My name is Tangyuan, and I'm three and a half years old.
Today, I woke up once again under the whole family's “close protection.”
Dad picked out my socks for the day with the grave expression he uses to sign billion-dollar contracts. Mom dramatically recited the poem she'd just written: “In Praise of My Son Turning Over Thirty-Six Times Last Night.” Grandpa showed me my new baby bottle, which supposedly monitors my temperature, analyzes its contents, and sends out a distress signal if I'm kidnapped.
And all because yesterday I casually said, “My bottom's a little itchy.”
[Ding! Today's mission: While Grandma is making breakfast, successfully steal three slices of ham sausage and feed them to the parrot on the balcony.]
I sighed and typed a line of text across my mind: This family would fall apart without me.
Then I put on my little mochi-ball smile, reached out my chubby hand, and gave the order I'm best at: “Daddy, carry me! I wanna watch Grandma cook!”
The CEO dad immediately put down all his paperwork, his gaze sharp as an eagle's. “Sure! Daddy will carry you over to... supervise the kitchen!”
