Feng Qingxue propped up his bottom to lift him higher and laughed, "This child develops a little later, always a step, no, three steps behind his two brothers. Now he can stand up; he can stand with support from my legs." There were no other issues; she had checked her son carefully. He was inherently weak with delayed development. He could speak more fluently than his brothers but just didn't like to open his mouth much.
Wang Sanbao nodded, "It's because you've taken good care of him. You've taught us all a serious lesson."
When it came to Zhuangzhuang, who wouldn't be envious of her for having such a good mother? In the eyes of many doctors, children like Zhuangzhuang were not easy to keep alive, but over the past year, although he often had small ailments like colds, fevers, and coughs, he grew up safe and sound, growing well, no longer seeming frail as if he would not survive.
Feng Qingxue said softly, "I am the child's mother."
