My sunshine

Birthday 1

It's been about a year and eight months since I found myself living as the third member of the Sun family, now known as Edmond Sun Helios. Adjusting to life as a newborn again was, to put it mildly, a humbling experience. After years of living as different people in different worlds, always capable of handling my own needs, suddenly being in a tiny, helpless body was a challenge I never expected to face.

The hardest part? Being dependent on others for the most basic things, like being fed or having my clothes changed. It was incredibly embarrassing. After all those years of independence, suddenly needing someone else to take care of me—especially for something as personal as getting dressed—was tough on my mental health. My little Bobo, would feel so guilty every time he saw me react to the situation. At first, my reactions were unintentional, but as time went on, I started to enjoy the way he would try to console me. My mischievous side couldn't resist; watching him act all adorable was just too good to give up.

It wasn't just me; my small, silly family, with all their clueless behaviors, added a whole new layer of cuteness to the experience. I can't deny that I'm really enjoying this life. Having parents who genuinely care about you, cherish you, and anticipate your every need is an incredible feeling. It's been fun, and I find myself truly starting to see them as my real parents.

Living with them has been a constant source of entertainment. My first week was pure chaos—they'd wake up in the middle of the night just to check if I was still breathing, placing their fingers near my nose or staring intently at my chest to see if I was alive. And that didn't stop after just one week; they kept at it for months. It was both hilarious and endearing, making me feel more connected to them each day.

I've always been a quiet and calm person, and when I found myself with these loving parents, I wanted to be as mindful and helpful as I could. Knowing how hard it is to raise a child, I didn't want to cause them any trouble. So, if it came to something like being fed, I just waited for them to offer; I didn't make a fuss. I thought this was a good deed, a way to make things easier for them.

But what I didn't realize was that my silence turned out to be a big problem. I vividly remember one night when they rushed me to the doctor because I hadn't asked for food even once. I had no idea this was a cause for concern. After the doctor assured them I was just a well-behaved child, I still didn't fully grasp the situation since I was still learning the language.

They took me to multiple doctors, and each one gave the same reassurances. I couldn't understand the full story at the time, but I could sense that something was wrong. Seeing my mother crying and my father trying to comfort her was heartbreaking. Finally, I gathered the courage to ask Bobo what was happening.

"They think you're sick," he said,puzzled by my question. I guess he forgot that I hadn't quite mastered the language yet, I realized then that my attempt to be considerate had backfired.

"Me?" I was shocked by his answer. I knew they were taking me to the doctor, but since I hadn't been prescribed anything, I assumed it was just a routine check-up, something normal in this world. It never crossed my mind that they actually thought I was sick. If that were the case, wouldn't Bobo have given me a heads-up?

Then it hit me. Maybe my being so well-behaved at this age was worrying them. Maybe they thought they were failing as parents, that they couldn't take care of me properly. A lot of thoughts started racing through my mind, ideas I usually wouldn't even consider. But what if, just maybe, they were scared? They'd never had a child before, and this was their first experience in parenting. What if my so-called "well-behaved child" act was doing more harm than good? What if I was unintentionally hurting them, making them feel inadequate, and threatening the happiness they had worked so hard to achieve?

So, from then on, I decided to act more like my age—or at least try to. I started asking for food, and it wasn't long before I noticed a change. The atmosphere in the house lightened, and my parents seemed genuinely happier. It was a small thing, but it reminded me of something crucial that I should have done as soon as I arrived in this world: learning their language.

Bobo took on the role of my teacher, and with his help, I began to pick up the language. Slowly, I started to understand their conversations, even laughing at their jokes. Seeing their faces light up when they noticed my progress made it all worth it. It was a heartwarming sight, and I often wondered if they would always see me as their entire world.

And boy, was I right. They celebrated every little milestone—my first rollover, my first "mama," my first "papa." Those last two, I remember practicing over and over, wanting to get them just right, to make sure neither of them felt left out. The first time I called them "mama" and "papa," I saw my father cry. It broke my heart, but it also felt like I had fulfilled something they had been waiting for, something they had longed for, for so long.

My first teeth, my first step, my first run—they celebrated every single milestone as if it were the most extraordinary event. They even picked a day to celebrate my birthday, but by then, I'd already had about ten mini-celebrations for all sorts of silly reasons. My dad's friends had become so accustomed to these impromptu parties that I could see the exasperation in their eyes whenever another invitation arrived. It was hilarious.

My dad's friends were like an entirely different level of fan club, and even the townspeople seemed to treat me like a little celebrity. Whenever I walked around, it felt like a parade with people wanting to take pictures or asking for my signature. I felt so loved, surrounded by all this attention and care, but at first, it scared me. I wasn't used to being loved unconditionally; I'd always known relationships to be a balance of give and take. So, I was uncertain, skeptical of this kind of affection.

But as time went on, I realized they just loved me—the toddler me—without expecting anything in return. Maybe it was because I was an orphan, or maybe my unusual hair color made them think I was some noble. Perhaps they were just grateful to the people who adopted me. Whatever the reason, I came to understand that sometimes, people love you just because they do, without needing a reason. Or as Bobo once said, though I try not to dwell on it too much, "They love you because you're just too cute."

Well, tomorrow is my second birthday, and it's set to be another big celebration, just like all the others. And, to be honest, I really hate parties.

Hello, sunshines! 🌞

Here's a new chapter for you! I'll be doing my best to update as quickly as I can. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you for your support!

And I want to extend a heartfelt thank you to "MayaBamsa" and "please_halp" for your votes—your support means the world to me. I'm also incredibly grateful to everyone who commented, added my story to their reading list, and to my very first two followers, MayaBamsa and Kartaliasidney—thank you and welcome to the family!