After the Spring Festival, the winter break was almost over, and the weather was bone-chillingly cold.
Beijing had already seen snow, and the world outside the courtyard house was draped in a silver-white blanket.
The chicken coop and duck pen outside the yard used to be open-air, but to prepare for winter, Zhao Chun had made covers for them.
Tian Sangsang's due date was within the next two weeks, which was really not ideal timing because of the brutal cold.
The breath from her words hung in the air reluctantly, almost freezing into ice.
She had officially entered the waiting-for-labor stage.
Every day, Tian Sangsang nestled on the couch in the living room, huddled by the heater, looking out at the fluffy snowfall. The more she gazed at the snow, the more peaceful she felt; the more she gazed, the lazier her personality seemed to become.
Tian Sangsang even began to think she didn't want to give birth anymore.
