"Wah! Wah! Wah!"
Spitting out his wilted pacifier, Lu Xibao cried out, flailing his arms and legs, almost slipping from Feng Qingxue's grasp.
"It's all your fault!" Feng Qingxue glared at Lu Jiang.
Eating up all Xibao's rations, how could the baby not be upset when he couldn't get breastmilk in the middle of the night?
Xibao has always been food-possessive, if his hunger is not satisfied, nobody can sleep peacefully.
Lu Jiang coughed, his gaze darting around, a tad embarrassed, but could he really be blamed? Besides, Little Fatty has been eating for seven or eight months now, there's formula milk at home, so he won't starve.
Feng Qingxue sat on the side of the bed and kicked him off, "Quickly make the formula milk for Xibao."
"Yes, madam!" Lu Jiang jumped out of bed in his bare upper body, wearing cotton slippers, picked up the flashlight to light the kerosene lamp, and then took out Xibao's special duck-billed glass feeding bottle.