We couldn’t have asked for a more perfect baby.

Lillian slept well through the night, only waking up a handful of times. Jeff was a champ, springing into action each time she whimpered to help with any diaper changing and fatherly duties. I’m crossing all of my cross-ables that this momentum continues when we get back home in a few days.

Knowing Jeff, it no doubt will.

Nursing Lillian appears to be going well. I have no idea if I’m doing it right. I actually have no idea if I’m doing any of this right. In fact, I’m convinced now more than ever that adults are just making their way through life faking it as best as they can because all of us are freaking clueless.

Lillian is in my arms nursing for what feels like the fifteenth time today, and I’m still resting in the hospital bed, thinking about everything that transpired. Lillian’s arrival. Freakin’ Leo. Getting married, even if it wasn’t technically legal. We’ll get those details sorted out soon enough.

All in all, it was an incredible day. One I won’t soon forget.

Jeff leans against the doorframe leading into our en suite bathroom. His hair is still damp, but he’s sporting a fresh set of clothes — something I’m longing for. This giant maxi pad I’m sporting could probably absorb the contents of the Mississippi River. I can’t feel anything south of the equator thanks to the ice packs they keep telling me to shove down there to help ease the swelling. But I’m terrified to put my own clothes on for fear of ruining them, and so the hospital gown and their glorious undergarments it is.

“Motherhood looks amazing on you, Henley,” he says with pride.

“Thanks. We’ll see if you still feel the same way when I’m covered in poop and spit up at two-thirty some random morning.”

“I’m sure I will.” He leans down to kiss me but stops just short of my lips. “Whoa!”

“What?” Surely my breath isn’t that bad.

“Um, sweetie, I don’t know how to put this politely, but you grew porn star boobs overnight.” His eyes bug out, and I can see him practically roll his tongue back up into his mouth where it belongs. “Believe me, I’m not complaining! I’m just a little shocked, is all. Maybe even a teeny bit jealous that she gets to take advantage of them.”

I laugh heartily. “It’s not like she’s putting the fun in fun bags, Jeff. Besides, these aren’t the most comfortable things right now. I have no idea how Pamela Anderson and Dolly Parton function on a daily basis.” The girls are so big they will no doubt be getting in my way.

When Lillian’s done nursing, Jeff takes over burping duties, and I close my eyes to rest for a little bit as Ellen Degeneres prattles on about good deeds and dancing on the TV screen on the wall. I fall asleep to him softly singing Beyonce’s Single Ladies, but changing the lyrics to be Single Babies.

I wake up when the nurses are changing shifts. I feel like a brand new woman, even though it’s the same episode of The Ellen Show when my eyes open. It’s amazing what a tiny power nap can do for your body and mind. No wonder everyone says to sleep when the baby is sleeping.

“You have a visitor in the waiting room, Mom and Dad,” the afternoon nurse informs me while taking my vitals and going through my pain levels.

“Oh? Send them in, I guess.”

Jeff and I exchange a confused look. He shrugs. Clearly, he’s as lost as I am right now. But really, we don’t have visitors. Lillian does. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. She’s only a day old and so incredibly loved.

“Okay. I’ll let reception know.”

She disappears, and moments later we hear a booming, sing-song “Helloooooo!” from the doorway. Mr. and Mrs. Carrington thunder into the room with balloons and flowers and suitcases in tow. Are they moving into our hospital room?

“Mom! Dad! What are you guys doing here?” Jeff stands to greet his parents with a hug as they walk through the door.

“Are you kidding? We hopped in the car the instant we realized Henley was in labor and drove through the night.”

The comment strikes me as odd because we didn’t tell anyone we were at the hospital. Not even my own parents. Which reminds me, we should probably get on that before the Catholic guilt rears its ugly head.

Jeff furrows his brow and looks at me inquisitively. I subtly shrug to let him know this wasn’t my doing.

I sit up a little taller in the hospital bed and gingerly pass Lily to Jeff.

“Mom, Dad, this is Lillian.” Jeff smiles proudly as he passes our daughter off wearing a smile so proud it practically screams “Look at what I made in class today!”

Mrs. Carrington carefully supports her neck and instantly starts swaying Lillian to and fro in her arms. “Hi, sweetie,” Mrs. Carrington whispers. “I’m your Nana, and this is your Pop Pop, and the two of us are going to spoil you silly. So if these two knuckleheads ever tell you ‘no,’ you just call on us. We’ll make it right.” The pair of them beam down at their newborn granddaughter.

“She’s opening her eyes,” Mr. Carrington coos in awe. “She’s so beautiful and perfect.”

Jeff returns to my bedside and squeezes my hand. He leans down to kiss my cheek and then whispers out of his parents’ earshot, “I really have no idea how they knew.”

I nod subtly. “I do.”

Jeff raises his eyebrows and then the realization hits.

“Tara,” we both deadpan in unison.

Jeff grabs his phone and checks Facebook. Sure enough, my best friend had checked in at the hospital, tagging Jeff and me along with her. Below her comment of “OMG! FETUS CARSON-CARRINGTON IS ARRIVING!” is a photo of me, mid-birthquake, scowling at the twiggy Barbie doll behind the registration desk. To say I look possessed is an understatement.

“Dammit, T!” Everyone turns to look at me. “Sorry,” I mutter, unsure if I’m supposed to be apologizing for swearing in front of a newborn or because I was ruining a moment for everyone else.

I’ll deal with her later.

It’s heartwarming watching Jeff’s parents bond with their new granddaughter. We exchange little pleasantries about how I’m feeling and what the nursery looks like, but mostly the time spent here is silent with the exception of the obligatory ooh’s and aah’s that come with an infant that still has that fresh baby smell. It’s all very soothing.

“So when is the baptism?” I hear Martha ask just as I’m closing my eyes. That birthing shit was exhausting, and really, I just want to close my eyes and hibernate for a day or two or ten. But for now, I fake sleep, mostly because I’m interested in what Jeff is going to say.

Having Lily baptized is not something we’ve ever talked about since neither Jeff nor I have ever been truly religious people. Sure, I grew up Catholic, but that was mostly because I was never given the choice and the protest wasn’t worth the consequences. I always had the idea that the extent of Jeff’s religious education was his mother telling him, “You better pray that orange soda comes out of the carpet.” So it’s a little surprising that this is coming from his folks.

“Umm … uh. It isn’t something we’ve really talked about yet, Mom.” His voice is low, presumably not to wake his fake sleeping wife.

“Well, you are going to have her baptized, right?”

He sighs. “We’ll talk about it when we get home. I have no idea what I’m doing next week, let alone if we’re going to damn our daughter to roam the earth before being free of original sin.”

I have to admit, I’m a little impressed he even knew the correct terminology.

“Okay, okay. Where are Henley’s parents?”

“Um, we still have to call them.” His voice is sheepish.

“What do you mean you still have to call them?” his mother booms, and my eyes open wide so I can back Jeff up on this conversation. “Do they not know their grandchild was born yesterday?”

Martha looks from me to Jeff and then back to me again. Our silence is our confession.

“Seriously?” she admonishes, and turns her attention to her husband. “Honey, get me my phone. I’m calling Lisa.”

Shit.