Author notes:

I have often written about the relationship between Frodo and his mother – and I always delight in writing these little mother-child-moments. This is my first try in capturing what Primula might have felt or thought before the birth of her child.

This story is quite a challenge for me as I have never been pregnant, so I hope it works out all right.

Special thanks to Ariel for her support on this story!

Dear Diary

20. Afteryule 1368

Dear Diary,

I think I'm pregnant. I am not entirely sure and yet, at times, I am beginning to feel it. I know there is new life growing within me. I have been sick in the mornings recently and I know this can be another sign of a beginning pregnancy. Yet, I have noticed such signs often in my life and never did the seed of hope within my heart bear fruit. Shall I trust my feelings this time?

Having been disappointed three times, I am afraid of trusting sensations of secret wishes coming true and am frightened of being disappointed again. I don't think I could bear it. Yet, I cannot ignore the feeling in my heart. Hope has been kindled already, whether I wish it or not. I am expecting a child.

I have not told Drogo anything. I will wait a little longer until I am entirely sure. Should my hopes be shattered anew it will be better if he does not know.

I am so frightened, I don't even know if I should be happy or sad. I want to have a babe, more than anything else, but after three miscarriages in the last four years I don't know if I can dare to hope - if I am allowed to hope. Perhaps it should not be. Perhaps I would not be a good mother and this is the earth's way to hinder me from hurting a child who deserves better.

No, I would not hurt a babe - I would do everything for a child, if only I am allowed to have one. It has always been my greatest wish to become a mother and I would be a good one!

I will dare to dream believing that my hope will not fail me.

Don't worry, little one, I will look after you.

17. Solmath 1368

Dear Diary,

I still haven't told anybody but I think Drogo is suspicious anyhow. He keeps talking about how strange I behave of late and how moody I am. Am I moody? I don't think so. I'm not a moody person, everybody knows that and Drogo should know best. I am not moody, or am I?

Well, actually there was this little argument yesterday. There were only three more logs of firewood left and I told Drogo to get more as it was cold and the fire was already burning down. Yet, he remained seated in his armchair, reading his book and nodding absent-mindedly. Had he only done so once it wouldn't have been a problem, but when he still did do nothing after I asked him for the third time to get some wood, I got slightly aggravated. Planting myself before him I snatched the book from his hands and stared down on him.

He glanced back at me stupidly as if he couldn't understand why I had taken the book from him. Had he not listened to me before? He really should pay me more heed. I did not wait for him to say anything but tramped out of the room, hurried to our bedchamber and slammed the door shut.

Well, perhaps I overreacted when I locked the door not allowing Drogo to enter when I suddenly heard his voice from the other side of the wall.

But, I am not moody - at least not today.

~*~*~

Drogo has just entered the room asking if I was pregnant because I had been 'acting like a mother-to-be'. Well, now he knows. He was very excited, hugging me and kissing me, his eyes being all teary. I guess he doesn't even think about the possibility of losing the child and it would be best if I would not either.

Author notes:
As I have never read about Saradoc's birthday I invented a date.

~*~*~

18. Rethe 1368

"Primula! Darling, are you here?"

Menegilda Brandybuck closed the entrance door behind her. Nothing was to be seen in the small hobbithole just outside Bucklebury except for the dim light of the hearth in the parlour. Hanging her cloak on the peg Menegilda walked searchingly along the hall. "Primie?" she called again but no-one answered. It was almost mid-day and Menegilda began to wonder. Usually Primula was always home at this time of the day - and she always had a pot of tea on the fire. "Never want to be unprepared," she used to say.

Menegilda had always been close to her sister-in-law and, being a midwife, she had grown even more attached to her while supporting her during the difficult time of her miscarriages. The poor thing wanted to have a babe so much, but her body seemed unwilling to allow a new life to grow.

"Gilda," Primula suddenly called, appearing in the kitchen door. "What are you doing here?" She dried her hands at her pinafore and hurried to give her sister-in-law a warm hug. "I thought you would be at the Hall all Rethe, preparing everything for Sara's birthday. How is the lad?"

"Oh, he's well with his head full of mischief, as always," Gilda answered laughing, looking her over from top to toe. "You look good."

Primula blushed and, waving aside, she led her friend into the kitchen. "What brings you here?" she wanted to know, taking her teapot from the fire and handing her sister-in-law a cup of peppermint tea. She did not offer her a seat but took an apple from a basket on the table and headed straight to the back-door. Once outside, Primula sat down on a bench, threw one of Drogo's shirts into the laundry-basin and started to scrub.

"Well," Gilda began clearing her throat as she sat down her eyes closely observing Primula, "the reason why I'm here is because rumours have reached my ears."

Primula froze. Without looking at her friend she asked doubtfully "What kind of rumour?" When Gilda did not answer at once, Primula lifted her head slowly to look into her friend's eyes. "Who spoke to you about me?" Not only was her voice doubtful, but there was also a whiff of fear within it and her eyes searched desperately for the truth in her friend's gaze.

Gilda grinned from one ear to the other, but did not answer. Instead she took a sip of her tea and leaned back, stretching her legs. "Gilda," Primula urged her voice almost angry with a hidden plea within.

Sitting up Menegilda laid an arm around Primula's shoulders and kissed her cheek. "No need to worry, dear," she soothed looking at her lovingly. "In fact, it was only your very concerned husband speaking to me and asking me to look after you." She felt Primula clench under her touch and took her by the shoulder. "You should not conceal something like this," she said in a low voice, her eyes full of love and understanding.

Primula felt a lump in her throat and tried to swallow it - without success. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. She couldn't stand Menegilda's gaze any longer and had to look down. The apple she wanted to eat lay beside her, all but forgotten. Her hands grabbed her pinafore and clenched. Her body trembled and a single tear slid from the corner of her eye. "I could not tell," she whispered in a tearstained voice, almost inaudible. "I could not tell anybody - you least of all."

Gilda's brow creased as she pulled her friend close and rubbed her back, as she had done with her sons when they were younger. "Why not, dear? You know you can always talk to me, don't you?" She felt Primula nod, though she did not answer. "What hindered you?"

Primula swallowed hard as she pulled away from the embrace that did not comfort her half as much as it should and cast her gaze down, her fists still clenching and unclenching as she messed about with her pinafore. "I feared what you might have told me," she answered in a miserable whisper. "I could not bear if you had told me I might lose another child. I don't have the strength to hear you saying that - not again."

Biting her lip Gilda pulled Primula close again and tried to soothe her. She should have known. She didn't like to deliver that kind of news either and for Primula, having had three miscarriages already, those words would be like poison to a newly opened wound. Hot tears dripped on the collar of her blouse as she gently rocked her friend. She knew what harm the fear of miscarriage would bring - she had seen it too often. It was, in fact, the reason for her visit. Primula had to get rid of these fears at once. They would not only harm her, but the child growing within her as well. .As soon as Drogo had told her about his wife's pregnancy, all Menegilda could think about was the well-being of mother and child.

Primula was still weeping, her hands now clutching Gilda's dress, but her sobs became less and soon she had regained control of herself. Letting go, she wiped her eyes with her pinafore whispering "I'm sorry, but I was just so…"

"Hush," Gilda soothed, placing a finger on Primula's lips. "Why worry already, dear? I have not looked at you yet and you shouldn't fear an answer that you might as well never get. Come, let us go inside."

Slowly Primula nodded and allowed Menegilda to lead her back inside the smial and into the bedroom. While Primula undressed, Menegilda went back into the kitchen to wash her hands.

Primula sat down on the bed glancing thoughtfully at her belly. It looked the same as ever. She sighed heavily. If only her wish would come true. Startled she looked up when Menegilda re-entered the room, wearing a broad grin. Primula creased her brow but made herself comfortable on the bed, her hands impulsively folded across her belly.

Gilda grinned at the instinctive action and gently took Primula's hands in her own. They were cold and trembled. "Don't worry, dear," she said calmingly. "I'm sure everything will be all right."

Primula forced herself to smile, though she felt her whole body clench. If only she could forget about her fears. Feeling new tears welling up inside her, she closed her eyes and waited. Soon she felt one of Menegilda's warm hands resting on her belly, but her friend did not do anything, but kept talking to her, telling her to relax and actually succeeding in distracting her from her worries. Yet Primula's eyes did never leave Gilda's face, closely watching every expression of hers. But her friend's face remained unreadable - a gift Gilda had gained in her early years as a midwife - and Primula could do nothing but trust her as Gilda's gentle hands stroke and pressed the soft flesh of her belly.

Her thoughts drifted to the child and how big it must be by now. If she would soon be able to feel it? She did not know for, though she had felt her body changing before, she was never allowed to actually feel her child moving within her.

"What about you? Are you feeling well or is there anything that troubles you? Primie?" Gilda asked, wakening her from her daydreams and looking at her expectantly. Primula blinked, raising an eyebrow.

A smile crossed Gilda's face, as she repeated her question. At least she had helped Primula to relax and the disturbances her friend mentioned - nausea, dizziness - were not unnatural. All in all Gilda was content. Primula put on her dress again, looking pleadingly at her friend and yet Gilda could see some lingering fear glisten in her eyes. "Don't worry, dear," she assured with a smile. "Everything is fine, as far as I can tell. There is no need to be concerned."

Primula's eyes grew wide. "Really?" she asked voicelessly, realising that her mouth was all dry. A nod of Gilda was all she needed to break in tears anew - tears of joy, of course. Perhaps she did worry needlessly?

"Hush, dear," Gilda calmed, placing an arm around her shoulder and sitting her down on the edge of the bed. "It is not the time for tears. Your worries will also trouble the child you bear and you don't want the little one to be all stressed out even before he or she is born, do you."

Primula laughed amidst her tears, looking at Gilda through shining eyes. "Of course not," she answered and took a deep breath to calm herself. Her hands were trembling even more than before. "You really mean that I could make it this time?" She could hardly believe what Gilda had just told her.

To her disappointment Gilda shrugged. "I cannot say for sure but your chances are rather good."

More tears streamed down Primula's rosy cheeks, but these were ones of bliss, for all fear had left her. At that moment, she felt so happy she feared she might burst with joy. She was pregnant and her child was well.

With a heavy sigh she laid her head on Gilda's shoulder and closed her eyes, while Gilda stroked her hair as she would stroke a child's. Both of Primula's hands rested on her belly. Her child was well and she would do everything she could to see that it remained so.

22. Astron 1368

Dear Diary,

My secret is not that safe anymore. Gilda promised me not to tell anyone - not even my brother - and that promise she has kept well. Yet, it is I who cannot keep it secret any longer. You can begin to see it - or is it just my imagination running wild?

I spent half an hour in front of the mirror yesterday evening looking at my belly form all sides, not realising that Drogo was standing at the door for minutes observing my every movement. Only when he hugged me from behind did I notice him. He said that I looked beautiful and that he could not wait for my belly to grow rounder. He is seeing it too, so it won't be long now until others will notice as well.

Never before have I reached the point where someone else could see my body's blessing. Is the worst danger of losing the child over now? I know I should not think about it - Gilda has told me so and I know she is right - but I cannot get the thought out of my mind. Ever and anon it takes me unawares and the fear always makes me weep. We have come so far now. We cannot be parted anymore. Drogo shares my pain but I do not think he can understand all my feelings.

Mother always talked about the bond between a mother and her child and I never believed her. It was not that I did not trust her knowledge, but I could not understand. She kept telling me that I would know what she was talking about once I was a mother myself. My child is still unborn and yet I am beginning to understand. The bond already exists though it might not be as strong as it will be once I feel the baby or hold the little one in my arms. Oh mother, I wish you could be here now to share your knowledge with me and tell me what I am to do. Gilda is as best a friend and a midwife as I could ask for, but I wish I could have your counsel as well. Sometimes I miss you so much, mother.

Perhaps Drogo is right. I am moody at times; feeling like laughing one minute and crying the next. Besides, I am being too thoughtful of late. There are so many things in my mind and yet I feel all empty and cannot concentrate on anything. Those are the times when I need to be hugged even more than usual, and, fortunately, Drogo is always there. He is a darling. My poor baby must be getting very cuddly with parents like Drogo and me.

Now, that is something that would please me. A lot of warm hugs and baby-snuggling is very tempting, after all. Do you hear that, little one? You can be as snugly as you want to be. Your father and I will give you all the warmth and care you need.

8. Thrimidge 1368

Dear Diary,

I cannot believe my luck. There are tears swimming in my eyes threatening to spill over. Drogo will surely be thinking I have mused over my fears again until they made me cry, but that's not it.

I just received the greatest of all gifts a mother whose child has not yet been born can get. I could feel my baby. I have perceived my child before this and understood that my body has changed because I am pregnant, because there is new life growing within me - but this time it was real. I could actually feel a little hand or foot punching against my womb. Never have I felt anything more wonderful, never received more bliss than I have this very afternoon. My child is alive and very energetic too!

My little one; we have taken a very important step. Never before did I feel the life within me as clearly as you have shown me this afternoon. You know how happy I am, don't you? You do not mistake my tears for sadness, but know they are from joy.

Your movements have ceased, my dear. Are you sleeping again or just resting? Do you feel my hand when it rests on my belly just as I feel you?

I cannot wait to tell Drogo. He will be beside himself with joy. Even now he can spend hours with either his hand or his head resting on my belly and I wonder what will happen once I tell him that our child is a little scrapper. I guess he will not leave my side again until he has felt the little foot or hand as well. I cannot blame him, being so very excited myself. I could sit still and wait for my child to wriggle all afternoon. But I have housework to do.

Gilda is coming tomorrow to check on us and she is bringing my brother with her. I wonder how much Rory already knows, how much Gilda has passed on to him. Does he share my fears? Even if he does, he will not show it, being the kind, caring brother he always has been. Yet my news will touch his heart. He will know from it that there is now more hope for a new heir than there has ever been; a new little Brandybuck - or rather a Baggins mingled with a respectable amount of Brandybuck-blood. My little Baggins. I can not wait to see his face when he learns of it.

24. Forelithe 1368

The light of the stars glimmers in the dark waters of the Brandywine. I love to sit here, though I have seldom done so of late. I have been too excited the past weeks, taking long walks to Bucklebury and Brandy Hall only to show off my belly. People are recognising it - indeed, they would be blind if they did not - and keep giving me advice and asking questions about when I am to give birth. Some even wanted to know if I would come back to Brandy Hall once the little one is born. I never will, though I love my former home very much. My place is here now, near Bucklebury, with Drogo and our child. I am sure my little one will be happy to have a bit of peace and quiet, without hundreds of gaping relatives, and so will I.

I am frightened of what lies still ahead of me. So many things need to be arranged. Goodness, I haven't even thought of a name yet. Drogo keeps telling me that we still have time enough to get everything finished before our baby arrives, but at times he is as restless as I am, though he tries to conceal it.

I suppose he was restless today, or he would not have sent me away. He and my brother Saradas are busy cleaning out the spare room that should become our child's room once the baby is old enough. I guess they did not want me to meddle or to be in their way or to disagree with their plans, so Drogo packed me something to eat - a package that would have fed two full-grown hobbits, but most of the biscuits, plums, grapes and sandwiches I have already eaten - and told me to go and relax somewhere.

And so that was why I came here, to the banks of the Brandywine, to listen to the quiet gurgling of the water and the wind rustling in the leaves of the trees. I arrived some time before dinner and now it is already dark. The first stars have appeared in the sky and I am still sitting on that huge rock jutting out from the shallow water and bathing my feet in the fresh stream as I have often done. The air is still warm, heated by the sunlight stored in the rocks and stones of the bank, and smells of lilac that has almost withered. Closing my eyes I draw in a deep breath and realise that there are other smells in the air as well: earth, wood and marigolds.

"Your father was right, my little one, I needed a little time to relax. Sometimes I think he knows better what I need than I do. He is very caring and, though he can be quite stubborn at times, I love him so much that I sometimes fear my heart would burst." I smile when I think about Drogo and his stubborn nature and for a moment I see a glimpse of a very young face looking at me just as determinedly as he does - a picture that leaves me giggling and shaking my head. "Don't you dare become as stubborn as your father, my dear little Baggins. You don't need to honour the name in that way."

"You heard that, didn't you? You always know when I speak of you and delight in letting me feel it." With a smile on my face I place my hand just underneath my bellybutton. I can feel my child moving within me - a sensation that still sends thrills of joy through my body. "I feel you struggle," I whisper and move my hand gently across my belly in hopes my little one will feel it. How much I wish I could hold my child and look upon my baby.

I lean back, supporting my body with my left arm. Far above my head a bright star glimmers - the evening star. Its light warms my heart and for a moment I close my eyes. The wind's gentle fingers brush through my hair and my mind drifts away. I think of Bilbo. He once told me about Elbereth. He said she was the one who made the stars that should be a light for the Elves when the world was still dark and even now that the darkness is long gone, she is watching over them. "Is Elbereth guarding you as well, my little one? Whether she is or not, I will teach you to honour the stars and look up to them just like my parents once taught me."

As if my words have brought back memories of a time long forgotten I begin to croon a lullaby my mother used to sing.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!

A smile crosses my lips as I feel my baby calm. Singing works wonders. I only hope it will remain thus after my dearest is born. Gilda says it should, and it comforts me to know that my singing voice might help to ease any worry or discomfort that might trouble my little child.

I am just about to intone the second verse when I hear a silent splashing behind me. Turning my head I observe Drogo standing in the water, smiling back at me. He puts his arms around me and kisses the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "I love to hear you sing", he whispers into my ear, tickling the soft flesh of my neck.

I smile and lean back, laying my head on my husband's breast. "You should not distract me then." Feeling a movement within me, I take one of Drogo's hands to place it on my belly. Just at that moment, our baby decides to comment on my falling silent.

Drogo chuckles. "It seems I am not the only one who is in love with your singing."

"No, you're not." The smile on my face broadens as Drogo sits down behind me and I lean into his embrace. "Has to be a weakness of Bagginses."

He smiles and caresses my cheek with the hand that does not rest on my belly. There is nothing but the two of us, the sound of gurgling water and rustling leaves and the evening star above our heads. Nothing, except for the child in my womb who is eager to let me know that my husband and I are not alone and never again will be - a sacrifice I am more than willing to make.

I close my eyes and begin to hum, but quickly fall into crooning again

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!

20. Afterlithe 1368

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Of course it is! Now, come in! You don't want our child to think that his or her father a coward."

Giving me a meaningful glance, Drogo finally dares some steps deeper into the river until the water almost reaches his chest. He draws in a deep breath and looks at me through pleading eyes. "Primula, I really think you shouldn't do this. I mean --"

I stop his pointless stammering and capture his sweet mouth in a deep kiss, placing my hand on his neck. It is a heartfelt kiss full, of love and desire, the type we have not shared in days. A warm wind tickles my wet skin letting little goose bumps appear on my arms as I finally release his lips. "Do you trust me?" I ask in a whisper and shiver as the wind blows a little stronger.

Golden sparks of the fading sunlight shimmering through the tree-tops dance on his beautiful face. "Yes." His voice is hoarse as he answers and just as I smile at him, he adds, "But --"

I do not allow him to finish his sentence and place my finger on his lips. "Don't you dare, Drogo Baggins," I scold, "Either you trust me, or you don't. There ain't no 'but' this evening."

Drogo takes a deep breath as if preparing to say something, but he remains silent. His hand, previously resting on my hip, slips away. I smile and take a step backwards to lay back into the summer-warmed water. It is not too deep close to the bank and only reaches up to my neck. I came here often as a child with my sisters and brothers and we could spend hours swimming in the shallows. Saradas once dared to swim into the deeper parts, despite my and my other sibling's warnings. Mother gave him an earful when he returned to shore and father a decent trashing when we got home.

"You will never do such foolish things, will you? You will keep out of mischief and always do as your mother wishes."

"Who are you talking to?" At the sound of my beloved's voice, I lift my head in surprise and feel for the ground with my feet. "Sorry, I didn't want to startle you," he says softly and places his hands back on my hips.

"You didn't startle me." Damp curls are sticking to my neck and back and I feel droplets of water trickling down my spine. "I was just talking to our little one again." He raises an eyebrow in mock amusement, but at the same moment smiles at me. There is so much love and joy in his eyes I cannot do other but embrace and kiss him again. "You know, I do that often of late. I spend entire afternoons speaking with our child while I wash your clothes, work in the garden or prepare dinner."

"You should not work too much, my dear," scolds Drogo, concern shading his otherwise calm voice. He reaches for my arm and though his touch is gentle there is an undeniable firmness in it as he deftly leads me out of the water. "You should not tire yourself out."

Reaching out for a towel, he flings it around my shoulders. I can tell he is worried and not only by the tone of his voice. Drogo is often away during the day arranging the work on the fields with my brother Rory. Yet, when he comes home in the evening he will not let me to do as much as clear the table, although he is more tired than I am. At times he is overly protective and sometimes I wonder what worries him more: the fact that anything could happen to me or that our baby could be troubled by something I do.

"I feel well, Drogo," I assure him while snuggling into the towel and sitting down in the soft grass. "There is nothing to worry about. And if you're worried about this evening, Gilda told me I could go to the river if I felt like it. She said it would help me to relax and I must say she was right."

He sighs heavily as he sits down beside me, a towel thrown over his own shoulders, and glances over to the river where tiny sparks of light glitter in the water. Something is on his mind, some trouble my words could not ease. The leaves rustle as a soft wind stirs them.

I am wearing a dress of the same design as the ones I used to wear swimming. In the soft wind that hums across the river, the thin, wet garment holds no warmth to my moist body and I shiver. Drogo absent-mindedly lays an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. He shivers too, but if from cold or the thoughts that trouble him, I can not tell. "What is it, Drogo?"

He does not answer at once, but tightens his grip around my arm, allowing a silent fear to creep into my mind. It takes hold of my body like a cold hand squeezing my heart and soul. Looking at him, I realise Drogo's face is grim and a dark shadow lies upon it like a cloud. My heart is in my throat and I instinctively place a hand on my rounded belly as I try to swallow the lump that is building there. In the past weeks, something has been bothering him more than he lets on and I fear what the source of his worries might be. It pains me to see him like this just as it fills my heart with fear. The wind whistles in the tree-tops and the sound is eerie to my ears. Touching his cheeks, I force my husband to look at me and though he has lowered his gaze I search his eyes and am astounded to see unshed tears glitter there. Seeing him grief-stricken catches me unawares and I feel tears welling up inside me almost immediately. The noose of fear tightens around my breast. I want to say something, comfort him, but find no words when he suddenly pulls me into a tight embrace and begins to weep openly. For a moment I am totally taken aback being unable to move or comfort him or even breathe. When was the last time I saw him cry? Have I ever seen him cry at all? Tears well up inside me as I carefully fling my arms around him and try to soothe him. What happened? What has broken him when I need him strong and whole at my side?

"I'm sorry," he sobs releasing me from the embrace and avoiding looking into my eyes. "I did not mean to trouble you." He looks shaken and the sad and troubled expression on his face almost breaks my heart. Only now do I realise that my hands are trembling too.

"But you did," I answer, my voice choked with tears. "What is it, Drogo? What happened?" I know he can read in my troubled eyes like in an open book. "Please, tell me," I ask as he slowly lifts his head.

He sighs heavily and glances at the sparkling water again. The sun is sinking slowly and the eastern sky takes on a faint red. The trails of his tears glisten on his cheeks and I gently wipe them away with the back of my hand. The tight knot of fear lingers in my stomach and I can only hope that Drogo will tell me what the trouble is. I don't know what else I could do to comfort him.

"I'm worried," he finally confesses and looks into my eyes, his brow furrowed, "worried about you and," he swallows hard, casting a short glance on my belly, "our child."

I open my mouth to say something, to assure him that there is no need to worry, but find that I have lost my voice.

"I could not bear if you had another miscarriage."

My eyes widen. I had not thought about losing my child for a very long time and if I did, it has ever been Drogo who told me not to worry and that everything will be all right. He was strong when I was too weak and desperate to fight my lingering fears. But now he is the one who is thinking the worst. I never thought he would worry about this as much as I did, never imagined how deep his worries went. Without thinking, I cup his face with my hands and kiss him. He closes his eyes, allowing another tear to trickle down his cheeks.

"I will not lose our child, Drogo, not this time," I whisper when I release his lips after what seems like an endless moment.

He swallows heavily and rests his head on my breast where I hold him close and gently caress his face. My dear Drogo always tried to be strong for me. I wonder how long he has kept his thoughts secret. Gently his hand strokes my belly, but our baby does not respond.

"We wanted to have a child for so long and it broke my heart to see you suffer all those years. But now--," he pauses to take a deep breath. "I mean, I've never felt my child before, nor seen you change so clearly. I can't get the thought of our baby out of my mind and I can't wait to hold the little one in my arms and," he takes another haggard breath and I feel him tremble beneath my touch, "I could not bear if all our hopes were scattered again."

I know his worries, know them all too well, but I also know how to quench them. Taking a deep, relieved breath, I look at him gravely and know he must see some of the hope I hold in my eyes. "They will not be scattered, Drogo. I can feel that they won't. You might not understand, but I know that our child is well. Nothing will happen this time. I have never felt the way I feel now and I can assure you, I will not do anything I don't feel up to. I was worried about our child as well, but I am no more, because I know that everything is well. I can understand him, Drogo. Our child lets me know when something is amiss and, so far, everything is just as it has to be. Gilda is very enthusiastic too. She said, in two months at the latest, our child will be born and I don't think that anything will go wrong until then. Not when I am feeling the way I feel now."

"Are you sure?" His voice is still weak and doubtful. If only he would believe me. If only he could feel what I do.

I cup his face and lean my forehead against his, looking directly into his green eyes. "Yes," I whisper and place a gentle kiss on his lips, "this time, I am."

A shiver runs through him as the wind dries the last droplets of water on his bare chest. He has closed his eyes and for a long moment there is nothing but the whisper of the wind and the silent gurgling of the water.

When he opens his eyes again a sudden smile brightens his features and it is all I need to forget my knot of fear and all our worries. He believes me. "So, wife," he tells impishly, "if you know so much, can you tell me if you are expecting a little boy or a girl?"

"A boy," I answer matter-of-factly though I have no idea. It is good to see him smile and the confused look he gives me now makes me giggle. "Or perhaps it will be a girl. Whence shall I know you silly hobbit?"

Without further explanations I clumsily wriggle out of his embrace and hurry back to the river. Tiny drops of water sparkling in many different colours splash into every direction. I stop and turn to look at my husband expectantly. Drogo is still sitting in the grass, though now he supports his body with his elbows. "Drogo Baggins, will you cast aside your worries and get into that water!"

He grins impishly and demonstratively brushes some drops of water off his trousers. Shaking my head I send a handful of water into his direction. "Sluggard!"

12. Wedmath 1368

Dear Diary,

It cannot be this difficult to find a name, can it? I mean, after all, it is only a name. Yet, Drogo and I almost quarrelled this afternoon because we could not agree on one. I mean, Fosco - Drogo's father in all honour - is not a name for my son.

And why not Peony? I like the name. Because Peony Baggins, daughter of Posco and Gilly has just turned eighteen in March. Why can't there be two Peonies? After all, this Peony would be my Peony and Drogo's and not a daughter of Posco's and Gilly's.

We have been discussing names for two weeks now and still have not come to a conclusion. This afternoon, when Drogo tried to put up a bed for our little one while I was embroidering a curtain and blanket, the argument grew hot again.

Drogo even suggested Folco which is just as bad as Fosco. Then I sarcastically suggested we shortlist Bungo, a name he knows I detest, and he answered "Well, why not?" If I had not felt so sluggish I would have boxed his ears!

All I want is a beautiful name for my child and Fosco and Folco are certainly not beautiful - at least not beautiful enough. Yet, concerning boy's names, I am quite at a loss. I don't want to take a typical Brandybuck-name like Marmadoc because my child will not be a Brandybuck. Still, I cannot think of anything other that would please me. Minto, perhaps, but … oh, those boy's names make me go mad!

For a girl I would have liked Peony, but Drogo will never allow that. Not two Peonies in the same family and the same generation. He would like to name our child Marigold or Viola.

I guess it is time for a decision. As the names he chose for a girl are not too bad, Drogo shall decide about a girl's name while I will claim the right of naming a boy. If only I could find a suitable one.

9. Halimath 1368

Dear Diary,

Gilda is visiting almost every day now, for which I am thankful. Two days ago I had slight pains and for a while I feared I would have to give birth to my child without my midwife. But it is not yet time. Not before next week at least, Gilda says.

She had promised she would visit that day, so Drogo put me into bed and we waited for her. My pains had started shortly before midday though they did not grow stronger until teatime when Gilda arrived. After looking at me, she quickly assured me that everything was all right and that my baby was only preparing himself to be born.

That thought strikes me. My little one is getting ready to have a look at his world, but because Gilda ordered me to remain in bed, all I can do is lie here. Although there is little left I could do. We have prepared everything. The room is furnished, the bed is ready, and I have nappies, clothes and whatever else my baby needs. I can really do nothing but wait.

Yet, sitting here and waiting is making me crazy. Drogo sees to it that I don't leave our bed and he has even been against me getting up to write, though I convinced him that I had to do something. He was not happy about it however, and is coming to check on me every few minutes as if I were deadly ill. I cannot hold his nervousness against him, being somewhat edgy myself.

Am I really ready for a baby? Everything will change once the little one arrives. I will actually be a mother and not someone imagining what it will be like to be one. Can I handle this? Will I be able to give my child what a baby needs? I have never cared for a baby before, well, except for Saradoc und Merimac and some other toddlers in the Hall, but that is long ago and I always had the option of giving the babies to their mothers when a situation arose that I could not handle. In a few days I will be the mother and I will be the one who will have to handle every situation.

I am nervous, my little one, but I will try my best. Do not be too hard on your mother.

Time is running short now and I still have not found a suitable name. Drogo has finally settled on Marigold and is very eager that I chose the boy's name, something I should have done long ago, but I cannot think of one. My child will be a special one and deserves a special name not one as common as Minto.

So few days are left. I hope everything goes well.

20. Halimath 1368

Dear Diary,

I had knitted scarves for my entire family, a vest for Drogo, a woolly hat for my little one and a cloak to put around my shoulders in the colder months, before Gilda allowed me to be up and about again. I thought I would scream if I saw another ball of wool.

Where are you, little one? Gilda says you should have arrived by now. They have let me up from bedrest to encourage the labour, but obviously you are unwilling to leave that cosy womb of mine. Yet I do not think it is too cosy in there, is it? You must be lacking space by now because, my dear, you have grown a fair amount in the past weeks - I can tell by the weight of my belly and the pain in my back.

Bilbo arrived three days ago, eager to see my child. He is even more impatient than Drogo and I are. Gilda, when she arrived, told him to go stay at the Hall until my baby is born and I am glad. His itchiness made me even more nervous than I already am.

Still, I am pleased that Bilbo came over to Buckland to have a look at the new Baggins. And two days before his birthday at that - a fact he keeps joking about saying that my child is waiting until that date to be born. I wonder if he is right. After all it is ironic that, after being so eager to see this world last month, my baby won't come now that it is time to. A cousin Bilbo is, yet he acts more like an uncle, speaking of all the tales he would tell my child and the adventures he would go on with him. Adventures! Not with my child, dear Bilbo! Not until my baby is a lot older anyhow.

Gilda is, with some help from me, running the hole at the moment. She arrived this morning and, after sending Bilbo away and Drogo with him, started tidying. With me being bedridden until last week there is a lot of tidying that needs to be done. Not that Drogo isn't capable of looking after himself, but he'd rather be at my side than see to the laundry or the kitchen - which is in quite a state, I can tell you! I am not happy with the mess I have had to leave Gilda, but, despite my suspicions to the contrary, she says she enjoys doing it. Though I am so glad she is with me. She is a calming influence and I am much more at ease with her here than I was before. She will stay until my baby is born, to look after things and to help keep me from going stark raving mad from boredom.

All is ready now, my child. You can arrive at any time you wish.

22. Halimath 1368

"To Primula and your son!" shouted Saradas Brandybuck, raising his mug. Drogo and several other hobbits in the Jumping Pike followed his example.

Drogo emptied his mug in one go, beaming with pride and joy. Primula had woken him in the dark of night announcing that her pains had started. He had been on his feet immediately and had not left her side until an hour before noon when his child was born. He had been absolutely sick with worry, so much so that Menegilda joked he looked worse than Primula did and she wondered if he was the one giving birth not his beloved wife. He had not been of a mood to laugh then, but Primula had and he had been glad of it.

Now, however, he was more than able to see the humour of the situation. Primula had gifted him with a healthy and vigorous son and that was all that mattered. His worries and troubles were forgotten and his heart was light. Drogo's sole focus was the wee babe who'd protested at the top of his tiny lungs as Gilda gently wrapped him in a blanket and placed him in his mother's waiting arms. Oh, the tears of joy he had shed when he had first looked at that small bundle! Dark hair clung to the baby's damp, discontentedly furrowed brow and a toothless mouth opened, eager to announce the little one's protests. Yet, resting in his mothers arms quickly put the child at ease and he fell silent. Drogo wondered if he might had fallen asleep had Gilda allowed it, but the midwife had taken the little one to wash and check on him. Primula had not been too happy about that but knowing that the midwife would take good care of her son she patiently waited.

Drogo had kissed his wife and gone with Menegilda to wash the baby. This work would later be his, if it could be called work at all, and so he watched with rapt attention. Afterwards, he returned to his wife who looked very tired by now. He stayed with her and together they marvelled at their child until exhaustion finally claimed her and her breath became slow and even. Kissing her again, his sweet, brave Primula, he had a long look at his son sleeping contently in a pram Menegilda had placed beside the bed. His small, sleeping face was so sweet and innocent and his tiny fists so fragile and yet strong. It seemed unreal to finally be a parent, but Drogo knew beyond any doubt he was this beautiful child's father and his heart burst with love for his newborn son and the woman who had borne him.

It was difficult to let them out of his sight, but as both needed their rest, he had gone to Bucklebury to tell everyone of his incredible fortune. In the Jumping Pike he had found enough listeners to spread the good news throughout Buckland and probably in the entire Shire. The inn smelled of ale, mead and pipe-weed, smells that were almost masked by the scent of fresh bacon and roasted 'taters. Dim lamps lit the common room with a soft, welcoming light. After congratulating him, the other patrons had gone back to their tables to finish their meals and continue whatever conversation they had been involved with before Drogo's arrival.

Saradas slapped him on the back. "Now, when will I get to see my nephew, Baggins?"

"Not before tomorrow," Drogo answered with a smile. "Primula needs some rest and so does my son."

"I hope you take good care of my sister," Saradas said earnestly draining the last of his mug and sitting down at a table beside Drogo.

"Believe me, I will!" Drogo laughed pulling out his pipe from his breast pocked. He definitely deserved a good smoke now. Saradas followed his example and Drogo held out his pipe-weed to share with his brother-in-law. "After today, I love her more than ever, if that is actually possible."

Saradas laughed. "What else could we do but love them? We don't have any choice."

His eyes sparkling with joy, Drogo puffed at his pipe and nodded. His dear wife's strength all through the morning had astonished him. He had tried to support her as well as he could, holding her hand and wiping her face, telling her whatever nonsense came into his mind to comfort her. Yet, he could not tell who he wished to comfort more with his whispered words - himself or Primula - for he had soon learned that giving birth to a child was not an easy task at all. That she would go through such a trial for their love humbled and endeared him.

Drogo could suddenly see his son's face; amazingly blue eyes that looked at him questioningly through long dark lashes. He was not sure if his son's eyes would remain blue or if their colour would change, but he had never seen eyes so remarkable and that pleased him. They made his son unique, even in his looks. Frodo, Primula had named him and Drogo was pleased with that as well. He had thought of many names in the past months and even when Primula had ,decided he should only worry about a girl's name he had still thought of a few boy's names as well. He had been ever so curious about the name his wife had chosen and yet she would not tell it to him. Only as she'd first held their son in her arms did she mouth it and Drogo's heart had ache with joy. Frodo. It was perfect. He could not imagine any name better suiting his son.

Drogo smiled to himself in the dim light of the inn. Frodo Baggins. That was a name that would stay in the mind.

23. Halimath 1368

It seems I have waited a lifetime for this moment and now I have you, wrapped in a blanket, lying in my arms, asleep. Tiny flecks of sunlight dance on your rosy cheeks, but if this fine morning's first light had not reflected on your face, I would not even have realised it was day. Your sweet face, tiny little nose, chubby cheeks and rosy lips enchant me, but your eyes, hidden now by dark long lashes, are astonishing. I wonder if they will remain the way they are and whom you have gotten them from. My mother had a hint of blue in her eyes, but they were far from the sparkling shade that smiles at me when you wake; a blue like the sky of the first clear spring morning after a long grey winter.

I cannot stop caressing your small hands with their tiny but strong fingers and playing with your small, naked feet and your ticklish toes. Even as you sleep, my fingers gently brush the soft skin of your cheek.

Your breathing is soft and I have fallen in love just with the sound of it. My dear little son, how much I love you! I could spend the rest of my life watching you, holding you close, and never grow tired of it.

My little child - my Frodo - I have longed for this moment! I still cannot believe it is true. Is it indeed you I have carried inside me for nine months? Is it you I have felt struggling and kicking? Are you mine or is this all a dream and I will be alone again once I wake up?

"Primula, dearest, are you all right?" Gilda's voice is hushed but startles me nonetheless. You react at once, furrowing your brow and opening your mouth to protest, but the blanket of sleep closes you in before you find the voice to cry.

"Yes," I whisper, not taking my eyes from my child. I take a deep breath, leaving the wordless conversation with my baby behind and facing Gilda and the world around me. "I was lost in thought."

"Troublesome thoughts, I fear," she says, concerned, as she sits down on the bed beside me and wipes a tear away from my cheek.

I shake my head and smile. "Nay, my friend. These are tears of joy, for I still cannot believe this blessing is mine." She returns my smile as I go on. "I was talking to him, but only in my mind for fear of disturbing his precious sleep."

"I doubt his sleep would be so easily disturbed," Gilda assures me as she has a look at my little one. "Did you tell Drogo that you hadn't a name for Frodo until you actually saw him?"

"He would've been appalled!" I tell her and chuckle. "He had given so much thought to a girl's name; it would have shocked him if I'd admitted that 'Frodo' was simply the first thing that came to my head when I saw my baby."

She laughs. "Maybe you'd better wait some time before telling him then." Somebody knocks at the front door and Gilda lifts her head, surprised. "I hope the two of you are ready for your first visitors," she says.

"I think we are quite ready," I nod, smiling, as she gets up to greet our guests. I brush my hand through my son's thin, silken curls. They are the same colour as Drogo's. "Don't you worry, Frodo, my dear. Even if you should sleep through the family get-together, you will have plenty of time to see them again. You have to know, your uncle Bilbo has asked after you several times already, being even more eager to see you than anyone else. Your uncle is a queer fellow, little one. He is full of tales and nonsense. I think you will like him, but if you are like your mother, you will soon have enough of nosy relatives. Still, if those are the worst of your worries, then your life shall be a happy one indeed. You just sleep on, my dear, your mommy shall see to the rest."

10. Winterfilth 1368

Dear Diary,

Being a mother is not as easy as I have thought. I haven't slept for more than four hours in a row the past weeks and I am more exhausted than I have ever been. Yet I could not be happier.

My little Frodo is a darling, though his life consists more of sleeping than of anything else. But, even in his sleep he is more beautiful than anything I have ever seen before. Before each nap, he gives a great yawn before settling and even this simple gesture enchants me! His little pink mouth will open so very wide, his eyes will close and then his lips - perfect, little petals - will smack silently as his breathing softens and he drifts off to sleep. He is utterly charming when at ease.

But woe to the one who annoys him! At least once a day, especially during his bath and dressing, he will cry at the top of his tiny lungs and struggle with all his strength. And strength he has! More than I ever thought possible for such a delicate being. He is still so small, but my Frodo is a little fighter and even after so short a time knowing him, I can feel a hint of his father's stubbornness in him.

On the day of his birth I could not believe he had been in my womb for nine months. Now such a thought is even harder to imagine, though I have come to accept that he is mine and Drogo's and won't disappear if we turn our backs on him. Of course, that doesn't stop me from worrying the minute he is out of my sight. He is my precious, after all, and I want to protect him no matter how small his troubles might be. I can no longer imagine life without him; can't even remember how it was before he was born. Never has my life been as fulfilled as it is now. Where else could I put my energy, if not into my dearest child?

Gilda stayed with me the first few days and showed me how to wash, swaddle and nurse him. When she was sure I could manage on my own, she went back to the Hall but assured me she would be available in case there was any trouble. In the beginning, I was very nervous, but so far I have been able to cope with every situation that has arisen. Frodo is doing remarkably well. He has grown a bit and is as healthy as I could wish him to be.

Drogo got accustomed to his new role as father very quickly. I'm glad he does not have to be on the fields anymore and is able to lend me a hand or two. He is very proud of his son, beaming with joy and pride whenever he looks at him. His smirk - that reminds me very much of the young man I have once married - becomes even broader when people ask about little Frodo.

Bilbo, though accommodated in the Hall, visits us almost every day. He is crazy about our dear Frodo and jokes about not leaving Buckland again until the three of us promise to come with him to live in Bag End. Watching him holding Frodo in his arms almost brings tears to my eyes. I think he is now realising what he missed in his life. He is ever so gentle with my dear baby and already tells him tales about far-off places. If Bilbo continues like this Frodo will come to love stories and be as eager to hear them as Drogo was as a child. I can see Frodo loves Bilbo also. He seldom complains when the old hobbit takes him into his arms and listens to his uncle's soft words intently. Usually Frodo will look at him with bright eyes and the fleeting shadow of a smile that melts his uncle's heart as it has seared mine. Seeing the two of them, I cannot imagine why he never had a family of his own. He would have been a wonderful father.

O, my dear child! That smile is the greatest gift you could give me. It touches my very heart and fills it with the warmth of love and light.

19. Blothmath 1368

I cannot keep from glaring at her. Drogo has already given me a warning look, but I cannot stop. He knows I don't like her and, though she is as gentle to Frodo as I could wish, she has already gone too far. I don't think she can help it.

I was really looking forward to meeting Drogo's brother again, for I like Dudo and Laura and their two children, but Dora, his sister, is a thorn in my side. She is a professed spinster and an old shrew, who has been against me from the first day Drogo and I met. I don't know the reason for her aversion to Brandybucks, but that is all she sees me as: that Brandybuck; the lass from the wrong side of the river.

Even today she could not help herself. She held Frodo and, though he was uneasy, he did not cry. She said he was beautiful, but, just as I was about to thank her for the compliment, she leaned over to Dudo and, in a voice just loud enough for me to hear, whispered: "A wonder, considering his distaff breeding."

Dudo and Drogo both glanced angrily at her, but she did not heed them. If it had not been for Drogo, I would have thrown her out of the Smial. I want some peace again; some rest. I have had too much of nosy relatives in the past few weeks to endure her.

"Auntie Primie, can he do anything?" Ten-year old Asphodel's question startles me out of my thoughts. I frown, not quite understanding.

"Silly," young Daisy, Asphodel's older sister declares. "He's a baby, what do you think he's supposed to do?"

The girl shrugs and looks at my child who is lying in Laura's arms, his huge blue eyes following every one of her movements. "He's sweet," Dudo's wife announces, looking up at me with a smile on her face. Her finger gently touches the tip of my lad's nose. Frodo, whose eyes had shifted and were then following the finger instead of the little girl, frowns with the effort of trying to see his own nose. He wriggles in frustrated protest and opens his mouth to vent his displeasure, but Laura laughs and lets go of his nose, gently stroking his cheeks to calm him instead.

Laura is sitting in a rocking chair by the fireside while Drogo entertains his siblings at the dining table. He holds one of my hands, probably trying to calm me, for I keep glaring at Dora, who is looking back at me just as unkindly. But when I hear my baby cry, Dora is forgotten. All my attention is fixed on Frodo. I let go of Drogo's hand and come to him, looking down at my precious baby over Laura's shoulder. "Now, now, my dear. No need to cry, is there?" I croon and Frodo quiets almost immediately, now watching my face through his teary eyes.

I smile reassuringly at him, but he does not smile back as he usually does. Instead, he starts crying again. Motioning to Laura to give me the babe, I cradle him in my arms and try to shush him, but it is no use. "Perhaps he's hungry," I tell Laura, wrapping his swaddling around him. It is not quite time yet for his next feeding, but it is difficult for even my son to keep to a schedule with so many callers.

Putting an arm around her younger daughter who had come to lean her head on her shoulder, she smiles at me. "Don't worry about us."

I give her a thankful nod and quickly retreat to the room I share with Drogo. With a sigh, I close the door and lean against it for moment inhaling the welcoming smell of my bedroom, a place of rest and peace. The fire in the hearth has burned low but it is pleasantly warm and I welcome the subdued light. Relieved, I walk over to the bed still trying to soothe my upset child.

I feel so weary in bone and heart. I long for a night of proper rest, but what I want even more is some peace. I have not had a single day in the past month just for me. Some relative or other has come to visit to look at my precious boy nearly every day, either that or we have gone to Brandy Hall. I want some time for myself again - for myself, Drogo and Frodo. I even welcome Frodo's crying for it gives me an excuse to withdraw from the bustle for a time.

"Hush, dearest," I soothe. "What's upset you so?" I cradle him closer, stroking his damp cheek with my other hand. "You've had enough of your relatives too, haven't you?"

Even in the intimacy of this room, Frodo is unwilling to stop crying. His chubby cheeks are flushed, his tiny fists clenched. I think perhaps he is hungry after all. I quickly unbutton my blouse and offer him a heavy breast. Frodo, however, doesn't show any interest and struggles and frets even more.

I sigh, tears suddenly welling up inside me. The urge to cry has been steadily growing and though I try to swallow my tears, it is impossible. They fill my eyes, blurring my vision. His screams make me even more melancholy, and feelings of being utterly helpless and forlorn envelop me. "Don't, Frodo, dear," I whisper, cradling him again. "Don't worry your mommy."

O, that Dora! Why couldn't she and Dudo come another time and allow my little family some respite? Trembling with the effort to hold back more tears, I sit back on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. Rest, that is what we both need, Frodo and I, for he is hungry; I can hear it in his voice now.

Taking a deep breath, I try to calm myself before trying to soothe my little one again. Quietly, I begin to croon.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!

I sing all verses of the song I know and am amazed how much it calms not only me but Frodo also. He looks at me, his shining blue eyes studying my face. I smile and gently smooth his wrinkled brow with my finger. He is not too happy about that and fusses. I put a finger on his lips, already parting to protest again and he immediately suckles it.

"No need to tell me twice, my dear little star," I whisper and carefully push my blouse aside. This time he is more than willing to be fed and I take a relieved breath as I hear him grunt contently.

4. Afteryule 1369

Dear Diary,

Delighted squeals and joyful laughter fill my ears while I write these pages. Drogo is enjoying this grey winter evening with Frodo by the fireside. I could watch my two beloved ones for hours. I have never seen Drogo as happy as he is now. Even after three months, he beams at our little one as he did the first time he looked at him.

He keeps telling me I am just as delighted and beam with even more pride than he does and that would hardly surprise me. I was gifted with almost two months of respite with fewer relatives visiting and more sleep, for Frodo has slept through the night for the last two weeks. I am glad for every bit of rest granted me, but I also savour every minute I can spend with my dear child.

And I am so proud of him! We spent Yule at the Hall and my sweet little star was the centre of attention. Every single one of his aunts, uncles and cousins wanted to have a look at him, to hold and cradle him. Frodo was awed by so many faces, looking at them wide-eyed and with his mouth open. Not only had his relatives caught his attention, but so did the many candles and lights in the Hall and the tied up bunches of mistletoe. Whenever he discovered one of the olive green, ribboned bundles, he would squeal with glee and excitement much to the enjoyment of his relatives.

I don't think there is a single person left in my family who has not fallen in love with my baby-boy and there were few who did not earn at least a smile from him in the four days we spent at the Hall. O, that smile! One is helpless against it. What I considered a perfect smile on his month old face is nothing compared to the blessings he is giving me now. His entire face lights up when he smiles and the sight of his happiness is breathtaking. It fills my heart with such profound joy that it feels fit to burst. And because Frodo is my child, my very own precious baby, I will be gifted with more of those smiles than anyone else. I would not part from him again for anything on this earth.

Being the proud mother I am, I did not miss the opportunity to show off my darling's latest achievement. Frodo is able to sit up now, not for long, of course, and only with support, but he is sitting. My brothers and sisters were very impressed. Gilda too, though she visited us before Yule, was utterly taken. "He's a darling," she told me without taking her eyes off him. "And has grown so much since I last saw him. O, Primie, you have no reason to worry. I knew from the very beginning that everything would be all right with him."

Her comment made me blush from pride and bashfulness. Yes, I had worried a lot throughout my pregnancy, but I could not know what bliss would be given to me.

Still, four days full of feasting, entertainment, unknown places and faces were too much even for Frodo. By the evening of the third day, he was crotchety and the fourth day was an ordeal for both of us. There were no more dazzling smiles and he started crying as soon as he was awake. That afternoon, I retreated to the Master's room to give Frodo some quiet. The festivities had exhausted me as well and I was very relieved to return home that evening where our routine could return to normal again.

9. Solmath 1369

Dear Diary,

Afteryule has been a very busy and exhausting month. Frodo was ill. He developed a fever some days after we returned home from the festivities at Brandy Hall. Drogo and I were desperate, for his wailing cries broke both our hearts. Never before had he cried like that; not even from his worst colic. Frodo would not drink and refused to smile. When he was not crying, he would look at me with pitiful eyes begging me to help him. My heart ached to comfort him but I did not know what was wrong and he could not tell me. And yet his hands kept pulling his ears. I assumed they were what was causing the pain, but did not know how to ease him. I felt so terribly helpless.

Gilda came to have a look at my poor darling, but she could not do much more than I had already. She gave him some chamomile tea to bring down his fever and told me that Frodo had to wear a hood no matter how much he disliked it. She also advised me to put some cut onions into a handkerchief and place them on my darling’s ears under a bag of warm sand. The heat from the sand would intensify the healing vapour of the onions, or so she said. I was doubtful at first, but nevertheless gave it a try. The treatment did help a little, but Frodo was still quite miserable, which meant we continued to be quite miserable as well.

It was a full week before Frodo's pains began to ease. His pitiful cries had pulled on my nerves and exhausted me and I cannot tell you how happy I was to see him return to his formerly cheerful self. I hope he never has to go through anything like that again. I hope I never have to either. I never again want to feel that helpless.

Frodo has also started babbling lately. He is very eager to participate in any conversations that I have with Drogo or my visiting siblings and cousins. His sweet mouth is not exactly doing what he wants it to and yet I could listen to his first attempts at speech for hours.

Fortunately, he enjoys chatting and the attention he gets when he accidentally produces word-like sounds. I think he will be quite talkative one day. I wonder how long it will take him to say the word "mommy". Just the thought of him calling me that fills me with indescribable delight.

Primula Baggins, "Mommy"…

14. Rethe 1369

Dear Diary,

I love the late evening hours and the peace they bring. With my dear little star asleep and the day's work done, I have some time for myself at last. Yet I usually end up spending even these rare minutes with my dear ones.

Tonight it was Drogo who rocked our little one to sleep. Sitting on our bed, he talked to Frodo until sleep gently closed his sparkling blue eyes, despite all his efforts to keep them open. Drogo seems unwilling to put him to bed, though, for he keeps whispering to him, running his fingers through our son's dark curls. The joyful smile on my husband's face and my son's peaceful expression are all a woman can wish for. In the fire's flickering light, they are the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. Frodo looks like his father - a Baggins through and through.

Sometimes I wonder what Frodo will look like once he's grown up. Will I still see Drogo in him, or will I recognise myself? I haven't seen many of my traits in him so far, though Drogo keeps telling me the strong will and the charm of the Brandybucks is what makes him so assertive rather than the Baggins-stubbornness.

Speaking of Bagginses, sometimes I can only shake my head at their behaviour. Drogo finally managed to part with his son. Frodo is now lying in his cradle but Drogo leans over his sleeping form as if his eyes could not get enough of the sight. But I cannot blame him. Chubby cheeks, contently suckling lips, soft, dark curls on fair, smooth skin and tiny clenched fists are too much for a parent's heart.

I wonder, though, if Drogo will come to me afterwards. Will he kiss me lovingly, his hands gently caressing my tired body? Will he whisper words of passion and thus bring an ending to my writing? Peeking over my shoulder I see him watching me, an enticing smile illuminating his features. O, those Bagginses and their smiles! I just cannot resist them.

24. Astron 1369

Dear Diary,

I have been a mother for seven months now and I finally know what it means to be one. I had to give up a lot of things, including solitude and time with Drogo. I must always answer my child's needs first; comfort him when he is distressed, keep him warm when he is cold, play with him when he is bored and love him because he needs and deserves to be loved.

They are small sacrifices considering what I get in return. Frodo is fulfilling me. Through him, I am able to discover the world anew every day, to see things I would never recognise if not for him. He is filling me with joy and love and gives my life so much meaning. And Drogo's also. Our relationship is even closer now that we have Frodo to care for. There is nothing that could make me happier than waking up in the morning, lying in Drogo's arms feeling his breath in my neck and seeing Frodo contently sleeping beside me in our bed.

I once wrote about the bond between a mother and her child, but now I finally understand what it is. My mother tried to explain it to me, but words will never be able to describe what that bond really is and what it means. It is understanding your child, feeling that you will always look after him and knowing that he knows you will always be there for him. That is what the bond between mother and child is and yet it is beyond even that. During my pregnancy, I thought I could not bear to lose my child. Now I know it would kill me if Frodo were taken from me. I would not part from my dearest child for all treasures on this earth no matter what troubles and joys he causes me. Drogo is my soul, but Frodo is my heart. He is the one who makes me and my little family complete.

22. Afterlithe 1369

Dear Diary,

Time is getting very dear. Frodo occupies most of mine no matter how much Drogo and Gilda help, my sister-in-law coming over at least twice a week while Drogo works in the southern fields. I have spent the rest in the garden the past few months, planting herbs and flowers. Now I am enjoying the blooming flowerbeds when I am outside with Frodo.

That cheeky little lad has started crawling recently. Last night, while Drogo and I stole a moment for a kiss, our dearest took advantage of the distraction to crawl to the basket of firewood and begin scattering pieces. By the time Drogo and I heard the delighted squeals and giggles, our dear son had already spread most of the kindling on the floor.

Our Frodo is always up to mischief. Last week, when I was working in the garden with Gilda, he discovered a spider. He watched it carefully, without touching it, for many minutes, but, as children will, it eventually ended up in his hands and I stopped him from putting it into his mouth just in time.

Everything ends up in his mouth, except what I want him to eat. I am still nursing, but also started spoon-feeding him some mashed carrots and potatoes - much to his dislike. Frodo likes potatoes, but he always spits out carrots. He makes a disgusted face as if he has tasted the most awful thing in the world, squeezing his eyes shut and clicking his tongue to get rid of the taste.

But for all the mischief, Frodo causes there are times I want nothing but to cuddle and snuggle him and nuzzle his soft belly. Then he squeals and giggles delightedly and looks at me with his shiny blue eyes. Oh, those eyes! When he looks up at me and smiles, they sparkle with joy and innocence. How can I ever be angry with him? How can anyone ever resist him?

Author notes:
This chapter is for Budgielover, even if I doubt it is what she imagined it to be. Without her it would never have been written.

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22. Halimath 1369

I can barely keep from bursting into laughter.

It is a sight one would not see every day. I knew my Frodo liked to babble, but it never occurred to me that Bilbo might like to as well. Both, the old Baggins and the young, the head of the family and its youngest member, are prattling away their "lalas" and "nonos" and no one but they themselves understand what they are talking about.

Had someone told me two days ago that their shared birthday would be such a success for the cousins, I would not have believed it. Three days ago Frodo shied away from Bilbo. He did not remember him, of course, and at the moment he fears anyone who is not Drogo, Gilda or I.

Bilbo said nothing, but I could see he was disappointed that the lad he had grown so fond of in the days after his birth suddenly feared him and avoided his presence. Yet he accepted the distance Frodo needed. Instead of getting a room at the Hall, Drogo's cousin stayed with us, and I think that made things a lot easier. Frodo's curiosity soon won out over his unease and began to trust Bilbo. He would listen attentively to the unfamiliar voice that had so many tales to tell. Whenever the friendly, wrinkled face was not turned towards him, he studied it intently and within less than a day, Bilbo was being greeted with a shy smile whenever he caught Frodo's gaze. He had been uncommonly quiet since his cousin's arrival, but as soon as Frodo was convinced Bilbo was no one to be afraid of, he began talking even more. Toys had to be introduced to our guest and conversations needed to be held - conversations like the one taking place in front of the fireplace.

I lean back smiling into Drogo's arms as he sits down beside me. Bilbo and my husband have taken over my duties for the evening so I can rest a bit. While the one entertains my son, the other has taken care of the washing up. It has been an exhausting day for the birthday party was a toil for my son and me. There were too many rarely seen faces for Frodo and too many tears for me to dry. Frodo was not pleased to see so many relatives and have so many things going on at the same time, especially after his nap, while he was still groggy. Laughing uncles and screaming cousins were not the wakeup he was prepared for. If not for the support of Drogo and Bilbo, the feast would probably have ended in a disaster, because I had to take my time comforting my child. The wrappings for the mathoms, and the birthday candles soon took Frodo's mind off his unease. He was as lively and talkative as ever and I think almost enjoyed being the centre of attention. Cousins, uncles and aunts alike were delighted. My lad's first birthday party was a success.

"Nonononono!" Frodo tells his cousin in a very determined way and, again, I find myself snickering behind my hands. My boy sits on the floor, shaking his head vigorously and causing Bilbo to reach out a supporting hand which is not needed. He is smiling and his eyes respond differently to Bilbo's question than his mouth. At the moment everything is "no" even if Frodo doesn't mean it. "No" is his latest linguistic acquisition. The step to "Mommy" can't be that far away, but so far Frodo has not voiced the word.

"No?" Bilbo looks disappointed. "You really don't want to hear about your uncle's adventure with the dwarves and the dragon? That's a pity."

"If you're waiting for 'yes' you wait in vain," I chuckle. "Aside from the fact that he is too young for your story, I shouldn't want his head to be full of dragons and other nonsense before he can even pronounce the words."

"Nonsense?" Bilbo gives me a glance. "They are all but that, Primie, dear. Frodo needs to know what awaits him outside the Shire, so that he will remain longer under your care and not venture on an adventure without his uncle at his side."

"I doubt it will do him any good even if you're with him."

Drogo laughs quietly. "And I doubt it will do him any good when he is spoiled rotten by his mother."

"I don't spoil him," I tell my husband impishly and lean back for a playful kiss.

"No!" Frodo exclaims demanding attention. He crawled up to his uncle, his little hand tapping Bilbo's knee.

"See," I tell them, as I look fondly at my son, a smug smile on my lips. "Frodo is of the same opinion."

Drogo raises a critical eyebrow and nods, while Bilbo wraps his arms around my boy, and pulls him into a hug. Then he covers his face, hands and belly with kisses, earning delighted squeals and giggles. There's no doubt they have stolen each other's hearts. Bilbo might want to visit more often now.

Author notes:
We have come to an end. This story has been a challenge and a joy to write. I was stunned by the amount of encouraging feedback I received and though I kept being nervous whenever I posted a new chapter this has been great reassurance for me. I want to thank every one of you for this, but especially Ariel who showed a lot of patience and understanding while doing an amazing job in betaing. Thank you, my dear!

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10. Winterfilth 1380

Dear Mother,

You always told me that a diary is a very personal thing and that I should never read another's without permission. I hope you can forgive me that I have read yours. I found it among your belongings when they cleared out our hole and stole it away for I don't think they would have allowed me to keep it. I am living at Brandy Hall now, you know. Uncle Rory says my aunts, uncles and cousins will look after me. I can't say that they're doing a bad job, but I miss you, mother.

I read your diary because I missed you so much. I thought that since a diary is such a very personal thing, I might find something of you within its pages. And I have. Your entries remind me very much of you. It is almost as if you are reading them to me, mother. I could hear your voice, hear you talking, laughing and singing. It has been a very long time since you last sang that star-song to me, but I remember it, mother, I remember it very well and always will.

You once wrote that you missed your mother and that you wished she could be with you. You must have been forty-eight at the time. Perhaps you can understand me now. Perhaps you understand how much I miss you and father. How did you bear it, mother?

It is terrible. Every morning I wake up hoping that this has all only been a nightmare and I will be in my own bed or beside you and father. But every morning I am greeted by the dark of the room I share with my cousins and I know that you are not here.

It hurts so much, mother, I don't think I can bear it. I cry every morning and some nights as well. Auntie Gilda holds me sometimes, and though it does not ease my pain, it offers some little comfort. Knowing that she was there for you assures me she will be here for me as well. Do you think she will? Do you think she will help me as much as she has helped you?

In your diary you spoke of the bond between a mother and her child. I wonder if it really is what you said it would be, or if even that died the day you left me. For I am alone. No-one looks after me now the way you did. Auntie Gilda was your friend and is mine as well, but she is not you. She does not know what I need without asking and the warmth of her arms is different from the comfort your embrace would give me.

You said you would die if you lost me, even though I was only a very young child. Will I die because I lost you and father? Or will it stop hurting someday? Mother, I wish nothing more than to have you and father back. I am so sorry for causing trouble and for keeping you so busy you did not even find time for your diary anymore. I am sorry for complaining and for being cross with you. I promise, if you return to me, I will always do as you say. Auntie Gilda says you can't come back, and though hearing that frightens me, I begin to believe her. I have to go on alone, don't I? I have to endure this hurt or die from it. I don't want to die.

I will try and fight it, mother. You didn't give up, you believed in me during your pregnancy and afterwards, so I won't give up now, I promise. I will try to go on, if only for you and father. Perhaps things will turn out all right some day.

I will keep your diary and will read through your entries so I don't forget you. One day, when I am a father myself, I will tell my own children about you and write about them in a diary of my own.

I love you, mother.

Forever yours,

Frodo