No Games Left to Play

31: She's Here, Real or Not Real?

"This is crazy," I say, listening to the sound of my newborn's cries as she rests across my bare chest.

"I'm still not sure how is this even possible," Peeta says, admiring the baby.

I look at him cheekily as my daughter's tiny fists flail. Peeta reaches out and gently takes her wrinkly hand in his and kisses it softly. Her fingers sprawl open like the notion frightened her, but not even a full second later they wrap around Peeta's pointer finger. The goofiest grin spreads across Peeta's face— he's beaming with joy. This is everything he's ever wanted since we grew back together and I'm so glad that I've finally given it to him. I'm on cloud nine and I feel nothing but an immense amount of love for the man I get to call my husband. I place a hand on his cheek and rub it lovingly with my thumb before circling my fingers around his chin and pull his lips to mine.

"Ugh, I just love you so much," I say between kisses. "So, so, so, so much."

We share another kiss and I milk it for all it's worth, hoping I can make it last forever.

The baby's wails become ear piercing, forcing Peeta and I apart.

"Mommy loves you too, sweet pea," I say, kissing the top of her head, but that doesn't seem to settle her.

I try rocking my body from side to side in hopes that the motion might calm her down. With no luck, I try whispering soothing phrases to her as I rub her back. I try everything I can think of but nothing seems to quiet her down.

"What am I doing wrong? Why won't she stop crying?" I ask my mother in a panic.

"Honey, you aren't doing anything wrong. Babies cry," my mother says. "She's probably just chilly. She went from being immersed in a cozy 98-degree womb to being naked in the cool spring air."

"I'll go get a couple of her blankets," Peeta volunteers before dashing out of the room.

"Actually," my mother starts. "You might try feeding her. She's cold which means she's alert. It very well might be that she's hungry and feeling frustrated because she can smell your milk but not getting anything in her belly."

"She was just born, how is she already hungry?"

My mother chuckles, "The labor wasn't just hard on you, it was a tiring experience for her as well."

My eyes start watering over and tears force their way out. I relax my head against my pillow, cover my face with the hand that isn't preventing the baby from falling off me, and let all of the tears trail down my cheeks.

"Hey, what's wrong?" my mother asks, rubbing my shin comfortingly.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," I sob, making the baby's cries louder. "I'm gonna be an awful mother."

"Shh," she hushes me, coming to sit beside me. She hugs me the best she can and kisses my forehead the way that mothers do. "I don't believe that. You're going to be absolutely wonderful. This little girl is so incredibly lucky to have you. You're going to feel clueless at first. That's just apart of motherhood. I'll stay for a month or so, help you get your feet on the ground. And after that, I'm only a phone call away."

My tears slowly fade into sniffles as my mother hugs me one more time. When we pull away, Peeta enters the bedroom with two plain white cotton blankets.

"I brought blankets," Peeta smiles, completely oblivious to the meltdown I just had as he unfolds a blanket and puts it over the baby and I. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I sniffle, wiping the end of my nose.

I tuck the baby in tightly underneath the light weighted material and snuggle her closely. As her cries begin to dull, I feel the heaviness in my eyes as they begin to droop shut. A sudden sharp ache between my hipbones forces my eyes open.