Addison never gets a chance to call Derek because Annie refuses to be put down, leaving one of them to juggle four kids while the other holds her. It's after nine by the time Addison manages to get Cecilia and the twins to bed and has a chance to tuck Emme in.

"So, did you have a good time with your father?" she asks after making sure Emme brushed her teeth and getting her settled under the covers.

"Yeah, mostly…"

"What do you mean 'mostly?' Did something bad happen?" Addison asks, remembering that Derek had wanted to talk. "Baby, are you okay?"

"Yeah, it's just...I don't think Meredith likes me too much. Dad said she does, but she didn't want me there," Emme admits hesitantly as she fastens her sloth's Velcro hands around her neck.

Addison narrows her eyes. "She told you that?"

"No. Her and dad were talking outside, but the window was open. She was really mad that he let me come over."

"You shouldn't listen when other people are having a private conversation," Addison chastises gently. "But she probably didn't mean it. Remember when the twins came home from the hospital, and I just wanted to stay in bed for a few days?"

"Yeah."

"Well, she probably feels the same way. She's probably tired and needs to get some rest. Maybe next time we'll call your dad first and see if she feels better, and if not we'll figure out another time for you to see him. Okay?"

"Okay."

"And was everything okay besides that?"

"Yeah. We went out in the woods, and played games, and dad made waffles for breakfast one day. And the other day we got donuts. It was fun. And a lot quieter than it is here."

Addison laughs. "Most places are."

"It was nice."

"I bet it was. Now, it's way past your bedtime. Goodnight." Addison gives Emme a hug and kiss, then tucks her in. She turns the nightlight on and leaves the door open a crack before creeping down the hall to Annie's room. The toddler is clearly overtired, crying in jagged bursts as Mark paces the floor, looking every bit as exhausted as she is. She offers to take over, even though she spent several hours trying to get Annie to sleep while Mark took care of dinner and baths.

He turns down the offer. "She should be asleep soon. She just had her pain meds," he says, and she doesn't ask twice. She heads to bed, but finds it impossible to sleep while her baby cries down the hall. Eventually she convinces Mark to bring her to bed with them.

This does the trick, at least temporarily, as Annie dozes off soon after. Addison is on the verge of sleep, almost fooling herself into thinking she may get a few uninterrupted hours of slumber, when the little redhead tucked between Mark and herself starts shifting, growling in frustration when her attempt to roll over is unsuccessful, thanks to the cumbersome cast. "Shh, shh it's okay," Addison soothes quietly as she tries to reposition her, but Annie is only getting more agitated so she carefully lifts the girl and creeps down the hall.

Just as they get to the cheery yellow bedroom where Mark spent a solid two hours rocking before giving up on getting Annie to sleep by herself, Annie requests milk, so Addison changes course. In the kitchen she straps Annie into Cecilia's booster seat - the high chair is too much trouble with the cast - to free up her hands and grabs a sippy cup. Annie bounces frantically in her seat, lets out a whimper that threatens to turn into something much worse and points to a rack of bottles drying on the counter.

Bottles are for babies is the first thing that pops into Addison's head. But her daughter's bottom lip, swollen from the fall, is trembling, and at seventeen months, few people would argue that she's anything but a baby so Addison keeps her thought to herself and reaches for a bottle instead. "You want a bottle?"

"Baba." Annie nods in confirmation and swipes at one teary blue eye with a pudgy fist as she watches her mother pour the milk.

With Annie pacified, if only briefly, Addison lugs her to the living room, thinking they might catch some sleep in the recliner; however, a patch of light on the floor catches her eye and she goes to the window instead. The moon is full and bright, the sky cloudless. "Look at the moon. Isn't it pretty?"

Annie snacks the window pane with one palm and plucks the bottle from her lips. "Moo. Go ow?"

Addison considers the request. Annie's clad in nothing but a onesie, having no pajamas that fit over her cast, but it's late July - there might be a slight chill in the air this time of night, but it's definitely not cold so she grabs a blanket and makes her way out the back door to the patio and the porch swing she insisted on buying but hasn't used once.

It takes a bit of shifting and adjusting - and more than a little fussing from Annie - but eventually they're settled comfortably on the swing, wrapped in the blanket and gazing up at the sky. "Look at all the stars," Addison says points up.

"'tars," Annie mimics in her sweet little voice before a flicker of light a few feet away distracts her. "Oh! What dat?"

"That's a firefly. There are lots of them, see?"

"Ohhhh, fie fie."

"That's right, firefly."

The full moon casts the entire yard in soft light, and they can see all the way back to where the lawn meets to woods. A rustling noise grabs their attention before something small and furry emerges. "Annie, what's that? Is it a bunny?"

Annie squeals happily. "Bubba!"

An hour passes, Addison chattering softly about the wildlife that appears from the woods - several bunnies, a raccoon, a possum, and a family of what Annie calls "tickies," though Addison is fairly certain are skunks, not kitties; she sighs in relief when move away from the house rather than towards it - or swoops down from the sky, including numerous bats, a few moths, and a...hawk? Owl? Whatever it is, it's huge and snags something from the grass before flying away.

As the night wears on, Addison thinks back to when Emme was small, and she talked to her almost non-stop - when she got her dressed in the morning, or cooked dinner at night; on walks in the park, and trips to the grocery store. Always talking, and before long Emme was talking back, her language exploding almost overnight. There are meticulously-kept lists in her baby book to prove it, added to every month as her vocabulary expanded.

It's different with Annie. Third-child syndrome is a real thing, she's coming to realize. Did she ever do that with Annie? If she's honest, she can't even remember the last time she actually talked to her besides the never-ending "don't touch that," "take that out of your mouth," or "get down from there!" There certainly aren't lists in a baby book - do I even have a baby book for her? - and suddenly she's not even sure what the girl's first word was after "mama" and "dada." And how many words does she say? Is she on track? She does know that, while Annie babbles constantly, her vocabulary is nowhere near what Emme's was at this age. Maybe she needs speech therapy...

As Annie drifts off to sleep, the empty bottle slipping from her fingers and landing with a thud on the stone, she can't help but wonder, if only fleetingly, if her daughter would have been better off with another family. Someone younger. A stay-at-home mom with time for daily walks to the park and play dates, mommy-and-me swimming classes and baby yoga. A dad with a nine-to-five job and enough energy to chase her around the yard and give horsey rides before bed. The kind of parents that would gently redirect her attention instead of scolding her for pulling out the supposedly baby-proof outlet covers again or climbing on the kitchen table, that wouldn't let her fall off a couch or tumble down the stairs.

With a sigh she kisses Annie's warm forehead. "I'm sorry you got stuck with me," she murmurs into her daughter's silky hair. "You deserve so much better than this. You should've had a good mommy."

She doesn't hear the door open, and she startles when Mark sits next to her moments later. If he'd heard anything she said, he gives no indication.

"You weren't in bed, or her room, or on the couch. I was starting to wonder if you went down to the lake to drown her."

She hugs Annie a little tighter. "Very funny."

"Wasn't trying to be," he answers gruffly as he reaches over to tug the blanket down over Annie's exposed toes peeking out of the obnoxiously pink cast. "I mean, people do that, sometimes, when they don't want their kids..."

It feels like someone has jabbed a knife into her guts and twisted it. She squeezes her eyes shut against the tears that come against her will. "I never said I don't want her," she hisses as her mind goes back not forty-eight hours ago to one of the worst moments of her life.

It's not quite seven o'clock, and she's starting the day in one of her least-favorite ways - changing a diaper that failed to perform its duty - while Mark snores down the hall. They've recently introduced the twins to solid food, and while Everett seems to have no problem with it whatsoever, the sweet potatoes they had last night apparently didn't agree with his twin's tummy, leaving Addison with sheets that need to be changed, a baby who needs a bath, and a brand-new sleeper that will probably end up in the trash.

She has Georgia stripped, the worst of the mess cleaned up with wipes, when a series of thumps sends her heart racing; she's not sure what's worse, the final thud or the moment of deafening silence that follows, but it's relieving when, after depositing the naked baby back in her crib, she makes it to the top of the stairs in time to see Annie take a deep breath. Must've just knocked the wind out of her, she thinks while simultaneously struggling to open the baby gate and yelling for Mark.

Somehow he'd slept through the fall, and emerges just as Annie begins to wail. "Jesus, Addison, weren't you watching her?" he snaps as he takes the stairs two at a time.

"No, I was sipping champagne and eating bon bons," she spits back as she snatches the t-shirt her husband has just taken off and presses it to the back of Annie's head to stem the flow of blood. "I was dealing with a blowout while you slept in! I didn't even know she was awake!"

He's checking Annie's pupils. "Since when is seven o'clock on a Saturday sleeping in?"

"Since you decided two kids weren't enough! Now shut up and get the goddamn phone!"

The rest is a blur, from the ambulance ride to the agonizing hour spent being grilled by a stern-looking social worker - Addison wasn't sure what was worse about that, the fact that they were being accused of harming their child, or that Mark pulled away when she tried to take his hand and refused to look at her - to the moment they were finally allowed to see Annie, still groggy and glassy-eyed from the sedative used to keep her still for the CT scan.

"I only agreed to have another baby because you wanted to try for a boy," she finally admits, her voice softer this time, "but that doesn't mean I don't want her. I don't regret having her. I can't imagine not having her...and I'm glad we don't have to."

He nods slowly. "Yeah, me too." They sit in silence for a few minutes, swinging gently. "I can take her," he finally offers, sounding less harsh than before. "You should get some sleep."

"I'm not tired," she snaps, and is instantly aware of how much she sounds like their pre-schooler trying to avoid a nap - usually when she needs it the most.

She's not the only one who notices. "Okay, Cecilia," he retorts, sounding almost playful, and makes no move to take Annie. They sit quietly a little longer before he breaks the silence again. "You're not a bad mom, you know."

She snorts, pulls the blanket tighter around their sleeping daughter as she watches a frog - or is it a toad? What's the difference? - hop across the patio in front of them. "I'm basically my mother."

"Addison, you're nothing like Bizzy."

"Ask my mother when I took my first steps, or what my first word was. I guarantee she couldn't tell you. When did Annie start walking? It was in the fall, I remember she was an early walker, but was it October? November? I...I don't remember."

He shrugs, apparently not sure himself. "I don't know when she took Her first steps. But her first word was dada," he informs her a bit smugly.

"All babies say dada first. It's easier than mama," she says, hoping to knock him down a few pegs. "I mean after that."

"I have no clue," he finally admits. "Call Lisa. I bet she knows."

"I shouldn't have to call Lisa!" she scoffs, and Annie whimpers but doesn't wake up.

"We were busy last year. Cece's surgeries, that whole mess with Emme...it doesn't make you a bad mom."

She ponders that for a moment. "I fell down the stairs when I was little. A bit older than her, two and a half, maybe three. Split my lip and broke my arm. It was the nanny's day off so Bizzy was stuck with me. I saw her lying at the bottom of the stairs and all I could think was that I'm officially as bad as Bizzy now."

"Did you have to scale a crib rail and a baby gate to get to the stairs?"

"I was little. I don't remember much but I doubt Bizzy had baby gates cluttering up the Montgomery estate. Honestly, all I really remember is Bizzy picking me up and holding me an arm's length away and scolding me for playing on the stairs while I was bleeding all over and calling for Sofia...that was the nanny. She was so mad about that, she fired Sofia the next day. Sofia was Archer's favorite nanny...he never let me live that one down. And to this day, Bizzy grumbles about the year I ruined the annual Christmas card photo because my arm was in a cast."

"Well, if it's any consolation Annie's cast will be off long before we have to worry about Christmas card photos," Mark offers seriously, but laughs when she smacks him in the arm. "Okay, that is pretty awful. But let me ask you this. Did Bizzy come home and make your favorite foods for you?" She shakes her head. "And did she sit up all night holding you?"

Addison laughs wryly. "She put me in my room and threatened to spank me when I got up and tried to get in her bed."

"Okay. And who was Annie crying for when we got back to her room?"

The corners of her mouth twitch and she finds herself smiling. "Me."

"So you're nothing like your mother. Look, I know I was...kind of a jerk yesterday. I panicked. I said things I didn't mean. You're not a bad mom, and Annie didn't get stuck with you. She's lucky to have you for a mom."

Addison shakes her head. "I don't know about lucky. But I guess she could have it worse."

"A lot worse."

She's still not convinced. "I was a good mom when it was just us and Emme. Right? She's smart, and kind, and well-behaved...I was good with her-"

"Red, you are good. With Emme, with Cece...and with Annie and the twins. I know you're doubting yourself because of Annie's accident, but there's nothing anyone could have done. We had the gate up. She's an animal. A wild animal-"

"I once referred to her as a wolverine," Addison admits with a chuckle.

"Not an inaccurate description. She's a mess. She's into everything. And we did predict she'd be the first to break a bone, even if it happened sooner than expected. The only way we could have prevented this is locking her in her room, and I'm pretty sure she'd find some other way to hurt herself then. So let it go. It happened, and she survived. Consider yourself lucky and move on."

She sighs and gives him a small smile. "Yeah. I guess you're right."

He leans in to give her a kiss before taking Annie from her. "I know I'm right. Now I'm taking her back to bed before the sun comes up, and I think it would be a good idea for you to join me."

Addison picks up the bottle up and follows him inside. Of course Annie wakes up when he tries to lay her down, but she's due for her next dose of painkillers and soon, aided by Tylenol with codeine, she falls asleep snuggled between her parents.

Okay guys. I have to admit, the sharp decrease in reviews on the last chapter was a huge blow to my fragile ego. Major thanks to my stalwart reviewers, Patsy, mandyg67, SarcasticAlexWilliams, and winter machine. I don't think I'd still be writing this without you four! Remember, reviews keep me happy, and I update faster when I'm happy, so...REVIEW! Please?