Holding a baby is a completely new experience for you, but this isn't any baby, it's your daughter.

When they hand her to you after she's been cleaned and tested, not more than twenty minutes after she's been born, you realize that you are nearly fifty years old and you've never held a baby in your arms.

You had thought it would scare you but it doesn't. It's new and uncomfortable and you know you're doing it wrong but the nurse takes pity on you and shows you how to support Isobel's head in the crook of one arm and use the other along her side to hold her firmly against your chest.

Isobel looks up you, her eyes wide and unblinking as you stand in the corner of the delivery room while Donna is attended to. There are flurries of activity around you but you ignore everything except the tiny bundle in your arms.

But then they take her from you and give her back to Donna, and you change out of the sweaty, bloody scrubs, and duck into the hallway to call your Mom and the President and a few other people, and then all three of you move to a private room that has carpet on the floor and non florescent lighting and Donna is shown how to feed Isobel.

And then, finally, Isobel is given back to you and you cuddle her against your chest, feeling the warmth of her tiny body seep through your shirt. She's wrapped tightly in a standard issue hospital blanket even though you know Donna has one in her bag with ducks, or chickens or some other barnyard animal on it. You don't think you're brave enough to try swapping them though.

"Shouldn't she be moving?" you ask Karen, the nurse who is busy messing around with the needle currently stuck into the back of your wife's hand. You don't actually look at Karen, you just fling the question in her general direction. "She's just lying here not moving. Don't they move a lot more? And cry?"

Donna answers instead. "They? Please don't refer to our daughter like that."

"Sorry," you correct. "Shouldn't she be moving?"

You're complaining because she's not crying anymore?" Donna mutters. "I don't even know what to say to that."

"She's fine," Karen assures you. "She's doing what all babies do, taking stock of her surroundings and trying to understand why she's suddenly not surrounded by warm amniotic fluid." She adjusts the blanket around Donna's body and smiles. "And probably trying to get over the traumatic experience of having her entire body squeezed out of-"

"Okay, I get it," you interrupt quickly, frowning at Karen. "Is she going to be okay? I mean, is she going to be affected by this?"

"Her birth?" You can tell Karen is trying not to laugh at you. "Isobel is fine, Mr. Lyman, and your wife is fine and..." she pauses and then smiles. "I am sure you'll be fine once you realize that everything is fine." She smiles again, then leaves and you roll your eyes.

"Do you think she could have said 'fine' any more?"

"Shut up," Donna sighs. "Why, Josh, do you have to annoy every single person in this hospital?"

"I'm sure there are some people I haven't met yet." You tighten your grip around Isobel and look at Donna. "Can I...?"

"Yes, now you can come sit with me." She pats the side of her bed and shifts her legs under the blanket to make room for you to sit on the edge.

"How're you doing?" You smile softly at her and she smiles back, her face lined with the effort of twenty four hours of trying, and eventually succeeding, to give birth to your perfect, tiny daughter.

"I'm pretty sure I could sleep for a week if given the chance." Donna reaches towards you and you scoot forward on the bed so she can run the tips of her fingers across Isobel's cheek. "I don't think she'll let me, though."

"She's okay now."

"It won't last," Donna says wryly. "I'm afraid the fact she's not roaring her head off means she's saving it up for a rainy day."

"Maybe she'll be a quiet, agreeable baby," you say hopefully and Donna laughs. "Right, of course not - not with us as her parents."

"Maybe she'll surprise us." Donna leans back against the pile of pillows behind her head and closes her eyes.

Isobel makes a tiny noise or... something and you look down at her. "Am I doing this right?"

"Yes."

You raise your eyebrows. "Your eyes are closed, how do you know?"

"Because she's not crying."

"Good point," you nod. "Crying bad, not crying good."

"If only you figured everything out so quickly."

You grin down at your daughter. "Your Mommy is so mean to me, Isobel. She's a mean Mommy." Isobel stares up at you and snuffles quietly. "But she gave you such beautiful blue eyes that I can't get mad at her."

"All babies have blue eyes," Donna sighs. "They'll probably go brown in a few weeks."

"Oh no, Donna," you say firmy as you smile at Isobel. "They're staying blue. You have big, beautiful, blue eyes just like your big, beautiful-"

"What?" Donna's eyes snap open and then narrow threateningly at you.

"Eyes!" you splutter. "I was going to say she has big, beautiful blue eyes like your big, beautiful eyes, but you interrupted me like you always do."

"If you say so," Donna smiles thinly.

"I do," you nod emphatically. "And she'll have blond hair."

"Josh, she already has hair and it's not blond."

You tighten your left arm around Isobel's body and run your right hand over the dark, fluffy hair peeking out from the edge of the tiny hat the nurses had put on her. "It'll lighten."

"I don't think you understand genetics."

You ignore Donna. "Don't listen to her, Isobel, you're going to have beautiful golden hair."

"You're using that voice again," Donna mutters.

"Sorry," you clear your throat and grin what you're pretty sure is a ridiculously goofy grin. "But she's so... adorable."

"Adorable is not a word I've ever heard you use before, Josh." Donna yawns widely and rubs a hand over her eyes.

"I've used it when it's appropriate and Isobel is adorable with her tiny little toes and fingers, and aww, she's smiling at me!"

Donna laughs, short and not at all amusedly. "She's two hours old, Josh. She's not smiling."

You smile back at Isobel. "You're smiling for me, aren't you? Who's your Daddy, Isobel, who's your Daddy?"

"You won't be her Daddy for long if you keep talking like that," Donna mutters. "Count on that."

"What's wrong with it?" you ask. "I've heard other people talk to babies this way."

"You, like anyone who talks to babies using a gooey, highpitched voice, sound like an idiot," she explains. "And you look like an idiot when you make that face!"

You rock your daughter gently and she stares unblinkingly at you. "You don't care that I sound like an idiot, do you, Isobel? Or look like one? No, of course not. You love me even if your Mom doesn't."

Donna yawns again. "Who said I didn't I love you?"

"You. About a thousand times since we first got here."

"No, Josh," she sighs. "I never said that. I may, however, have said I hated your breathing guts and if you ever came near me again I would tear you limb from limb."

You look up at her and grin. "I think you said 'fuck' a couple of times as well."

"Don't swear in front of Isobel."

Trying not to laugh at your wife because her expression is quickly changing from exhausted to homicidal, you reply, "Donna, you were so foul-mouthed during her birth you've probably damaged her for life. My saying-"

"Shut up!" she hisses. "Jesus, Josh, can't you just stop for once in your life."

You don't, of course, stop. Mainly because you don't understand what the problem is. "All I'm saying is-"

She turns her head away from you and closes her eyes. "I need you to go away now."

"Donna-" You reach for her hand but she brushes you away.

"I need you to go away now," she repeats. "And the only reason I'm not yelling is because I don't want to upset my daughter any more than you think I already have."

"Donna."

Donna turns back to you, a fierce frown on her face. "You think what I did was easy? Or fun? A walk in the park? You think you could go through excruciating pain for more than five minutes without-"

"No."

She continues, ignoring you. "You think that-"

"No," you repeat. "I do not think anything like that, Donna. I think-"

"WHAT?" she roars and then, at Isobel's whimper, groans quietly. "Well now I've just screwed her up for life."

"Hey." You reach for Donna's hand again and this time she lets you take it. "You did not."

"I'm so tired, Josh," she whispers, her face melting from anger back to exhaustion, her eyes filling with tears.

"I know you are," you whisper back. "And I think what you've done here is the most amazing, brave, incredible... thing. Ever. I don't know how you did it. I don't know how you didn't just..."

"What?"

"Give up."

Donna smiles thinly, and wipes her eyes. "I had no choice, Josh. Despite taking hours, she wanted out."

"I think she wanted to know what the world was like. And she wanted to see her beautiful Mommy from the outside."

"Yeah," she sighs. "Her fat, sweaty, exhausted mother. Welcome to the world, Isobel."

You let go of Donna's hand to support Isobel as you turn her to face your wife. "Isobel Lyman, this is your mother, Donnatella. She looks tired but that's only because you gave her a rough time."

"Josh."

"I'm talking here," you say sternly, and then smile at Isobel. "Now, your mother looked a bit worn out when you first met her and that's understandable. But when she hasn't just been in labor for a whole day, she's beautiful. No, wait, she was beautiful then as well. Even when she was screaming at me that she hated me and she wanted me to die a million times over-"

"I said that?" Donna interrupts, her eyes once again filled with tears.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry," she sniffles.

"Don't worry," you say, doing your best not to jostle Isobel as you shrug, "I ignored your words most of the time and when I couldn't, I just kept repeating to myself that you were out of your mind with pain and that I loved you more than life itself."

Donna grabs a wad of tissues from the box beside the bed and blows her nose loudly. "You realize that will be the only time I let you ignore me?"

"I'm sure of it," you smile at her. "Stop interrupting me when I'm having my first heart to heart with my daughter." You look at Isobel and smile wider. "Your mother is the most beautiful, amazing, intelligent woman I have ever met."

"Thank you," Donna yawns again. "I'm fading fast but remind me to yell at you later for the 'out of my mind' comment."

"Stop fighting the drugs and go to sleep," you command her. "Now, Isobel, while your mother still looks a little drained, she's going to listen to your father for the first time in her life and get some sleep. When she wakes up she'll be her natural gorgeous self again. Of course, I think she looks pretty damn gorgeous now, but she's an insane, crazy woman and won't believe me."

Donna closes her eyes and snuggles deep into the pillows. "Even though you're trying to get back on my good side please remind me to yell at you for the 'insane, crazy woman' comment as well."

"Is it working?" you ask hopefully. "Not that I think you're really mad at me, it's just the exhaustion talking."

"Maybe. Of course, it could be the drugs that are giving me these warm fuzzy feelings towards you."

You nod. "Drugs are good at doing that."

"I'm probably going to pass out in a minute," Donna mumbles. "All of a sudden..."

"Go for it," you encourage her. Isobel makes another soft, baby-like noise and you look down at her to whisper, "Mommy is going to sleep now, but I'm going to sit here with you for a while. And when she wakes up you can cuddle with her. She's very warm and soft, you know. And you're going to love her as much as I do because she's the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Josh."

You look up again at Donna and smile. "I'd be lost without you, Donna. You are..." you pause as your voice cracks embarrassingly. "Together nearly three years and you'd think I could do this by now, right?"

Donna shrugs tiredly. "So? I'm not with you because you're good at verbalizing your feelings, Josh. The fact you have trouble saying what I can so clearly see-"

"You're everything to me," you interrupt quietly. "Which I know you already know but-"

"I know," she smiles softly.

"You too," you add, looking back down at the bundle of innocent perfection in your arms. You run your index finger lightly over Isobel's tiny hand and she grabs it, squeezing tightly. "God."

"I know."

You chest feels tight and you try to swallow the lump in your throat. "She's just..."

"I know."

You eyes fill with tears as you smile at your wife, and realize suddenly that whatever good you've done in your life, and whatever good you may do in the future, it's nothing compared to what she's done for you since you met. And especially what she's just done in the last day.

"You did good, Donna."

"We did good," she corrects you. "I don't think I could have gotten through it without you to yell at. Or to throw things at. Or to..." she trails off, her voice fading.

"You should sleep," you whisper. "Go on."

Donna nods drowsily. "Sleep... good."

"We'll be here when you wake up."

"Okay. Remind me to tell you that I love you when I wake up," she says, the words almost indiscernible now. "Because I..."

Then she's asleep, her head drooping on the pillows, her body finally relaxing for the first time since she kicked you awake in the middle of the night and told you that it was time.

So she doesn't hear you when you lean down to kiss her forehead, careful not to squash your daughter, and whisper, "We love you too."

But you know she knows it.