My Husband Promised to Take Care of the Baby If I Had One—But After I Gave Birth, He Told Me to Quit My Job
My husband Nick swore he’d handle everything if I gave him a baby—diapers, feedings, all of it—so I wouldn’t sacrifice my career as a family doctor. Then twins Liam and Noah arrived, and suddenly I was “unrealistic” for wanting to keep the job that paid double his sales salary and kept us afloat. He demanded I quit… but I agreed with one condition.
I’m Ava. Ten years of med school, residency, and 3 a.m. stitches built my life. I deliver bad news, calm terrified parents, and sit with the dying. It’s brutal, but it’s mine. Nick dreamed of a son—curveballs, rebuilding Chevys. I wanted kids eventually, but not at my career’s expense.
Pregnancy brought twins. Nick whooped; I panicked. “I’ve got this,” he promised everywhere—grocery store, baby shower, clinic. Everyone called me lucky.
The boys were perfect. First month: beautiful chaos. I returned part-time; we hired a nanny. Nick swore he’d manage.
Reality hit hard. I’d come home to wailing babies, filthy bottles, laundry volcanoes—and Nick scrolling his phone. “They just want you,” he’d whine. “I didn’t nap.” I’d fix it all on zero sleep.
“You’re not fun anymore,” he complained. Then: “Quit. Stay home. I was wrong about your career.”
I laughed bitterly. “You promised.”
“Things change. You’re a mom now.”
“Fine,” I said. “On one condition: earn what I make—mortgage, bills, everything.”
His face drained. He knew he couldn’t. “So it’s about money?”
“No. Responsibility. You begged for sons. Step up.”
He stormed out.
Tension froze us. I kept working, parenting solo. Then 2 a.m.: both boys crying. Nick got up first—humming lullabies, smiling. Next morning, he made breakfast. “You were right. I see what you do for us. I asked about remote work. I want to be a real partner.”
We became a team. He still forgets burps, but he’s present—for 3 a.m. feeds, explosive diapers, all of it.
I’m still a doctor and a mom. He’s a dad and provider who shows up. Love isn’t sacrifice; it’s support. Pay attention to who holds the ribbon when the mess starts.
