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My daughter was holding the plastic newborn by its left ankle, dragging its bald, rigid head across the kitchen tile like a club. The eyes clicked open and shut with every hollow bounce. I was seven months pregnant with baby...

Before my son arrived, three different women cornered me with wardrobe advice. My mother-in-law insisted I needed tiny, rigid denim trousers for him, as if a newborn has business meetings to attend. A senior nurse on my floor told me...