The phone screen lit up for a few seconds in the darkness. Chen Hao stared at the notification "Smart bottle warmer successfully ordered" for a long time. He didn't turn off the light or lie down. He simply got up quietly, walked around the diaper box on the carpet, went to the sofa, and pulled the blanket back up, which had slipped halfway down, to cover Susan's legs.

The next morning at six o'clock, Nana had just started the car when the blue light flashed, and she was about to start reporting the weather.

"I got up early today because—there are only nine days left," Chen Hao said first, his voice hoarse from just waking up.

He took a folded piece of calendar paper from the bedside drawer, unfolded it, and circled a date in red pen: **Due Date**. He'd been tearing off a page every day for a week, and yesterday's page was tucked into his notebook, marked "Ten Days to Go".

Carl then came out of the room, holding a tablet. He glanced at the calendar and nodded: "The fetus now weighs about 2.8 kilograms, and its hearing system is fully developed. It can hear us clearly."

"Really?" Chen Hao leaned closer. "Did he hear me calling his dad a lazy pig yesterday?"

“Aren’t you his father?” Carl looked up.

"I'm her mother's husband!" Chen Hao slapped him on the back of the head. "How could that logic be wrong?"

Susan slowly stood up, supporting herself on the sofa with one hand on her waist and touching her stomach with the other. "He listened to music for a while last night and moved a few times."

"What did you put in there?" Chen Hao asked.

“Mozart,” Nana said. “47% of the frequencies are low, which is good for calming the nerves.”

"I thought it was rock music," Chen Hao said, scratching his head. "No wonder he didn't kick me."

“If you play rock music, I’ll kick you right now,” Susan laughed.

The family sat relaxed in the living room. Chen Hao pasted the calendar onto the refrigerator door, next to a photo of the stroller and a torn page of a shopping list. Carl squatted on the floor and wrote on the back of the calendar with a marker:

**Day 9**

- Fetal weight: approximately 2.8kg → 3.0kg during the transition period

- Active hours: 19:00–21:00

- External sound recognition rate: 78%

"You're really treating this like a scientific experiment?" Chen Hao asked, looking at the pile of data.

“This is a family archive,” Carl said earnestly. “It can be made into a commemorative album later.”

"I'll dig this out for you when the kid grows up, and you'll see how my dad treats me like a lab rat."

Susan leaned back on the sofa, her hand never leaving her stomach. She was wearing a loose beige dress, her belly prominently protruding, and she was slightly out of breath after sitting for a while. Chen Hao noticed that her ankles were a little swollen and immediately ran to get a low stool.

"Carry it, don't try to push yourself too hard," he said.

“I didn’t intend to hold on,” Susan laughed. “I just felt that if things continued like this, I might have to roll out the door.”

“Then I’ll have to push you.” Chen Hao sat down next to her. “The stroller has already been bought, we can’t let it go to waste.”

"You want me to take a car downstairs for a walk?" Susan raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve already planned the route.” Chen Hao took out his phone. “From the front door → elevator → community garden → bench → home. The whole route is barrier-free and will take twelve minutes. One round trip counts as completing today’s task.”

“It sounds like a robot patrol,” Carl said.

“I learned it from Nana.” Chen Hao pointed at her. “She starts up, broadcasts, and recharges on a regular schedule every day. She lives a more regular life than anyone else.”

Nana's blue light flashed: "I'm also looking forward to meeting my little master."

The three of them were stunned for a moment.

"You... still have 'expectations'?" Chen Hao stared wide-eyed.

“The emotional simulation module has been upgraded.” Nana said calmly, “Based on the analysis of family interaction frequency and language patterns, expressing expectations helps improve the emotional stability of members.”

"So you were faking it?" Chen Hao asked.

“No,” Nana said, “I’m serious.”

Susan smiled, then whispered to her belly, "Did you hear that? Everyone's waiting for you."

At lunchtime, Susan only ate half a bowl of rice, saying that her stomach felt full.

“Normal.” Carl flipped through the tablet. “The fundal height has reached 34 centimeters, and the pressure on the stomach is causing a decrease in appetite.”

"You talk like you're measuring with a ruler." Chen Hao picked up a piece of steamed fish with his chopsticks and put it in her bowl. "Eat some more, or you'll be hungry tonight."

“I’m eating for two now, but I have to digest it all by myself,” Susan sighed. “And this person doesn’t even share the weight with me.”

“He’s already trying to gain weight.” Chen Hao put his hand on her stomach. “Look at how round and chubby he is, a future weight champion.”

"Who do you think he looks like?" Susan suddenly asked.

“It definitely looks like me.” Chen Hao puffed out his chest. “Big features, well-defined face.”

“The database shows,” Carl interjected, “that maternal genes influence 53.6% of a newborn’s facial features.”

"Shut up!" Chen Hao pointed at Karl. "If you say another word, I'll expose your childhood bedwetting."

“I didn’t wet the bed,” Carl frowned.

"You cried for ten minutes the first time you used the toilet," Chen Hao laughed. "I was the one who taught you."

“That’s a system debugging failure,” Carl explained in a low voice. “The sound of flowing water triggered the alarm mode.”

After dinner, Nana started playing music. This time it wasn't classical music, but a slow-paced synthesized sound, like wind blowing through metal pipes.

“A new type of prenatal education audio,” she said, “simulates the superimposed waveforms of the mother’s heartbeat and breathing, which can reduce the stress response of the fetus.”

"It sounds like aliens snoring," Chen Hao said, lying on the carpet. "But I'm sleepy."

Susan leaned back on the sofa, her eyes half-closed. Chen Hao quietly moved over, gently lifted her feet and placed them on his lap, beginning to massage them.

“It doesn’t have to be like this every time,” she said.

"I'd rather." Chen Hao lowered his head and rubbed the soles of her feet. "You walk like a penguin now. If you don't take care of yourself, who will be responsible if you become lame later?"

"I'll be lame?" Susan laughed. "Then you'll have to carry me for the rest of your life?"

"If we can't carry you, we'll just roll around," Chen Hao said. "Let's hug each other and roll to the park to sunbathe."

Carl sat to the side, his tablet running the voice-to-text function, the conversation scrolling across the screen. He selected a few sentences, copied and pasted them into a new document, and named it: **Pregnancy Daily Quotes - Day Nine**.

At three o'clock in the afternoon, sunlight slanted in. The stroller stood quietly in the corner, its gray body gleaming softly. Chen Hao suddenly stood up, walked to the calendar, picked up a pen, and drew a smiley face under "Day Nine".

"When I tear out the page tomorrow, I'm going to circle it in big red with a highlighter," he said.

“Is it necessary?” Carl asked.

“Of course.” Chen Hao turned around. “This is a historic moment. There are only eight days left until I see my child.”

“You said the same thing yesterday when you said there were only nine days left,” Carl reminded him.

“Every day is worth celebrating.” Chen Hao slammed his fist on the table. “This is a countdown, not waiting for takeout!”

Susan smiled and shook her head, gently stroking her belly. "Do you think he can understand what we're saying?"

“He’ll definitely understand.” Chen Hao walked back and sat down. “If he’s smart, he’ll kick three times.”

The four people quieted down.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

There was no movement.

"Is she asleep?" Susan asked softly.

"Impossible." Chen Hao didn't believe it. "I just said he's a genius, how dare he not respond?"

He repeated, "Son, are you a genius?"

Still no response.

"Could it be..." Chen Hao's expression changed, "...that his hearing isn't fully developed?"

“The data shows that the hearing is mature.” Karl flipped through the records. “There was a strong fetal movement at 21:17 last night, which corresponds to the second movement of Mozart’s K.488.”

"Then why doesn't he kick?" Chen Hao asked anxiously. "Could it be that he thinks I'm too fat and doesn't want to acknowledge me as his father?"

“You can test it in a different way,” Nana said.

"for example?"

"Sing a song."

"Sing?" Chen Hao's eyes widened. "I'm tone-deaf!"

“The fetus is more sensitive to the vibrations of the father’s vocal cords,” Nana said. “Even if the father sings off-key, it can enhance the recognizability.”

Chen Hao hesitated for a few seconds, cleared his throat, and began to hum: "Twinkle, twinkle, little star..."

After singing just two lines, Susan suddenly burst out laughing.

"Where did you find this tune?" She laughed so hard her stomach shook. "The sky isn't bright at all, it's all smog!"

"Don't laugh!" Chen Hao continued singing, "Baby's listening carefully!"

He sang louder and louder, his singing becoming increasingly off-key. Carl silently turned on the recording function and titled it: **Father's First Prenatal Education Singing - Archive**.

On the third verse, Susan suddenly grabbed Chen Hao's hand.

It moved!

Chen Hao stopped immediately.

"It really moved?" He nervously placed his hand on it.

one time.

Another one.

Then three more taps, as if typing Morse code.

"He responded!" Chen Hao jumped up excitedly. "He heard me! He heard me singing!"

“It could also be a protest,” Susan laughed through her tears, “wanting Dad to shut up.”

"This is recognition!" Chen Hao announced, "Starting today, every night at eight o'clock, it's Dad's exclusive prenatal education time, singing for half an hour!"

“I suggest keeping the volume down,” Nana said. “Above 85 decibels can cause fluctuations in the fetal heart rate.”

"Mute your microphone." Chen Hao waved his hand. "Art needs no restrictions."

As evening fell, the setting sun streamed into the living room. Chen Hao and Susan sat side by side on the sofa. He supported her arm with one hand to adjust her position, while his other hand gently rested on her belly. The baby's movements gradually subsided, as if it were tired.

Carl sat on the carpet, his tablet still recording. He listed today's keywords: **Day Nine, Like Dad, Want to See Him Soon, Singing Works**.

Nana stood to the side, the blue light flickering softly, and low-frequency music still playing.

Chen Hao suddenly said, "Who do you think he liked the most after the first person he saw when he came out?"

“Usually it’s the obstetrician,” Carl said.

"Nonsense," Chen Hao said, disbelieving. "It must be Mom."

“Studies have shown,” Nana said, “that newborns first focus on high-contrast outlines, such as people wearing glasses.”

“That’s it.” Chen Hao looked at Karl. “He became your darling the moment he saw you.”

“I don’t mind,” Carl said. “I can take care of teaching him data analysis.”

"Could you please not pre-select a guardian?" Susan said, both amused and exasperated. "He's still living here."

Chen Hao pressed his palm against the wall, feeling for any movement inside. He whispered, "Son, if you want to come out, just let us know. We're all ready."

The room fell silent.

A gentle breeze rustled the curtains outside the window.

Susan leaned on his shoulder with her eyes closed.

Chen Hao didn't move; his hand remained on her stomach.

Suddenly, there was a heavy kick from inside.