Nothing makes you feel more like a serial killer than swaddling a fussy baby - shushing close to her ear, holding down her arms, staring into her frightened eyes, telling her it'll be ok if she just calms down, and throwing her in a cage until you're ready to deal with her again.
Once I get my daughter in a sufficient swaddle and into the crib, she fights it like I just put her in a chained-up straitjacket, dropped her in a locked water tank, and 2 minutes have gone by with no air.
She squirms so hard against her restraints. She makes grunting noises that sound eerily similar to when the velociraptors communicate in Jurassic Park as well as strategically testing all parts of the swaddle for weaknesses. She's a problem solver.
That one...when she looks at you, you can tell she's working things out.
She definitely finds that weakness because, at some point in the night, she gets a hand out of the top of the swaddle. Then it's only a matter of time before she's completely out and wailing for attention. The only saving grace is that it's closer to morning by this point and morning means the longest time until you have to swaddle her again.