Swaddlng: Good parenting or chinese water torture?

As most of my peers know, swaddling is all the rage among today's parental set. They have all been brainwashed by some book called "The Happiest Baby on the Block," which claims that by recreating the womb, us babies will all be happy little campers without a care in the world. Swaddling is the cornerstone of this womb-recreation technique. Newsflash folks: wrapping us like little mummies and shushing in our ear while swaying from side-to-side is about as close to the womb as blowing up some inflatable palm trees and putting on a Jimmy Buffet CD in your NYC apartment is to being in the Caribbean.

Despite this, my parents insist on wrapping me as tightly as possible in the world's biggest swaddle blanket, making it virtually impossible for me to move my arms or legs, and leaving me to stare motionless up at the ceiling. I make it my nightly business to try to escape this straight-jacket. And, I am so inhumanly strong that on some occasions I do manage to bust an arm or two free.

Given my clear resistance to swaddling, the other night Mom and Dad figured that would let me graduate to a sleep-sack, which is basically a combination of a sleeping bag and overalls. It leaves your arms free and your legs with as much room as first class on Singapore Airlines vs. the USAir coach of the swaddle (although I am a fan of that toast-of-town Capt. Sully). I was so excited by my new-found freedom, I could not get a lick of sleep. An hour or so after putting me to bed, Mom found me doing the running-man as fast as I could in my crib. She took one look at me and said, "uh uh, mister, back to the swaddle for you!" I must say, once I was back in my safe little cocoon, I passed right out.

So I pose this question to my readers: Swaddling -- is it legalized torture or simply good parenting?

Note re. pic -- I refuse to allow the parents to take a picture in my swaddle chains (and they forgot the camera) so this photo from Mom's blackberry in my swing will have to do...