I haven’t written here since September 16th, just a few days after Charlie Kirk was assassinated. That post was an emotional one, and since then, life has been a whirlwind. I’ve been deep in a new project, and, more importantly, preparing for the arrival of my youngest.

We think it’s a daughter, at least that’s what the AI says when it reads the doctor’s reports. But this is China, where they don’t officially tell you, so I’m leaving a little room for surprise. I have both girl and boy names ready, just in case.

Speaking of names, Xue and I decided that I’ll choose the English name and she’ll choose the Chinese name. I did my research, with a little AI help, of course, and I think I’ve built a solid list. It’s funny how different the process feels this time around compared to naming my son and daughter years ago.

And now here I am, in a hospital room at the Dalian Economic & Technological Development Zone Hospital, quite a technical name, nothing like Mercy Hospital, Good Samaritan, or even the more neutral Tacoma General Hospital where my daughter was born. Having a baby here is definitely not the same as in the U.S. We only learned a couple of weeks ago that Xue would need a cesarean. It’s mostly precautionary, but that decision changed everything, especially the timing. The one advantage of a cesarean is that it’s scheduled, so there’s no dramatic “water broke!” moment in the middle of the night. But the hospital requires us to check in the day before, which feels strange. It’s nearly 6 p.m. now, and our baby will be born sometime tomorrow.

Because I speak very little Chinese, I’m surrounded by conversations that I can hardly understand, even with the translator, lol. Google Translate has improved, but live Chinese-to-English translation still feels like reading subtitles written by a poet with bad Wi-Fi. I get the general idea, but definitely not the word-for-word meaning.

Our room is surprisingly large, three beds, though we’re the only ones assigned here. The nurses and aides move in and out, chatting and laughing. It gives me a small glimpse of what my mom described when she told me about having me, my brother, and later my sister, those big hospital wards full of expectant mothers, the chatter, the waiting. I’m not exactly reliving her experience, but sitting here, I feel oddly connected to it.

Just now, I heard the faint cry of a newborn somewhere down the hallway, someone else’s baby announcing their arrival. It made everything suddenly very real.

There was a small disappointment today. I learned that I won’t be allowed in the operating room during the cesarean. When my son and daughter were born, I’ll never forget hearing their first sounds, those tiny, perfect cries. It was one of the most moving moments of my life. Knowing I won’t hear this baby’s first cry in person makes me feel a little cheated. But that’s just how things work here.

Xue, ever the planner, brought what looked to me like a week’s worth of luggage, not just clothes and toiletries, but medical supplies, diapers, and other things I assumed the hospital would provide. I was wrong. In China, you bring what you think you’ll need, and you’d better guess right. Thankfully, she did. When the nurse checked her bag, it turned out she was perfectly prepared. I should have known.

She also has a nurse and a helper assigned to her for recovery and care after the birth. The three of them have been chatting non-stop. I can’t understand a word, but I can tell the conversation is lively. I’m convinced women really do have a daily word quota to meet, and my wife is well ahead of schedule, haha.

A few minutes ago, I was called out to “sign” a document. I asked what I was signing. Xue said, “Yes.” I said, “That’s not an answer.” She replied, “Risk. Surgery has risk.” Which, of course, is true, but not exactly clarifying. The nurse handed me a digital pad and told me to press my finger. No signature, just a fingerprint, and I kid you not, I got a tiny electric shock. Hopefully not a bad omen.

So for now, we wait. It’s been nine months, but somehow it feels like just yesterday. We counted months, then weeks, then days. Now we’re counting hours.

And speaking of blessings, just two weeks ago, my son’s wife gave birth to my first grandson, Rhys Donald. I couldn’t be there, but seeing his first photo filled my heart. What a joy to know that my youngest and my first grandson will grow up almost side by side in years, if not in miles. A double blessing, there’s no better way to describe it.

And in just a few weeks, my daughter will fly here to visit. I can’t wait for her to meet her new sister, or brother, if fate decides to surprise us one more time. I know she secretly hopes for a boy so she can keep her “only girl” title. Either way, it’s going to be wonderful.

Tomorrow’s the big day. Whatever happens, however it happens, I already feel deeply thankful — for family, for love, and for the strange, beautiful path that led me here, sitting in this hospital room on the other side of the world, waiting to meet the newest little member of our family.