Old Street Stories

At two o'clock in the middle of the night, a cry of "Wow~!" dragged Tang Yun back from Zhou Gong's place, and he kicked at the army next to him: "Your son is crying, go make milk powder!"

Da Jun got up in a daze with half-opened eyes, picked up a piece of milk powder on the bedside table, and walked to the kitchen.

Tang Yun took a deep breath and sat up, picked up Xiao Huihui who was on the crib next to him, and gently coaxed him, while muttering: "Don't cry, big brother, I've sent the milk powder to my little brother!"

After waiting for the eldest brother to fall asleep again, the two younger brothers lost sleepiness.

"How can you say that Comrade Yang Meiyun is so capable, he can still carry a child back with a punch in the morning." Tang Yun said while lying in Dajun's arms, looking in the direction of the crib. "The person who threw the child in the roadside park was cruel enough. The baby is so healthy and cute, how could he bear it?"

While stroking Tang Yun's soft hair and listening to his complaints, Da Jun was thinking about all kinds of thoughts.

"Do you think we can take care of the child? When the child grows up, will the two fathers in the family feel strange? If the child's biological parents find him one day, can we return the child generously? I definitely won't do it, and I want to get something for nothing, there's no way!" Tang Yun often followed Yang Meiyun to watch family tragedy dramas.

The small theater in his head was completely defeated by the ethical drama, and Da Jun smiled and said: "Let's not think about those who have no shadow, the child doesn't have a name yet, what should I call it?"

Half an hour later, the whole bed was filled with three hundred baby names, the Xinhua Dictionary, the Book of Songs, Songs of Chu, and Tang Poems, and the army had already laid down and started snoring.

Tang Yun had no idea at all. The book said that some were named after five elements and eight characters, some were named after beautiful meanings, and some were named from ancient poems.

While stroking Dajun's chest muscles, he flipped through the book of names, the hard and elastic touch slowly took over most of his senses.

I just turned to the Daquan of Naming and said: "Some parents also like to use their own beautiful vision to name their children."

Good vision, I hope. . .