The morning light peeked through the gaps in the curtains, drawing a thin, bright line on the floor.
The caregiver stood at the door of the ward, her voice low: "You can prepare to be discharged now."
Chen Hao immediately jumped up from his chair, nearly knocking over the water glass on the table. He quickly steadied himself, then looked down at Le'an, afraid of waking him. Carl stuffed the tablet into his bag and picked up two duffel bags. Nana stood by the bed, her finger lightly tapping in the air to confirm that all medical documents had been filed.
Susan leaned against the pillows, her eyes still a little puffy, but her complexion was much better than last night. She reached out and touched her son's face, then threw off the blanket and tried to sit up.
"I'll do it." Chen Hao stepped forward quickly, supporting her back with one hand and her legs with the other, his movements clumsy but careful. He slowly lifted her into the wheelchair, murmuring, "For the next month, you just need to eat, sleep, and take care of yourself. We'll take care of everything else."
Susan smiled but didn't say anything.
On the way home, the car was driven very smoothly. Nana sat in the passenger seat, the system connected to the car's temperature control, maintaining the interior temperature at 23 degrees Celsius. In the back seat, Chen Hao held Le'an, while Karl stood beside them, the two taking turns watching to see if the baby spit up.
As soon as the door opened, a faint aroma of medicinal cuisine wafted out of the room.
The living room has new beige curtains, which aren't too bright. On the bedside table are a thermos, blood-nourishing tea bags, and a small screen displaying a countdown: **27 minutes until next water intake**.
"Did you set this up?" Chen Hao asked Nana.
"The optimal hydration interval was calculated based on Susan's fluid metabolism data," Nana said. "The frequency of reminders has been adjusted to the minimum to avoid causing psychological stress."
Susan had just lain down when she heard noises coming from the kitchen.
Carl, wearing an apron, was washing vegetables. A printed seven-day menu was pasted on the refrigerator, titled: **Postpartum Scientific Diet Plan V3.0**.
"Did Nana make this?" Susan asked.
“She provides the plan, I handle the procurement.” Carl said without looking up. “For today’s first meal, we have crucian carp and tofu soup, millet and pumpkin porridge, and stir-fried spinach. The oil intake will be kept at 68% of the daily recommended level.”
Chen Hao peeked into the pot and said, "I'll cook."
Are you sure?
"It's just making soup, isn't it?"
Ten minutes later, a burning smell wafted from the kitchen.
Chen Hao hurriedly turned off the stove and brought out a bowl of dark-colored soup. "The fire was a bit too high, but it should still be drinkable."
Susan took a sip and didn't frown. "It's more comforting than chicken soup."
Chen Hao grinned. "I'll try again tomorrow."
Le'an cried three times that night.
The first time, Nana sensed the crying and automatically activated the soothing mode, gently rocking the cradle and playing white noise. The baby hummed a few times and then fell asleep again.
The second time, the diaper got wet. Chen Hao rushed over to change it, frantically pulling and tugging for a while before finally getting it tied properly.
The third time, it was time to breastfeed. Susan had just sat up when Chen Hao pushed her back down.
“I’ll bring him over.”
She finished feeding him while leaning against the bed, her eyelids drooping. But just as Chen Hao coaxed her to sleep and she closed her eyes, she heard a noise again.
The next morning, her face was a little pale.
On the third night, Le'an cried again. Susan tried to get up and found the door had been gently pushed open a crack.
Carl stood beside the crib, holding a thermometer in one hand and gently patting Le'an's back with the other. He hummed a strange tune, slow and rhythmic, the syllables seeming to come from another world.
Nana stood to the side and translated in a low voice: "This is a sleep-inducing melody commonly used by extraterrestrial civilizations, which has been converted to a frequency band acceptable to the human ear."
The child's eyes slowly closed, and his breathing became steady.
Susan leaned against the doorframe, looked for a long time, and finally gently closed the door and went back to her room.
On the fourth day, she began writing in her diary.
Every night, Nana would broadcast a recording.
"Today's record: Mom drank three bowls of soup."
"Mom laughed twice."
"Mom touched the baby for ten minutes."
Chen Hao, lying in bed listening, couldn't help but laugh, "You even remembered that?"
“This is a family tradition,” Carl said. “When Le’an grows up, she will know how hard her mother worked.”
Susan looked down at her hands and suddenly said, "I'm losing my hair."
No one responded.
She went into the bathroom and closed the door.
A few minutes later, Chen Hao knocked on the door. "Dinner is ready."
There was no sound inside.
He knocked twice more, saying, "If you don't come out, I'll throw the soup on the door."
The door opened. Her eyes were a little red, but her face was clean.
"Let's eat," he said. "Today we have pork liver and spinach soup, which is good for replenishing iron."
She sat down, took a small sip, looked up at him, and asked, "Did you secretly put sugar in the soup?"
"No," Chen Hao said seriously. "Those are red dates."
She picked up a slice of pig liver and ate it.
On the fifteenth day, she stepped onto the balcony for the first time.
The sunlight felt warm on her face. She stood there for ten minutes, and when she came back, her forehead was a little sweaty.
“I can walk a little further now,” she said.
On the twentieth day, she gave Le'an a bath.
She moved slowly, her hands trembling slightly. She tested the water temperature several times, and wrung the towel out very dry. After washing him, she wrapped him in a small blanket, held him in her arms, and gently rocked him.
“Look at his ears, don’t they look like yours?” she asked Chen Hao.
"How is it similar? My ears are much bigger."
"It is similar."
On the morning of the twenty-eighth day, she stepped onto the scale.
The numbers jumped a few times and then stopped.
She turned around, smiled at Chen Hao, and said, "I can outrun you now."
Chen Hao scoffed, "You're only saying this now. Wait until I gain weight again."
Carl flipped through his notes and wrote down a line: **The new mother completed the baby bath independently, taking nineteen minutes, with a lower-than-expected error rate.**
Nana's blue light flashed softly, and her voice was gentle: "Physical function recovery has reached the standard, and mental health score has improved by 41%."
In the afternoon, sunlight streamed onto the carpet.
Susan leaned back on the sofa, Le'an nestled against her chest, her little hands clutching the hem of her clothes. Chen Hao handed her a bowl of hot red date soup.
Carl sat at the coffee table, his notebook open, writing something.
Nana stood in the corner. The system entered energy-saving mode, and the blue light blinked, like it was breathing.
Le'an suddenly turned her head and bit Susan's sleeve.
She gently pulled it out, saying, "Your teeth haven't grown in yet, you can't bite it."
Chen Hao leaned closer. "Is he hungry?"
Susan shook her head. "He just wanted to reserve a spot."
Carl looked up at the child, then looked down and wrote: **The newborn's first attempt to chew on clothing; the motivation is unclear, but it is speculated to be related to the establishment of a sense of security.**
Nana suddenly said, "We detected a 15% increase in the baby's saliva production, which may indicate an early teething stage."
Chen Hao's eyes widened: "So fast?"
Susan touched her son's cheek, her fingertips brushing against his gums.
That piece of meat was a bit tough.
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