The child in Li Jinhua's arms cried, with a voice so feeble it sounded like a cat meowing.
She hadn't really participated in postpartum confinement and had been preoccupied with the idea of switching babies. The scant amounts of breast milk she had were nowhere near enough to satisfy the child's hunger.
She asked Old Mrs. Qin, "Old Mrs. Qin, do you have any baby formula at your home?"
Old Mrs. Qin replied, "Aren't you asking the obvious?" On the table in Qiaoqiao's room lay more than a dozen bags of formula and three clean baby bottles.
Li Jinhua bit her lip, "I was hoping to borrow some to feed the child."
Old Mrs. Qin shouted into the room, "Jin, mix a bottle of formula for Jinhua's child."
Li Jiaojiao said, "Doesn't Qiaoqiao have any breast milk by now?"
Old Mrs. Qin, "She had it the day after she gave birth, but the child doesn't want to drink it." He always avoids her mouth when she tries to feed him, as if embarrassed.
"Odd, in my family, they find it themselves."