Fin.
"Fin," I coo, lifting him up from the playpen. He grumbles. Hungry again. I giggle a little and carry him into the kitchen.
"Oh hush," I whisper, but smile at him and kiss his cheek.
He looks just like his father. Same green eyes, same mess of bronze hair. Tiny bits of me. He has my nose. And my natural aversion to carrots.
"He's just started to eat solid food," I announce aloud, as if Finnick is going to laugh from the living room and answer me.
But he doesn't. I hear only silence and the ceiling fan.
Finnick Junior, or as I like to call him, Fin, is eight months old now. He's a sweet baby. He doesn't make much noise, sleeps through the night, only cries when he's hurt or if I start crying. He loves people and gets so excited at the few people who visit.
"Mom," Fin whines.
"Yes, yes," I answer him, "Someone's impatient today."
I wipe a stray tear off my cheek and open the can of baby food. I sigh, set him in his highchair, and spoon the ham and pineapple mush into his mouth.
The only thing Fin can say is "Mom". Mom mom mom. He never screams my name. He uses it only to get my attention, cries it when he's hurt, or to ask if I'm okay.
It's a wonder I haven't completely messed the poor boy up yet.
After he's fed and burped, he clings to me as he sometimes does, and grabs a pearl that hangs from the necklace I'm wearing. A birthday present. From forever ago.
"Is it pretty?" I ask Fin. He cackles in response. "Hmm, it is. Your daddy gave it to me a long time ago... hey, wanna go outside?" I question.
Of course he doesn't say yes or no. His only answer is a blank stare which I take as a sign of silent approval. I push open the back door that leads to the deck and sit on a chair, staring out at the water.
"Ooh," Fin remarks. I smile a little as he looks, fascinated, out to where the boats skim across the ocean. I start humming a little and notice that his eyelids droop. He's getting cuddly too, hugging onto me. He's sleepy.
"It's about time for your nap, Fin," I comment. He yawns hugely in response.
"Come on, then," I counter, walking back inside and into the nursery.
"Mom..." Fin says softly.
"Fin?" I question, pressing my forehead to his.
"Love Mom," he beams.
I smile, the first full, genuine smile I've expressed in months. "Love you too, sweetie."
I lay Fin down in his crib and turn on the mobile, making the the fish and boats sparkle and turn. But he's not paying attention to it. He's staring at something behind me, reaching out for it. I turn slightly and my stomach drops horribly.
It's our wedding picture. Fin whines to have it.
I hold the frame up to the bars of his crib, shaking awfully. I can feel my sanity slipping by the second. After a minute of silence, he simply asks, "... Dad?"
I let the tears loose and tell him yes.
"Mom?" Fin asks, concerned. Again with asking if I'm okay. I'm not. I'm not a thousand times over. I'm ready to start screaming.
"Mommy's fine, honey," I lie, "now go to sleep, sweetheart."
He ignores this. "Love Dad?"
I choke out "yes" before leaning down and pressing a kiss to my son's forehead. "go to sleep?"
It's getting hard to breathe again. I'd faint if it weren't for...
"Love Mom. Love Dad."
He drifts off to sleep.
My breath leaves me in a sigh of relief, and, though tears are streaming down my face, I have no nightmares tonight.