When babies are born, they lie on their mothers’ breasts, wild heartbeat to wild heartbeat, and start the long introduction that winds itself around to their eventual separation. When my son Jacob was born, I didn’t know that I was ever supposed to put him down. He napped on my chest, and when his eyes opened, they were always greeted by my own. I nursed, rocked and changed his diapers until his eyelids grew heavy again, then I settled him back down on me, rubbing the two-square-inch patch of his tiny back. Read on.