Resumen de The Hunger Games
I cried the first time I fed formula to my infant son.
Many of my friends and colleagues did as well. One banished visiting family members—including her husband—from the hospital room, apologizing to her days-old little boy as she brought a bottle of premixed formula to his lips. Another had trouble latching her child but pumped doggedly for the year following his birth. When feeding him bottles of expressed milk in public, she found herself explaining to strangers—strangers who had neither asked nor even looked at her askance—that it was, in fact, breast milk, not formula. Heaven forbid they think she was giving her child anything less than the best.
