You live in a tiny apartment and you just had a baby. You’re home from the hospital, trying to put that whole bloodbath behind you. Your partner is back to work. And you and the baby are in the apartment, alone. All day long. Crying. Pooping. Staring nervously at one

The baby industry is a total mind-fuck. You love your baby so buy our stroller, they advertise. But somehow they come off more like Buy our stroller or your child will drop out of high school and join Al-Qaeda. So you register for everything. Feels excessive, but you’re vulnerable. Maybe the

You’re pregnant — about to pop — and you live in a tiny apartment. Soon you’re going to have to fit a baby in there. But how? You’ve Googled it. You’ve scoured Pinterest. Surely someone’s blazed the way for you. Where’s that don’t-take-no-shit Manhattan couple with all the answers? Or

You live in a tiny San Francisco apartment and you’re pregnant. The clock is ticking. What was once months away is now weeks. You can’t put it off anymore — it’s time to figure out where this baby is going to live. Maybe we should buy a house, you think.