“I love this picture of you two.” I smile at the framed photo that Cam and Tara took after a few weeks of dating. They look so young and blissfully in love.

It wasn’t always like that, though.

“Me, too.” She smiles at the image of her getting a piggyback ride from Cam during the annual beer festival held by the local breweries.

Cam and Tara met at a bar in the Power and Light District of Kansas City shortly after we’d all graduated from the University of Kansas. Tara was all about spreading her wild oats and jumped off the deep end. “I want to give my vagina the wild adventure it deserves!” she had said. In an intoxicated stupor, she brought Cameron home to our apartment on the Plaza for a night of regretless tomfoolery. Later that night, they had sex for the first time, and in the heat of the moment, she slapped him clear across the face so hard her handprint left a lasting mark.

When I’d heard the screams, I ran into her room with a baseball bat ready to come to my best friend’s defense. Cam was tied to Tara’s headboard, and she was wearing what I can only assume were his Gumby boxer shorts.

“Why do you keep hitting me, Kandi?!” he shouted, completely oblivious to my presence.

“I’m hitting you because you’re calling me another woman’s name! Why do you keep calling me Kandi?!” she asked as she slapped his leg in anger.

“Because that’s what you told me your name was!”

Tara stopped dead in her tracks and quickly untied him from her bedpost. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot.” Her voice was sobering, yet sheepish and alarmed.

I slowly backed out of her room and closed the door behind me, staying nearby just in case. And by staying nearby, I really mean pressing my ear up against the door eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

There was an awkward pause. And I smiled because I knew there was no easy way for Tara to get herself out of this mess.

“My name isn’t Kandi. I give fake names when I’m out at the bars to distance myself from the creepers.”

More awkward silence.

“But you’re not a creeper. I, uh … I actually think you’re kind of cool.”

There’s an indisputable sincerity in her voice, and the next part of the conversation happened in hushed tones, and I was unable to make out what they were saying. Just as I was heading back to my bedroom, I heard Cam say, “God, you’re so hot. Get over here.” And a few moments later, the earlier screams were replaced with moans and the undeniable sound of sweaty flesh slapping together.

I slept with a pillow over my head that night.

From what Tara had told me the next morning, she finished taming the wild beast and then sent him on his way, keeping the Gumby boxers for good measure. She’d genuinely felt bad about what happened, and was even a little upset when she didn’t hear from him for three weeks. Until one day, I came home from the grocery store and they were on the couch sharing a pint of ice cream. He kept calling her Kandi, and she let him.

They’ve been inseparable ever since.

And Kandi is now the name of her sexual alter ego whenever they need a little spice in the bedroom.

“How’d the doctor appointment go?” she asks, breaking me from the memory.

“It went well. Everything looks good.”

“Are you going to find out the gender?”

I shake my head. “Everything in life is so planned these days. We thought we’d leave this as the last great surprise. Plus I think there’s something really cool about the notion of having the doctor call out ‘It’s a …!’ in the middle of the moment.”

“That is so freakin’ awesome, Hen.”

“Though Jeff is convinced it’s a boy. I’m not sure what he’ll do if this kid actually ends up being a little girl.”

“He’d love her all the same. Probably even more since she’d be his little girl.”

I look around at Tara and the incredible life she’s built with Cam, and I am so happy for my friend. If I can find a fraction of her happiness with Jeff and our baby, my life will be a resounding success.

“How do you do it?” I say, completely out of the blue.

“Do what?”

“The mom thing. How do you do it? Because I’ve spent plenty of time thinking about this lately and I have no clue what I’m doing.”

I follow her to the couch and move an empty sippy cup, a toy truck, and a pile of well-loved books to the coffee table so I can sit down, too. It’s nothing but chaos and love here, and I wish that motherhood could be like this for everyone.

“Nobody does. The day your child is born, a mother is born, too. And we’re all born exactly the same way: excited, clueless and terrified. But you figure it out because that’s what parents do. As much as you want the baby to come tattooed with an instruction manual on its ass, it doesn’t. And no matter how much you beg for the postpartum nurses to come home with you to make sure you’re changing diapers properly and that your baby latches on correctly when nursing, they won’t. So you simply do what every parent before you has done. You wing it.”

I know she’s right. But the notion of fake it till you make it when the life of an unsuspecting infant is in your hands seems a little risky. Though I’m not sure if I’m more nervous about the mom thing after the fact, or the disgusting process of actually getting the baby out of my body. She must sense the underlying fear in my eyes.

“I know this won’t be the last time I tell you this, but you’re gonna be a great mom, Henley. And if ya fuck up with this one, I’ve got a kid or two to spare.” She winks at me.

With that we hear the thunderous footsteps of a three foot four inch, freckled-face boy barrel down the hallway and finally stop in front of Tara, stamping his foot to command her attention.

“May I help you, sir?” Tara folds her arm and stares curiously at Wes. He’s the youngest of the three boys by about three minutes, and he does everything he can to make sure he has the most attention from his parents. They’re having a staring contest with an unspoken conversation, and I think that Tara is actually winning.

“You’re in my personal space, woman!” Wes purses his lips and glares at his mother.

My mouth drops and I don’t bother containing my laughter. I’m pretty sure keeping a straight face when your offspring has outrageously naughty — yet hysterical — behavior is going to be one of the hardest parts of parenthood. It’s surreal hearing this three-year-old speak like a pissed-off grown man.

“Excuse me? What did you just say?” Tara puts her fists on her hips and looks down at this little curly-haired blond cherub in astonishment.

Surely little Wes is going to cower. Right?

“I said you’re in my personal space, woman!” He annunciates each word as clearly as possible, which doesn’t say much for a three-year-old.

“You listen here, Wesley Kane Carmichael, you came from my personal space. Hell, you and your tribe of brothers inhabited my personal space for more than seven months. Don’t you dare tell me to get out of your personal space.”

Wes’s eyes grow wide, and he stands frozen, listening to his mother. I feel like I should grab a pen and paper and start taking notes.

“I don’t care how old you grow, you are in for a lifetime of me in your personal space. The first time you take a girl out on a date? I’m going to be there in the restaurant or movie theatre watching you. College? You will no doubt feel my presence on campus, but you’ll never know where I am. And the day you’re all up in some special woman’s personal space? I want you to have visions of you in my personal space. I will, no doubt, be the most effective birth control in the history of contraceptives. So don’t you dare lecture me about being in your personal space. You started this! I’m your mother. I brought you into this world, and I can take you right back out of it!”

She hammers him with a stern look that instills the fear of God in me. Wes’s lip quivers and he scampers out of the room, looking back over his shoulder with a terrified expression on his face. I bite my lip hard and do everything in my power to not lose my shit right here in the heat of this magical moment of motherhood. But as soon as he’s out of sight, Tara and I both start laughing.

“I’m really impressed, Tara!” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and gasp for air. She’s fighting a toothy grin.

She takes a sip of her iced tea and smiles at me. “Oh?”

“I don’t know how you got through that with such a straight face. That was epic.”

“I’ve got years of practice with Cameron.”