Okay, this was a drabble prompt from Tumblr. As I was writing, A Mother's Prayer by Celine Dion came on. Cue tears. Why, iTunes, why.

—- break -

If it were up to her, there wouldn't even be a party.

Peter had insisted, though. Etta had giggled as he tickled her stomach, and Peter had insisted that meant yes in baby language, and who was she to argue with his genius IQ? That had earned him a smack on the shoulder, but she relented. There would be a party to celebrate her daughter's first birthday.

Her daughter. She still hadn't gotten used to it. Add that to the fact that her little baby, who Olivia couldswearshe had just given birth to yesterday, was a full year old, happy and healthy, and this day just seemed like a dream.

The party itself was fairly small. Astrid, Walter, Broyles, and the other Lincoln and Olivia. Peter noted the way the other Lincoln picked up Etta, played with her, danced her around the room to her delighted squeals, and suspected it may not be long before both Olivias found themselves mothers.

The aftermath of Etta's cake looked like a veritable cake explosion in the living room, as their daughter had taken great pleasure in flinging the cake anywhere she could.

And around 8pm, everyone had departed, with Olivia claiming just as well, it was Etta's bedtime anyway.

Carefully removing her daughter from the high chair in just her diaper, she assessed the child. Etta seized the pause as an opportunity, smearing her cake-covered hand down her mother's cheek and laughing at the mess it created.

"Very funny," Olivia mock scolded. "Mommy doesn't need a cake bath, thank you very much. But I think a certain birthday girl needs an actual bath."

"We're gonna be cleaning cake off the furniture for the next month!" Peter exclaimed as he assessed the damage.

"Correction -Daddy'sgonna be cleaning cake off the furniture for the next month. Party was your idea, remember, Mr. Genius IQ?"

"Eidetic memory. No fair." Peter groaned, and Olivia laughed and shoved him in the direction of the kitchen.

"Get to work, slave. I've gotta give the birthday girl a bath."

—- break -

Twenty minutes, some very brown water, and three soapings later, Olivia carried a clean one-year-old to her room. Quickly diapering her child, she dressed her in a soft onesie with "Sweet Dreams" written across the front. Etta yawned, and Olivia knew if she were to lay the child in her crib, Etta would fall asleep easily.

However, she found herself making her way to the handcarved rocking chair that had been (suprisingly) a gift from Broyles. Settling Etta in her arms, Olivia rocked her from side to side as one would a newborn, breathing in the soft blueberry scent of her daughter's hair.

Against her chest, Etta's breathing evened out, and she relaxed into the safety of her mother's embrace.

Olivia laid her cheek against her daughter's, just breathing her in for long moments.

"You are special, Henrietta Elizabeth Bishop. Never forget that. You are so special. Mommy loves you so much."