I thought my first pregnancy would be smooth mainly due to the support I expected from my husband. But when I needed his understanding about the struggles of being pregnant, he mansplained it to me, forcing me to teach him a valuable lesson!
I’m 30, seven months pregnant with my first child, and exhausted. Not just “I didn’t sleep well” tired. I mean can-barely-walk, lower-back-throbbing, sciatica-shooting-down-my-leg kind of exhausted. But my suffering meant nothing to my clueless husband.
A happy man | Source: Midjourney
You see, I was so tired. The kind where my body feels like a clunky shopping cart with one bad wheel, and the baby inside me has apparently mistaken my bladder for a kickboxing bag! Doug, my husband of four years, is 33. Works in tech. I work in HR.
We both pull long hours and up until this pregnancy, I thought we had a solid partnership. We’d always split chores, tag-team dinners, and supported each other’s goals.
But pregnancy changes things—physically, mentally, and emotionally. And for some reason, it also changed Doug.
A drained pregnant woman | Source: Midjourney
Lately, every little thing I do feels like dragging a ten-pound weight behind me. I’m swelling and cramping to the point that my OB told me I should consider either working from home full-time or starting maternity leave early.
I took a few days to think about it, then decided to talk to my husband.
So one evening, during dinner—meatballs, roasted potatoes, and spaghetti I cooked—I told him we needed to talk.
A dinner plate | Source: Midjourney
“Babe,” I started, trying to keep my voice calm, “I’ve been thinking about maybe leaving work early to rest. Temporarily. My body’s just not handling this well, and the doctor—”
He didn’t even let me finish.
He scoffed, like, actually made a sound! Then he smirked and said, “You’re being dramatic. My mom worked until the day she gave birth to me.”
I blinked.
A surprised pregnant woman | Source: Midjourney
He went on, “You’re just being lazy. Admit it, you don’t want to work anymore. This isn’t the 1800s. Women juggle jobs and pregnancies all the time. You’re using it as an excuse!”
Then the kicker: “Don’t expect me to pick up the slack financially just because you feel tired!”
I sat there in silence, my fork halfway to my mouth, spaghetti cooling on the utensil and the plate!
I wanted to scream! I wanted to argue my case, but instead, I forced a smile and said, “You’re right. I’ll push through.”
And just like that, a plan was born!
A pregnant woman mid-eating | Source: Midjourney
I was going to show this man exactly what “lazy” looks like, and what real work actually feels like!
I didn’t quit my job.
Nope!
Instead, I went to work every day for the next week while also waking up early to do everything around the house.
The next morning, I got up at 6 a.m. while he was still snoring. Cleaned the kitchen, prepped his lunch, scrubbed the bathroom floor on hands and knees (hello Braxton Hicks), and left for work like nothing had changed.
For the next six days, I became Superwoman!
A pregnant woman cleaning | Source: Midjourney
I’d wake up early and do every chore in the house—laundry, floors, dishes, garbage, organizing the pantry, dusting fan blades, and even alphabetizing our spice rack.
I went all out! I hand-washed his sweaty gym clothes and hung them in color order. I made fresh dinners nightly: grilled chicken piccata, lemon-garlic pasta, and even a homemade lasagna that nearly made me pass out from standing so long!
An enticing dinner plate | Source: Midjourney
Doug noticed, of course.
“Wow, you’ve got energy lately,” he said one night, chewing happily. “Told you it was all in your head!”
I smiled sweetly. “Just trying to be the strong woman you believe I am.”
He nodded proudly. “That’s the spirit!”
I almost choked on my salad.
But I wasn’t just exhausting myself for petty satisfaction. I was planning something bigger, something unforgettable.
I did something else my husband didn’t know about. I booked him a well-deserved “surprise!”
A pregnant woman thinking of a plan | Source: Midjourney
See, my OB had referred me to a doula and postpartum coach named Shannon. She’s this no-nonsense powerhouse of a woman who also runs intensive parenting workshops for soon-to-be dads. I asked if she’d be willing to help me out with a little… lesson.
Shannon grinned and said, “I live for this.”
Then I texted my college friend Maddie, whose twin boys were now three months old and in peak screech mode.
“I need a favor,” I told her. “One day. Total chaos. You in?”
My notoriously mischievous friend laughed. “Girl, I’ve been waiting for this moment!”
A woman laughing while sitting her twins | Source: Midjourney
I coordinated everything for the upcoming Friday. I figured at that point, my husband wouldn’t suspect anything as he’d relaxed into the idea that I would do everything around the house and still work.
That day, I told him I had a prenatal appointment and needed him to stay and work from home because “the water company and pest control are coming.” Of course, this wasn’t true.
I threw in, “They gave us a window between 9 a.m. and 3 p.m., so please don’t schedule calls.”
He rolled his eyes but said okay. “Guess I’ll babysit the dishwasher.”
He had no idea what was coming!
An unimpressed man | Source: Midjourney
Friday morning, I kissed him goodbye, handed him a carefully typed “to-do list” on floral stationery—”Be nice to the workers!”—and left the house.
At 9:15 a.m., Shannon rang the doorbell. Doug later confessed that he answered the door in pajama pants, holding coffee, thinking she was with the water company.
“Hi!” she said cheerily. “I’m here for your fatherhood simulation day!”
Doug blinked. “Wait, for what?”
Then, 75 minutes later, Maddie arrived, juggling diaper bags, bottles, and two babies already crying like fire alarms.
At this point, Doug texted me in a panic!
A panicked man texting | Source: Midjourney
Doug: “WHAT IS HAPPENING? There’s a woman here talking about diapers and sleep regression while making me swaddle a fake baby! There are also TWO REAL babies SCREAMING in the living room?!”
Me: “They made it! It’s your real-life dad simulation day! You’ve got this, champ 💪”
No response. For seven hours.
At 6 p.m., I walked into an apocalypse!
A pregnant woman arriving home | Source: Midjourney
One baby was wailing. Doug sat on the couch with a burp cloth over his shoulder and a haunted expression on his face. Shannon sat cross-legged on the rug, sipping chamomile tea like she was meditating through the chaos.
The smell hit me first—diapers and despair.
Doug stood up like Frankenstein’s monster. He looked like he hadn’t slept for three days! “They both pooped. Twice in a matter of hours. One projectile vomited on me! I didn’t eat! They took turns screaming! I think one of them is teething!”
A shocked man talking | Source: Midjourney
I blinked. “Weird. You said women can handle pregnancy and careers. You’ve had eight hours. No pregnancy. Plus help.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Then just slumped back down on the couch like someone had unplugged him. He didn’t say anything but stared at a wall hauntingly.
But I wasn’t done.
Later that night, after Maddie left (with a mischievous wink and a “Call me if you need round two”), I handed Doug a wrapped box. Inside was a small scrapbook I’d titled “Things You Didn’t See.”
A wrapped box | Source: Midjourney
He looked confused but opened it slowly.
Inside were screenshots of texts I’d sent his mom over the last few months, asking for her advice, trying to keep her in the loop. There were photos of my swollen feet next to a vacuum cleaner, receipts from grocery runs, and notes I’d left for him wishing him luck on big meetings, little things he never noticed.
At the end was a sticky note:
“You think I’m lazy? You think I’m weak? I hope today showed you just how wrong you are.”
He stared at it for a long time.
An emotional man staring at a scrapbook | Source: Midjourney
Then he looked up at me, eyes red.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t get it. Not until today,” he said, apologizing profusely.
And for the first time in weeks, I felt like he really saw me.
I nodded. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
But this chapter wasn’t done yet.
Here’s where things get really wild!
A happy pregnant woman smiling | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, he woke up early and made me pancakes. Real ones, fluffy, golden, with strawberries and whipped cream! Then he made a call I didn’t expect.
He called his mom.
“Hey,” he said. “I just wanted to say sorry. I used the story that you worked until the day I was born against Cindy, but… I shouldn’t have done that. I guess I used it as the standard for everyone, forgetting we are different.”
A man on a call | Source: Midjourney
“I can’t imagine what you went through working full-time while carrying me to term. I’ve seen what Cindy’s suffered through, so I am sorry you had to go through that, Mom.”
His mom paused, then said something I didn’t expect (he’d put her on loudspeaker for me to hear his apology and her response).
“Oh honey, that’s not true! I stopped working four months in! Your dad and I decided that I needed to rest. I just never told you because I didn’t want you to think I was less strong for thinking I’d stayed at home.”
A happy woman on a call | Source: Midjourney
Doug blinked.
“Wait, WHAT?”
I took a long sip of my tea and smiled. “Looks like you believed the wrong version of strength.”
He’s been different since then. More attentive. More understanding. He never uses the word “lazy” anymore!
And last night, as I waddled to bed, he kissed my forehead and whispered, “Thank you for not giving up on me.”
I didn’t say anything.
But I smiled.
Because sometimes, the best way to teach someone what strength looks like… is to let them live in your shoes—poop, puke, and all!
A happy pregnant woman | Source: Midjourney
My Neighbor Requested My 12-Year-Old Son to Mow Her Lawn, Then Declined to Pay – She Wasn’t Prepared for My Retaliation
Then one day, Ethan came home, sweat dripping from his forehead. His shirt was soaked, and he looked like he’d been running for hours.
“Ethan, what happened?” I asked, walking over to him as he plopped down on the couch.
“Mrs. Johnson asked me to mow her lawn,” he panted. “She said she’d pay me twenty bucks.”
I glanced out the window at Mrs. Johnson’s yard. It was huge, easily the biggest in the neighborhood. Ethan had mowed the entire thing. It looked perfect, lines neat and clean.
“Two days,” Ethan said, wiping his face with his shirt. “It took me two whole days. But she said she’d pay me when I was done.”
I smiled at him, proud. Ethan was a good kid, always looking to help out. He’d been saving up for weeks to buy a food processor for his grandma’s birthday. The twenty dollars would help him get a little closer.
“Did she pay you yet?” I asked, still looking out the window.
“No, but I’m sure she will,” Ethan said, his voice hopeful.
I nodded. Mrs. Johnson might be distant, but stiffing a kid out of twenty bucks? Even she wouldn’t do that. Or so I thought.
A few days passed, and I noticed Ethan was quieter than usual. He wasn’t his usual cheerful self, and it worried me.
“What’s wrong, honey?” I asked one evening as he sat by the window, staring at Mrs. Johnson’s house.
“She hasn’t paid me yet,” he said softly.
I frowned. “Well, have you asked her?”
Ethan nodded. “Yeah, I went over yesterday, but she told me she was busy and to come back later. So I went again today, and she told me… she told me to get lost.”
“What?” I gasped, shocked. “What do you mean ‘get lost’?”
Ethan looked down at his hands, his voice shaking just a little. “She said I should be grateful for the lesson I learned from mowing her lawn. That learning to work hard was the real payment. She said I didn’t need the money.”
My heart dropped, and my anger rose. This woman had tricked my son into doing two days of hard work and then refused to pay him. How dare she?
I clenched my fists, trying to stay calm for his sake, but inside I was boiling. “Don’t worry about it, honey. I’ll take care of it.”
Ethan gave me a small, trusting smile. But inside, I was already planning what I’d do next. Mrs. Johnson might think she was teaching my son a lesson, but she was about to learn one herself.
I sat on the porch the next morning, watching Mrs. Johnson pull out of her driveway, as polished as ever. The decision had been brewing inside me for days, and now, I felt no hesitation.
My son deserved justice, and if Mrs. Johnson wasn’t going to do the right thing, then I’d make sure she learned a lesson of her own. I got to making calls and leaving voice messages.
Around an hour later, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Mark, my old friend from high school, who now ran a small landscaping business. I explained the situation in a quick, hushed tone.
“So, you want me to… trim her hedges into weird shapes?” he chuckled on the other end of the line.
Mrs. Johnson took immense pride in her yard, especially her hedges. Every Saturday morning, without fail, she’d be out there, pruning the bushes with meticulous care.
She had them shaped into perfect, symmetrical forms that gave her house a neat, upscale appearance. To her, those hedges weren’t just plants—they were a statement.
“Exactly. Nothing destructive. Just enough to give them a funny look. She’s proud of that yard, and I want her to notice.”
Mark was quiet for a moment, then laughed again. “You’ve got yourself a deal. I’ll swing by later today.”
Step one of the plan was set. Now, for step two. I grabbed my laptop, found a local mulch delivery service, and called them up, doing my best to mimic Mrs. Johnson’s crisp, no-nonsense tone.
“Hi, this is Katherine Johnson. I need three large truckloads of mulch delivered to my address. Yes, the whole driveway. Thank you.”
I hung up, feeling a strange thrill. My heart pounded in my chest. Was I really doing this?
Yes. Yes, I was.
Then, I left a few messages for my neighbors. While asking for small favors, I made sure to casually mention what Mrs. Johnson had done to Ethan.
Later that afternoon, three giant trucks rolled up and began unloading piles of mulch onto Mrs. Johnson’s driveway. I watched from my porch as the workers carefully emptied their loads, blocking her entire driveway with massive mounds of dark brown mulch. There was no way she was getting her car in tonight.
By then, the neighborhood had started to buzz. I saw a few of the neighbors peeking through their windows, whispering to each other. Word had gotten around about what Mrs. Johnson had done to Ethan, and now, they were seeing my revenge unfold right in front of them.
I could feel the tension building. Everyone was waiting for Mrs. Johnson to come home. So was I.
At around 6:30 p.m., her shiny black car turned the corner and pulled onto our street. As soon as she saw the mulch, her car screeched to a halt. She sat there for a moment, probably in shock. Then she slowly rolled forward, coming to a stop in front of the pile blocking her driveway.
I leaned back in my chair, sipping my tea, and waited.
Mrs. Johnson got out of the car, her face a mix of confusion and anger. She marched over to the hedges first, staring at the strange shapes they’d been trimmed into. She ran her hands through her perfectly styled hair and pulled out her phone, probably to call someone to fix it.
A few of the neighbors had gathered across the street, pretending to chat, but really watching her reaction. They exchanged quiet laughs and glances. Mrs. Johnson looked around, realizing she was being watched, and her eyes landed on me.
She stormed across the street, her heels clicking loudly on the pavement.
“Did you do this?” she snapped, her voice tight with rage.
I smiled, taking another sip of my tea. “Me? I don’t know anything about landscaping or mulch deliveries.”
Her face turned bright red. “This is unacceptable! You think this is funny?”
I set down my cup and stood up, meeting her gaze. “Not as funny as stiffing a 12-year-old out of twenty dollars.”
Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She knew exactly what I was talking about.
“Maybe it’s just the universe teaching you a lesson,” I said, my tone sharp. “Hard work is its own reward, right?”
Mrs. Johnson clenched her jaw, her eyes darting from me to the piles of mulch and then back to the small crowd of neighbors now openly watching. She was trapped. She couldn’t argue with me without looking worse in front of the whole street.
“Fine,” she spat, turning on her heel and stomping into her house. A minute later, she reappeared with a crumpled twenty-dollar bill in her hand.
She shoved it at me, but I didn’t take it. “Give it to Ethan,” I said, stepping aside.
She shot me one last glare, then walked over to where Ethan stood at the edge of the yard. “Here,” she muttered, shoving the bill at him.
Ethan took the money, eyes wide with surprise. “Uh, thanks.”
Mrs. Johnson didn’t say another word as she hurried back to her car. She fumbled with her phone, probably trying to call someone to remove the mulch blocking her driveway. But I wasn’t worried about that. My job was done.
Ethan smiled so wide, I thought his face might split in two.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said, beaming.
“Don’t thank me,” I said, ruffling his hair. “You earned it.”
Mrs. Johnson never asked Ethan for help again. And every time she passed the neighbors, I could see the embarrassment in her eyes. Her hedges grew back, and the mulch eventually disappeared, but the story of how she learned a lesson about honesty and hard work stayed with the neighborhood.
Sometimes, the people who seem the most put-together are the ones who need a good reminder that you don’t mess with a mother protecting her son.
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