Each week – despite knowing that I am a solo mother by choice with a donor-conceived son and no partner at home – my neighbour watches me teeter inside, a leaning tower of motherhood with hefty bags and a yelling child attached to my shins. I smile brightly and say hello, but my mind is a static of expletives: why doesn’t he offer to f------ help?!

Wow. Is this satire? I don't know what's worse; the entitlement or the lack of self-awareness.

If only there were some kind of social institution that compelled another adult to help raise the child...