"He didn't," I say sharply, staring at the half-opened box that just arrived from the Capitol. It was originally supposed to arrive two months ago, but Plutarch called and said something went wrong with the order, so he had to do it again, and the train was delayed for a while so they could add new products to it.

Peeta doesn't say anything, he just opens the box fully and pulls out many dark pieces of wood.

"He bought us a crib?" I say now, my hand on my hips. "A crib? That's expensive though! Why would he do that?"

Peeta shakes his head and laughs. "Probably because you overtook the Capitol?"

I frown at him and peer into the box. "And he sent a bassinet. Perfect."

Peeta has a piece of paper in his hands and is reading it. "What are you reading?" I ask, hobbling over to him.

"The instructions. This thing can be a crib for now, a toddler sized bed later, and then finally an actual sized bed."

I gape over his shoulder and see it's true. Why would he send us something so expensive? I am thankful, but it's a lot for us to accept.

"I want to build it today. Besides, you're eight months pregnant, it's about time we fix up her room."

HER room. We still haven't decided on a name, but we've narrowed it down to two: Poppy or Violet.

"Okay, that sounds good," I say, going over to where he's squatting next to the pieces and running my fingers through his hair. "I'll stay in there with you. Maybe I can supervise."

"Peeta looks over his shoulder at me and grins. "You'd be a good supervisor. I'll put a chair in there for you, okay?"

I can't help the little smile that forms over Peeta caring so much about how I am. "Yeah."

I decided to make Prim's old room the room for the baby. I can't just leave her room untouched forever. Just last week, Peeta helped me go through all her stuff. There was a picture of me and her on her dresser, just before the Quarter Quell, and I nearly broke down when I saw it. I know I should've gone through her things during that first year back, but I couldn't. The pain was too fresh and I couldn't cope. Then last year, I just didn't want to. The hole in my heart had healed a little and seeing her room, they way she left it before running off to District 13, would rip it open again. I just couldn't, even with Peeta.

Now, I had no choice. To start my new life, I had to move forward away from my messed up old one. Doing that was tough, but it was necessary. I feel better now, more at ease with what happened to her. That night after going through everything and putting things in bags, I had the nightmare where Prim was blown to bits, over and over and over again, calling out my name, asking why I didn't save her. I couldn't wake up. Peeta was there with me though, and he soothed me with his words like he always does.

Peeta helps me up the stairs and then runs back down to bring up a kitchen chair. While he brings the pieces up, I walk next door, grab my pillow from the bed and place it on the back of my chair so it can support my back.

I look around at the now empty room. We gave away the things I didn't want to keep. The picture of Prim and I is now sitting on the mantle of the fire place, angled toward the couch. I touch the pale pink walls that have a golden shimmer to them. I run my thumb over it just as Peeta walks in. His face doesn't show pity, he just hugs me and kisses the top of my head. I sit down, position the pillow so that it's pressed against the small of my back and Peeta starts on the crib.

He works on it for an hour before finally getting it together. He sets in the mattress that came with it and pushes it against the wall. "It looks nice," I say, heaving myself up to stand next to him.

"Good," Peeta says, putting his hand to my stomach. I yawn and rub my eyes. The box arrived right after dinner and I was tired. I had a long day of sitting around and doing nothing while Peeta was at work.

He takes my hand and we walk to our bedroom. The first thing I do is curl up on the bed.

I stretch out my body, pointing my toes (which I can't see) and raising my arms high above my head. A few joints pop. I relax and turn my head to look at Peeta.

He's changing out of his work clothes, leaving his boxers on. I pout at his back. When I'd hit eight months, he said he'd rather me not go into the bakery because now he was really worried about me overexerting myself. I complied, a little sadly though. There's a sharp jab somewhere around my ribcage, and something's protruding from my stomach.

This scared me to death at first, but at my last visit, when I told my doctor, she said it was normal and if I poke it, she might poke back.

Before she can pull away, I gently push against whatever is pressed against me (an elbow or a knee?). A moment later, she pushes it back out and I laugh.

"Peeta, watch!" I say, pushing against her again. Peeta comes to sit by my side. I do this a few more times then stop.

"Just a couple more weeks," he says. Terror seems to start from my heart and wrap itself around every inch of my body. A couple more weeks and I'll be a mom and Peeta'll be a dad.

"Do you think you're ready?" I breathe.

Peeta looks up, pausing to think. "For the most part, yeah, I do. You?"

I press my lips hard together and shake my head. "No."

I have read the book on pregnancy my mother sent me. In fact, I've read it three times and I still feel it can't prepare me for motherhood. The thoughts from when Peeta first asked me if we could have a child surface.

What if I raise her wrong and she turns out bad? That questions is erased when I think of Peeta. If I mess her up, Peeta can level it out. He will be a much better father than I will be a mother.

"I know you are. Once you see her, you'll know what to do," Peeta says quietly, brushing my hair away from my face and kissing my forehead.

"I hope so." My mother agreed to come down this week to help me prepare. I tug Peeta's arm and he moves closer, encircling me in his arms from behind.

"Goodnight," he murmurs.

"Goodnight, I love you."

"I love you too."


"Close your eyes," Peeta whispers in my ear. I jump a little because he snuck up behind me while I was cleaning the dishes that have seemed to pile up. He's been upstairs the whole day, skipping work to do something. He wouldn't let me up there though, so I stayed on the couch most of the day, skimming over the pregnancy book just in case. He places his warm hands over my eyes and I close them.

I grip his wrists as he leads me up the stairs. We take a left at the top and I know where we are. The baby's room.

Slowly, he pulls his hands away and I open my eyes. Peeta has painted the room. Instead of the pale pink with gold it's been for three years, it's now a field of many different colored wild flowers.

The sun is setting with reds, oranges, yellows and pinks stretched across the walls. There are small gold spots that look like their glowing all around the flowers. I reach forward to touch one.

"Fireflies," Peeta says from behind me. I turn to look at him. "There aren't many in District Twelve, but I remember when I was younger, I would see them outside my window. Not very many, and they were scattered, but I've always been fascinated with them."

I vaguely remember sitting in my own backyard with my father at a young age and trying to catch them while staying seated.

"It's beautiful," I exhale. The paint splattered tarp that protected the floor is balled up and tossed in the corner. I hug Peeta and kiss him.

"I love it. She'll love it."

"Thank you," he mumbles, pressing his face into my neck.

Suddenly, there's a gentle knocking on the front door downstairs. Peeta gets there before me since it takes me a few minutes to get down the stairs.

I hear the door open just as my foot hits the bottom stair.

"Hello Peeta."

I know that voice. I know it very well. I rush to where the front door is and I see my mother standing there, her bag set behind her, smiling at Peeta.

"Mom!" I move up next to Peeta and hug her.

"Hey Katniss, how are you?" she asks when I pull away. She looks the same as she always has, her hair pulled up in a loose bun with stray blonde hairs falling out, and her blue eyes brighter than ever. I guess going to District 4 and working in the hospital was good for her.

"Good." Peeta takes the bag from behind my mom and sets it behind the couch for now. She hugs Peeta and he kisses her cheek.

"I thought you were coming next week," I say, hugging her again. The resentment I felt towards her completely left after I realized what she went through. To a degree, I did the same thing when Peeta was taken. It was hard to function without seeing his face and not knowing what they were doing to him.

"I know, but I got off early and decided to cone down today. I hope that I'm not imposing. I know that it's sudden, but I really wanted to see you," she says and hugs me again.

"No, not at all. This was your house once, you're always welcome," says Peeta, grinning. I suddenly remember the crib and the painting Peeta did.

"Come upstairs," I say, tugging on her wrist. She follows me up the stairs and I turn into Prim's old room. Her eyes sweep around the room. "Wow" is all she says.

"Peeta did it." I take his hand and squeeze it.

"It's wonderful." My mom lets out a yawn and I realize the train ride was probably tiring, despite how fast they go. I take her to her old room and hug her again.

"I love you, mother."

"I love you too, Katniss."


I can feel my stomach cramping up. I shift on the bed to try to find a more comfortable position to fall back asleep. My first thought is false labor. I've had it before and my doctor said if it happens again just to move around a bit. It doesn't seem to help the tightness in my abdomen.

I can't find a comfortable position on the bed so I try walking around the room. I touch the white bassinet Peeta placed in here before we went to sleep. My stomach tightens again as I do. It doesn't quite hurt, but it's becoming uncomfortable. I rub my eyes and crawl back into the bed next to Peeta.

A few minutes later, I'm back up again, pacing up and down next to the bed. I almost feel like I have to go to the bathroom, but I don't. I stop as something warm slides down my legs.

Oh, please don't tell me I just peed on myself, I think as I look down, but the small puddle I'm standing in is clear and it won't stop coming from between my legs.

I've read the pregnancy book enough times to know what it is.

"Mom!"


I still need your opinion on those two names: Poppy or Violet. Please tell meeeeeeee what you want! Review please :B Thanks!