As I navigated pregnancy, I expected love and support from my husband, Dan. Instead, he stunned me with a demand to “SAVE UP” for maternity leave. Little did he know, I’d turn the tables.
At six months pregnant, I was balancing work, cravings, and swollen feet. Dan’s message, scribbled on a piggy bank, left me incredulous. “Save up” for the time I wouldn’t be working? Was he joking?
Dan’s seriousness quickly dispelled my doubts. “We split everything 50/50,” he said. “Why should that change just because you’re having a baby?”
I was taken aback. “You expect me to contribute equally while recovering from childbirth and caring for our newborn – on unpaid maternity leave?”
Dan’s nod ignited a fire within me. I decided to play along, but on my terms.
I transformed into a human calculator, tracking every dollar spent and minute committed to pregnancy. “The True Cost of Growing a Human” spreadsheet was born.
From vitamins to maternity clothes, I accounted for everything. And then some. “Hormonal cry session over dog food commercial”? “3 a.m. existential crisis about becoming a parent”? All included.
A week later, I presented Dan with a comprehensive invoice – his half of the pregnancy costs.
His eyes widened as he scanned the list. “Regina, this can’t be right.”
I smiled sweetly. “Oh, it’s right. And I’ll keep tracking expenses after the baby arrives. Diaper changes at 2 a.m.? $20 each. Breastfeeding sessions? $50 each.”
Dan’s face turned pale.
Over the next few weeks, I continued to tally expenses, each one a reminder of Dan’s miscalculation.
Finally, he broke. “Okay, okay! I understand.”
Dan’s transformation was remarkable. He took on household chores, accompanied me to doctor’s appointments, and even enrolled us in prenatal yoga.
One evening, as he massaged my feet, Dan apologized. “I was so focused on money, I forgot what truly matters.”
Tears pricked at my eyes.
“I forgive you,” I said, “but destroy that piggy bank, and promise to support me during maternity leave.”
Dan agreed, and together we shattered the ceramic relic.
As we swept up the pieces, I realized we’d removed more than just broken china.
Dan grinned. “I learned a valuable lesson: never underestimate a pregnant woman with Excel skills.”
Our piggy bank’s remains now serve as a garden tribute, reminding us that marriage and parenting are about teamwork, not keeping score.
