I wave Peeta's kisses off, and quickly sit up, ignoring the shock of pain the sudden movement sends through me, "Something's wrong…Babies are supposed to cry. Why isn't it crying? Why isn't it-…" A muffled whine cuts me off and grows to a shrill cry that rises and falls in voume as Susan clears the baby's nose of fluid.
Susan quickly finishes washing the baby off with the water from the basin. She wraps a blanket loosely around it and walks over to me and hands me the wriggling, crying bundle, "Congratulations Mrs. Mellark, it's a girl."
I adjust the swaddled infant in my arms and gradually, she stops crying. She's so small and light in my arms. Her face is all red and she has a headful of dark wavy hair.
Peeta leans his head down over my shoulder to get a better view, "She's beautiful." She really is. I haven't seen anything so beautiful in my entire life. And I'm just left staring at her, completely dumbstruck.
This little baby…she's ours. And the reality of it hits me. I'm faced suddenly with so many emotions. Fear that I won't be able to take care of her or that something could happen to her. Pride that together, Peeta and I were able to make something so amazing. Relief that she is healthy. But above all, an ecstatic awe fills every inch of my body.
I can't describe in words the feeling of holding her in my arms. She is so precious to me. The tears on my face are no longer tears of pain, but of joy. How is it possible to love someone this much when you'd never even seen them before?
One salty drop falls from my chin and lands on my baby's cheek, and her face scrunches up in agitation. I quickly wipe it off and just as I pull my thumb away from her soft cheek, she opens her eyes. First, just narrow slits as her eyes adjust to the light, and slowly they open up to reveal a pair of gorgeous bright blue eyes to match her father's.
Peeta reaches out a finger to her hand and she instinctively wraps her tiny fingers around it, barely reaching all the way around his. I chuckle a little bit and manage to choke out one little greeting to my daughter, "Hi."
The sound of my voice startles her and she blinks in surprise, turning her gaze up to me with her big blue eyes. A huge smile spreads on my face as I look at her rosy round cheeks and her little nose. Everything about her is perfect.
Susan smiles at us and starts to clean up, "Do you guys have a name picked out for her yet?"
Peeta answers her, wiggling his finger which is still firmly in the baby's grip, "Not really. We were going to spend the next two weeks picking a name. We had talked about a couple of boy names before but didn't like any."
"Well, you two better get to picking. It's going to have to go on her birth certificate pretty soon," she said with a light laugh, "I'm going to go wash out these towels and let you all get to know each other. And, Mrs. Mellark, you are probably going to want to feed her in a few minutes. I'm sure you'll be able to handle it. I'll be back later tonight with the birth certificate."
"Thank you Susan," Peeta says to her.
I tear my gaze from my baby and look at her, her arms full of the soiled towels and her bag of supplies. She's just a girl, hardly over seventeen years old now; but it's because of her that my baby and I are okay right now. Maybe I could have delivered the baby on my own, but who knows how that could have gone? Either of us could have been hurt or worse…and I realize, I'll never stop owing Susan either.
I know she doesn't expect any kind of payment or some grand reward. She's told me before that helping people is the greatest reward she could ever hope to receive. This is what she has always wanted to do. But it doesn't change the fact that she is very likely the only reason that my baby is alive. And I will never forget that. "Thank you so much," I tell her, though I know it will never be close to enough to express just how thankful I truly am.
Susan just gives me a broad smile and says, "You're welcome," before heading out the door.
After a few moments, I lean back against Peeta. He rests his head over my shoulder and his cheek brushes mine. I can feel a tear on his cheek rub off on my own, but the grin he has lets me know that it's because he's just as happy as I am to finally have her, safe and healthy.
"So, what do you think we should name her?" he asks me softly. The baby turns her face to find where this new voice is coming from, and her little mouth falls open just a bit.
I had thought about names here and there for the last few months, and one I kept coming back to, but I always shied away from it, "I keep thinking that...Primrose would be a good name, but I don't know."
"I think that's a wonderful name," he gives my shoulder a light squeeze and a kiss on the cheek, "And I know that if Prim were here she'd be more than thrilled that you would name our daughter after her."
"I know, but…"
"But you'd be constantly reminded of Prim?" It's more of a statement than a question, and I just nod a little in response, "Well, we could call her Rose for short instead of Prim, if you like."
I almost say yes, but I stop and think for a moment. It was the roses that triggered Peeta's hijacking earlier. Roses are eternally associated with Snow in my mind. No I can't name her that. I shake my head again.
I think for a little bit. I want something that she'll always be able to remember where she came from. Something with meaning. She wriggles in my arms and begins to cry.
Instinct takes over and I know that she needs to be fed. I don't even feel self-conscious unfastening the buttons on my top and working the short sleeve off my shoulder. I pick her up to eat and it's the most natural thing in the world, though it's certainly not the most comfortable thing in the world by any means.
"Bridget," I say, "I like the name Bridget."
He considers it a moment, testing it out on his tongue, "Bridget. Bridget? Bridget. I like it. What made you think of it?"
"I've heard it before, I can't recall when or where I'd heard it right now, but I remember it means fire. And I think it's a really pretty name."
"It's perfect," he says, turning my head to kiss me.
