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I was thirty-two weeks pregnant, sitting at the nurse station at Northwestern Memorial, staring blankly at a patient chart. The poor kid had a name with five consecutive consonants and a silent q. My shift was ending, my ankles looked...

Don't, under any circumstances, try to write a Python script that scrapes the Social Security Administration database to find a moniker with a mathematically perfect syllable-to-vowel ratio. This is a terrible way to name a human. I know this because...

I was thirty-two weeks pregnant with my second, sweating through my maternity leggings at a baby shower I didn't even want to have, staring at a plate of lukewarm spinach dip while three different women cornered me about names. My...