When I had my first baby, it went well, all things considered. I was induced at noon, gave birth 15 hours later in the wee hours of the morning, and my beautiful little boy went right on my chest, snuggling in and latching. I remember him just gazing up at me endlessly, taking in my face. Eventually we were moved to a private room, and I went to a breastfeeding lesson just down the hall, before the grandparents arrived to meet him. Through all the commotion, my blissed-out baby boy slept soundly, swaddled in the bassinet beside me, just like I?d imagined he would. 
That night, I sent my husband home, after watching him restlessly toss and turn on the recliner in our room. (He?s 6’4″.) ?You go home, check on the house, get some rest, and come back in the morning,? I said. ?I?ve got this!? Cue the narrator: I did not, in fact, have this. 
My baby, like many, ?woke up? on night two?he was alert, hungry and very pissed off about not being his warm, snug womb. He cried incessantly unless I stood up and swayed him, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. (This “night two” phenomenon?where the baby becomes more alert, and the mom?s milk hasn?t come in yet?is so well known that it was actually written up in the booklet the hospital had given us after birth, but I had been too distracted to read it.) 
After an hour or two of the swaying, I decided I needed a break and walked out to the nursing station to hand off the baby. To my surprise, the nurse...