After my daughter popped out at 8 pounds, 2 ounces, I stared at my still-protruding belly in shock, and cried when a man asked me when I was due - two weeks after I had delivered. I cried pretty often back then: news stories, Kleenex commercials, at one wrong word said by my husband. I spent my days at home, wishing I could get some sleep and lying to my friends who called to ask if everything was OK. I was exhausted, hormonal and grumpy, and I felt trapped in my house, wondering if I'd ever feel normal again. I knew those first weeks with baby would be hard, but I didn't know how hard.