For 10 years, I’ve been a full-time mom. Four kids. No breaks. No PTO. Just love, chaos, and exhaustion.
I used to dream of a big career, but life had other plans—and honestly, I wouldn’t trade motherhood for anything. That said… it’s hard. Really hard.
My husband Henry and I had a deal: he worked outside the home, I managed everything else. I never complained.
But recently, he started taking jabs.
“You nap all day.”
“Must be nice not having a real job.”
“You’re always resting.”
The last straw? I asked him to reach something on a shelf, and he snapped, ranting about being the only one who’s tired.
So, I made a suggestion: “Let’s switch. You do my job for a few days. I’ll go to your office.”
He laughed and agreed, fully convinced he’d breeze through it.
Day One:
He overslept by 15 minutes, gave the wrong cereal to two kids with allergies, and sent me off with a cocky grin: “Don’t miss them too much.”
By noon, I was neck-deep in email chains, awkward Zoom meetings, and trying to decode his spreadsheet system that looked like it was made during a caffeine bender.
But honestly? The silence in that office felt like a spa day compared to our breakfast table.
At 2 p.m., I texted him.
No reply.
By 3:30, I got this:
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“Does Talia always cry this much?”
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“Where’s the bottle thing??”
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“Why are there ZERO matching socks?!”
Welcome to my world.
When I got home at 6, the house looked like it had survived a natural disaster. Toys everywhere. One child half-dressed. Another had marker all over his face. Henry was on the couch, cradling a sippy cup like a man defeated.
I asked, “Dinner?”
He looked dazed. “They… had Cheerios. Again.”
By Day Three:
He was sleep-deprived, buried in laundry, and muttering things like, “How do they eat this much?!” and “Didn’t I just clean that up?!”
But here’s the truth: I struggled at his job too. The stress, the pace, the constant pressure—it wasn’t easy.
That’s when I realized: we were both running on fumes, just in different lanes.
We ended the role swap after five days. Not because we failed—because we finally understood.
That night, after the kids were asleep, Henry took my hand and said, “I didn’t get it before. But I do now. You’re incredible. I was wrong.”
Since then, he’s changed. He splits weekend chores. Checks in more. And he talks about my role with pride—like, real pride.
Marriage isn’t about who’s more tired. It’s about realizing you’re both working—just in different ways—for the same reason: your family.
💬 If this story hit home, share it. Someone out there might need the reminder that respect is a two-way street—and so is love. ❤️