on his and her cell phone, trying to track it down. I’m instructed to call the attorney who represented me during the purchase to see if he has it, only I can’t remember his name. At just this moment, my mother wanders in asking for help opening a formula bottle, holding Baby Boy, who looks nonplussed. Foreign words like “contin” and “endeminity” fly overhead. Someone says something about needing five thousand in escrow. All of a sudden, a fax comes in. Problem solved. And then, the furious writing of checks.

Baby Girl wakes up just as I sign the final documents. And it’s corny, maybe, but I flash forward and think about her in 40 years and wonder if she might be sitting at the head of a table like this one again one day. According to the latest report from Catalyst, women held 15.2 percent of board seats at Fortune 500 companies in 2009, the same as 2008. At this pace, it’s not looking good for Baby Girl if she decides she’d like to try her hand at corporate power, but still, a mama can dream.

And then, just like that, the closing is over. I awake. My broker pulls out a bottle of champagne, along with two Baby Gap bags with gifts for the babies. I kiss Baby Girl, I hug my broker, and my own mama and I pack up the babies and head back out into the Manhattan wind.

It’s a day of closure and a fresh start. Snuggled down in the Double Snap N Go, Baby Boy gurgles and gives me his broad, toothless grin. Baby Girl is sleeping again, and I can’t wait to tell her one day when she’s old enough to understand about the day she sat at the boardroom table, her hands in tight little fists, taking it all in.