I'm sorry, ma chère.
I can't always be with you and watch you grow up and become what you want to be.
I still remember when you were born with your eyes half-opened, your fingers stuffed into your mouth, your feet dangling in the air, and your mumbling sounds vague. The doctor picked up your legs and slapped your butt. Instead of crying, you pursed your lips in grievance.
...
I always remember that you could still see my appearance at that time, with big round grape-like eyes and a smile that revealed toothless pink gums. Your parents looked at each other in surprise, "Our daughter smiled at us!", And I knew with pride that you were looking at me and smiling. I lowered my head and kissed your delicate cheek, "Please give me your advice."