"Warm, not hot."
I settle into the couch with Harper in the cradle hold, head supported in my elbow, the bottle angled so the nipple stays full. She latches on immediately.
Maya sits across from me, still watching. "How often are you burping her?"
"Halfway through the bottle and at the end. Sometimes more if she’s gassy." I adjust Harper slightly. "Nora showed me three different positions, but Harper likes over-the-shoulder best when she's fussy."
"Show me when you're halfway."
I pull the bottle away at the one-ounce mark, lift Harper to my shoulder, patting her back firmly but gently. She burps within thirty seconds.
"Nice." Maya's expression has shifted from skeptical to something approaching approval. "Nora's good."
"She's really good," I agree, offering Harper the bottle again.
The afternoon turns into a final exam. Maya quizzes me on the medical stuff, ticking through fevers and warning signs and what counts as urgent versus an ER run. Fevers over 100.4 in a baby under three months—straight to the ER. That's the line I'm not allowed to forget. She makes me practice taking Harper's temperature with the rectal thermometer, which is still fucking weird, but I'm getting used to it. We go through dehydration signs, what normal baby poop looks like versus concerning poop, and how to check for a fever without a thermometer if I need to.
"This is the stuff that scares new parents," Maya says. "The routine stuff, the feeding, diapers, and sleep, you've got that down because Nora's been teaching you. But the medical stuff is where people panic and either overreact or underreact. You need to know the difference."
By late afternoon, I've got pages of notes, emergency contacts saved in my phone, and Maya's personal cell number with instructions to text her photos if I'm worried about anything.
"You're doing better than I expected," Maya admits, watchingme give Harper her evening bottle. "Nora's been putting in work with you."
"She has." I glance toward the stairs where Nora's been giving us space. "But I've been putting in the work too. She can teach me all she wants, but it doesn't do anything if I'm not actually trying."
Maya looks at me for a moment. Then she nods once, like she's filing something away. "Fair enough."
The evening routine is the final test. Maya watches while I give Harper a bath. Water tested by the elbow; gentle baby wash; head supported the whole time; towel-dried thoroughly, especially in the creases; into pajamas, final bottle, and then into the crib with the white noise machine on low.
Harper's out within minutes.
"Okay." Maya nods, definitive. "You're not going to kill her. You know what you're doing."
"Thanks to Nora and you guys."
"Mostly Nora at this point," Maya says. "We just got you started. She's the one teaching you the actual parenting part."
By 6 p.m., Emma, Diane, and Maya have loaded Emma's SUV.
Emma pulls me into a hug in the driveway. Diane is right behind her, the two of them tag-teaming the same message in slightly different voices:you're a fast learner, you're not a disaster, you're a new parent who got zero warning, and that little girl is lucky to have you. Call us if you need anything. I'm rougher than I want to be when I thank them. Emma squeezes hard.
Maya's hug is brief and firm. "Don't fuck it up. Call me if you have medical questions. I don't care what time it is."
"I will. Thank you. For all of it. For coming without asking questions."
She pulls back and gives me a look that's very Maya, dry and direct. "You needed help. That's how this works." She doesn't say anything else about it; she doesn't need to, and I think that's exactly the point.
I stand in the driveway watching until the taillights disappeararound the corner. Then it's quiet. Just the street and the house. Most of my support system just drove away, and I should probably feel worse about that than I do. But I don't, because when I turn around, the lights are on inside, Harper's in there, and so is Nora.
I head back inside. Nora's in the kitchen cleaning bottles; the color-coded charts on the fridge are already filled in for today. She glances up when I come in.
"You okay?"
"Yeah." I lean against the counter. "Just weird. They've been here since Wednesday morning, and now it's just us."
"Maya seemed impressed. Said you knew what you were doing."
"Becauseyoutaught me." I watch her organize the bottles in the drying rack, everything precise and methodical. "Maya handled the medical stuff, but the day-to-day? That's all you."