When my husband, Eric, told me we should have a third child, I froze.
I just stared at him, thinking, Is he serious? I was already overwhelmed with two kids and a mountain of responsibilities that felt like they were crushing me. I worked part-time from home, did all the cooking, cleaning, laundry, and school stuff—while Eric came home, plopped on the couch, and played video games like he was a teenager on summer break.
The idea of adding another baby to that mess? I wanted to scream.
We had been married for 12 years, and I was exhausted. I’m 32, and we have two kids—Lily is 10, and Brandon is 5. I love them more than anything, but I was drowning. And the worst part? Eric barely lifted a finger.
He thought that because he worked a full-time job, he didn’t have to do anything else. No diapers. No school runs. No bedtime stories. Sick kids at night? That was all me. Every single time.
Meanwhile, his idea of “helping” was coming home and saying, “What’s for dinner?” while flipping through TV channels or shouting into his headset during an online game.
One afternoon, I was so tired I could hardly think straight. I finally asked for a tiny bit of time to myself. Just one hour to grab coffee with my best friend. That’s all I wanted. One peaceful hour.
So I asked him, “Can you watch the kids for just an hour?”
He didn’t even look at me. He just muttered, “I’m tired. I worked all week. Take them with you.”
I blinked, not sure I heard him right. “Eric, I need a break. Just one hour. You can handle it for that long.”
And that’s when he said it—the sentence that snapped something inside me.
“You’re the mom. Moms don’t get breaks. My mom didn’t need one. Neither did my sister.”
That hit me like a punch in the gut. I stood there, stunned. My heart was racing. I wanted to scream, cry, run—all at the same time. But I didn’t say anything. I just turned around and walked away.
Later that week, during dinner, he dropped another bomb.
“We should have another baby.”
I choked on my food. “What?! Another baby? Are you out of your mind? I can barely keep up as it is!”
He shrugged. “We’ve done it before. What’s the big deal?”
I was fuming. “The big deal is I do everything. You come home and act like your day’s over, while mine never ends.”
Instead of listening, he brushed me off like I was being dramatic. And just then, as if things couldn’t get worse, his mom, Brianna, and his sister, Amber, who were visiting, jumped in.
Brianna looked at me and said, “Eric works hard to provide for this family. You should be grateful.”
And Amber added, “You sound spoiled. Mom raised both of us without complaining.”
That was it. I snapped.
“Grateful? For what? For doing everything alone while he checks out after work? Parenting is a full-time job, and it shouldn’t fall on just one person. I’m not being spoiled—I’m being real.”
But they didn’t get it. None of them did. They were stuck in some old-school fantasy where the mom does it all with a smile and never burns out. And Eric just kept acting like nothing was wrong.
That night, he brought it up again. “So, are we trying for a third or not?”
That was my breaking point.
“No. We are not. And if you can’t see how unfair things are, I don’t know what else to say.”
That’s when he exploded. “Fine. Pack your things and leave. I can’t live like this anymore.”
My hands were shaking, but I stayed calm.
“You want me to leave? Fine. But the kids stay. Whoever stays in this house is responsible for them.”
He went pale. “Wait… what? No way. You can’t do that.”
I looked him dead in the eyes and said, “Oh, I can. You want me out? Fine. But I’m not dragging Lily and Brandon into this mess. They stay.”
That night, I left. My sister picked me up, and I walked out with my head held high. I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t begging. I was done.
Eric called later, trying to backtrack. But I had already made my decision. I was finally standing up for myself, and I wasn’t going back.
In the end, Eric couldn’t handle what I’d been doing all along. He lasted a few days before caving. I filed for divorce. I got full custody of the kids. I kept the house. He pays child support now, but the daily grind—meals, homework, bedtime, boo-boos, and belly laughs—it’s all me.
And you know what? I’m okay with that.
Because I’m finally free. I’m finally at peace. And most importantly, I showed my kids what it means to stand up for yourself—even when it’s hard.
No regrets. Just strength.
What do you think? Would love to hear your thoughts!
