A two-or-three-year-old in a pink princess dress struggled violently in the arms of a woman wearing a pearl diagonal-collared blouse, "No, I won't call you mommy, you are not my mom."
"You've fallen into my hands, and I'll be your mom, and you are my child." The woman had beautiful flowing hair over her shoulders and was dressed in a trendy plain organza glass skirt.
Squatting, she had her back toward us.
Yu Longting wrapped his arms around my waist, hiding behind a particularly thick dead tree and whispered with a suppressed chuckle, "To still recognize her despite this appearance, truly the credit goes to a real mother."
"You're laughing now? Our son is dressed up as a little girl and you, as his father, are not heartbroken but actually reveling in this disaster." Seeing Dumpling's half-lost Soul safe and sound provided me much relief, and I rolled my eyes at Yu Longting.
It was indeed odd, considering Dumpling had only been a fetus within the womb.
