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  • Saturday morning the sun breaks through the April clouds and my husband takes our kids to our local playground. Our daughter sits next to him in the sandbox, industriously pushing a Barbie through a pile of damp sand. The benches surrounding the sandbox are usually lined with texting au pairs, but today there's only a lone mother, nursing a new baby. Maddy becomes absorbed by the scene. As the youngest child in the family she's never seen a sibling being breast-fed.
    “What’s that lady doing?”
    “She’s feeding her baby.”
    “From her nipple?”
    “Yes, she’s giving the baby her milk. That’s what little babies eat.”
    David silently congratulates himself on his assured and deft handling of the topic, then sees Maddy hike up her shirt. She’s holding her doll sideways and pressing its face to her belly.
    “What are you doing?”
    “I’m feeding my baby.”
    “From your belly button?
    Maddy looks down at her chest doubtfully. “Well it’s all I’ve got, isn’t it?”
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