"But you don't feel anything, especially if you had a difficult childhood."
Betty's hair is still damp and plastered on her forehead when Don comes in, allowed earlier entry than most husbands because Betty repeatedly demanded it. He knows he still smells like the cigar smoke from the pink set Betty's brother William passed out in the waiting room upon the announcement that Don had a daughter, but he leans in anyway and touches his lips to her hair.
"Have you seen her yet?" Betty reaches for Don's hand and he's careful to avoid the IV when he grasps it.
"No, I'm going to soon, though, Birdie."
"She's beautiful. I only saw her for a second, but she's much cuter than Karen or Pam were. Then again, William didn't get the same genes as I did."
Betty smiles and closes her eyes, seemingly content that she had birthed a prettier baby than either of her brother's young girls.
Don rubs the webbing between Betty's thumb and forefinger.
"What did she look like to you?"
Betty furrows her brow, but keeps her eyes closed. She sighs peacefully and Don swears to himself she's never been more beautiful. Somehow, the hospital gown and a deep flush that work from her face down to her chest suit her better than her wedding gown ever did.
"Sarah," she says finally, with a smile. "She's definitely a Sarah."
Don's hands are shaking when he approaches the nursery window, and when a bright young nurse holds up Baby Girl Draper, he is taken aback by how similar she looks to Betty. Granted, he left Betty as she dozed off and the baby is sleeping too, but she is the miniature version of the woman he fell in love with.
When another nurse approaches him with the birth certificate, he writes down Sarah Elizabeth. He traces it with his finger after it dries, expecting to feel something, but all he feels is his finger dragging across the paper.
By the time they get home, Don's headache has spread into his molars, and the burning in his stomach that had kept him from fully paying attention to the road sends him immediately to the cabinet to get Alka Seltzer. Betty follows with the baby in her arms, and leaning against the counter, clicking her tongue to the roof of her mouth.
"Out too late?" she asks as he gulps the last of the fizzling water. "Will you be alright with Mom and Dad here?"
Don nods. Of course, he dislikes that Betty's parents were coming by during their baby's first day at home, but a hangover would only make things marginally worse.
"Who went out last night?"
"Ken, Roger." He decides to not mention that he knows a few other met them later, but he doesn't remember who.
The baby starts fussing, and Betty shifts her hold, though it looks uncomfortable. A few moments pass, as Don watches Betty fumble, trying to calm their daughter.
"Maybe she needs a change," he offers, opening his arms out to Betty. Don has only changed a diaper once before, with the aid of a nurse, but he takes the baby anyway. Betty follows him to the nursery, and watches from a distance as he struggles with the infant.
Don is genuinely afraid he might break her, and can't remember when to put on the powder. Betty is of no help when he asks.
"How can you not know?" he says, his voice raised.
Betty is taken aback, and Don decides to skimp out on the powder. He redresses the baby and hands her back to his wife.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I was worried I was going to do something wrong."
Betty nods. Don decides to not pay attention to how sad she looks.
The baby is still fussy, so Betty settles herself on the couch to feed her just before her parents knock on the door.
Betty is shifting her weight in a fashion that makes her look as if she's injured and the baby is screeching by the time Don opens the front door. Betty's mother sweeps in with a gift, but drops it to the side when she sees her daughter making a mockery of breastfeeding.
"Oh, Elizabeth, of course she's not going to latch like that," she nags.
Gene holds up a bottle of whiskey he's pulled from the inside of his coat, and Don follows him to the kitchen, letting the hushed argument between the experienced and new mothers private.
Gene pours two glasses and holds up his drink.
"To new tensions," he says, and Don feels for the first time that Gene may actually be tolerable. Don chokes down his drink and Gene goes to pour another one for him. Don puts his hand over his glass. When Gene looks at him quizzically, Don hurries to explain.
"Since we didn't think Betty was coming home today, I went out last night," he says.
Gene smiles.
Betty's mother brings up William's wife, Harriet, and her transition into motherhood three times during dinner. As luck has it, Betty's sister-in-law was a natural at everything, while Betty is a natural at nothing. Her mother never explicitly says it, but every time she hints towards it, Betty gets up to check on the baby, leaving Don to push around the food on his plate while Gene reminisces about Betty's first night at home.
"Sarah Elizabeth," Gene murmurs when he cradles his granddaughter for the first time. "Our little Sally Beth," he says with a smile to the proud parents, who sit on the opposite couch.
"We picked Sarah carefully, Daddy," Betty says, impatient.
"Biblical," her mother says in approval, rubbing her ringer over one of the baby's feet.
Don immediately prefers the way Sally slips off his tongue.
The Hofstadts wear our their welcome and they leave late in the evening to go stay at a nearby hotel (Betty's mother is not keen on being woken by the newborn every few hours). Betty has dark circles under her eyes as she paces the living room, gradually calming the baby.
"I wish your parents were able to meet her," she says, almost dreamily.
"Somehow, I think they would have managed to be worse," he says with a bitter smile. Betty yawns, and Don extends his arms for the baby.
"I'll put her down. Go to bed," he says.
Betty doesn't argue.
In the baby's room, Don walks in circles as his daughter fusses lightly. He sings old love songs from the fifties, replacing the word baby in each set of lyrics with "Sally". The baby falls asleep in his arms, and a weary Don lays her in the bassinet.
He retreats to the living room, and sits on the couch. He chooses to leave Betty alone to fall asleep, knowing he can't talk her out of feeling so defeated. He doesn't feel like he has a grasp on parenthood enough yet to give her a pep talk. He doesn't even know where he'd begin anyway - mostly because he doesn't want to admit to himself that he thinks there's a good chance Betty might never really warm up to the new baby. She was never good with their nieces.
Don thinks briefly of his own father and suddenly gets the urge to drink. The emptiness he expected the baby to fill still lurks under the surface, somehow with a greater vengeance than before.
He concentrates on how happy he was a few months ago, laying in bed with a pregnant Betty, dreaming together about their new baby. They talked about how complete everything would feel with a newborn, and how wonderful bringing home their new bundle of joy would be.
Instead, all Don feels at the moment is empty. And so, he bursts into silent tears.