Chapter I: The Night Life Broke Through the Shell

Time moves so quickly — before I could even begin to count the days, you are already two years old.

Looking back to the night before you were born, it feels like only yesterday. That morning, your mother felt unusually intense movement, and contractions began arriving in waves. I hurriedly packed our bags and drove her to the hospital on the west side. The night that followed was long and heart-wrenching: in the ward, your mother lay tethered to tubes and monitors, holding on with the help of anesthesia and an epidural.

It wasn’t until the early hours of the next morning that the doctors began the induction. Your mother summoned every ounce of her strength, and finally — you arrived. I cut the umbilical cord myself, witnessing the very first moment of your independent life. But before the joy could even settle, a complication arose, and your mother was rushed back to the operating room for an emergency procedure. Thankfully, she came through safely. Meanwhile, you announced your arrival with a thunderous wail, and we — guided by patient nurses — clumsily learned to feed you and change diapers every three hours. On the day we left the hospital, the moment you were buckled into your car seat, your constant crying miraculously stopped. It was your first truce with this world.

Chapter II: The Chaos of New Parenthood

That first night home was the start of a frantic scramble. You cried so hard it felt like our hearts were being torn apart, and as rookie parents, we didn’t even realize you were simply hungry. For the entire first month, you woke every three hours, and we bid farewell to unbroken sleep.

From there, life shifted rapidly through countless firsts: we took you to see the cherry blossoms in Seattle; we watched your first rollover, your first crawl, your first wobbly steps. We heard you call out “Mama” and “Papa” for the first time in your small, stumbling voice. That year, you accompanied your mother to her PhD graduation ceremony and gazed up at the Aurora Borealis with us. Grandparents took turns flying in from afar to help care for you. You went through weaning off the pacifier, doctor’s check-ups, and gleeful swinging at the amusement park. Life unfolded in small details, but it became vivid because of you.

What remains most unforgettable was the end of 2024. At only nine months old, you followed us on cross-continental flights between China and the U.S., spending a month in our home country. I also remember a deep winter night when the power went out. With no warm milk to drink, you simply sat there in the dark, laughing and content. In that moment, your effortless optimism dissolved all our exhaustion.

Chapter III: Waiting at the Window

On your first birthday, we invited friends and colleagues to celebrate. You sat in a little push-car, spinning happily around the living room.

After turning one, you started daycare. With it came the inevitable cycle of illnesses and trips to the urgent care, but it was also where you learned to socialize and play with children your age. Because of work, I began traveling frequently between California and Washington. Your mother tells me that midweek, you often press yourself against the window, watching and waiting for Papa to come home. Because of this, I hold our weekends sacred — even if it’s just a walk in the park or taking you to your little soccer class on Saturday mornings.

At home these days, you are a perpetual motion machine. Aside from when you’re sleeping, you almost never stop — running laps between the kitchen and the living room. You’ve grown especially attached to your mother lately, occasionally declaring in your baby voice, “Don’t want Papa, want Mama.” It stings a little, I won’t lie. But I’m deeply comforted to see you expressing your feelings so boldly.

Chapter IV: A Second Birthday and an Ordinary Day

Your second birthday was spent, once again, in a rush. I flew back from California just the day before and hurried home from work at 5 PM on your birthday.

Your mother had set up a backdrop with your favorite excavator balloons, and you dragged them around for ages. We gathered to sing “Happy Birthday,” and you asked with a perfectly serious face, “Where did the cake go?” When the cake finally appeared, you blew out the candles with delight alongside Papa, Mama, and Grandma. You ate until your face was covered in cream — a little frosted kitten.

The celebration was simple and grounded. After blowing out the candles, we went to Costco as usual to restock for the week. The day after your birthday, we took you to a nearby park and then out for hot pot. You didn’t wake from your afternoon nap until late. Grandma and Mama spent the afternoon playing with you, and after dinner, I took you for one last walk by the water. As the sun set and the sky darkened, watching you run and pause along the shore, I felt a tranquility that was almost unbearably precious.

Chapter V: The Cycles of Time

Time flies. I often think that in perhaps sixteen years, you will be as I once was — packing your bags and leaving this warm little nest to chase your own mountains and seas.

Today, I find myself having lived through another full cycle: seventeen years since I first left my hometown at eighteen. The world is changing fast, especially amid the surging wave of AI, where everything seems to accelerate. But I know that some things never change.

I will cherish this time together. I hope to walk beside you in health and happiness through all the years to come.

Not to squander our time; not to waste the beauty of these years.