Since I “don’t work,” my husband took a vacation without me, so I gave him a lesson he will never forget.
When my husband Keith smugly announced he was going on a resort vacation without me because I “don’t work,” I smiled sweetly and let him go.
He strutted in like he’d won the lottery. “Mom and Dad invited me next week. I need a break,” he said, as I bounced our screaming 12-week-old. When I asked about me, he smirked, “You’re on maternity leave. You nap when the baby naps, right?”
I laughed—sweetly, dangerously. “Of course, dear. Go have fun.”
The moment his car disappeared, I sprang into action. I dropped Lily at my mom’s for three nights, showered, shaved, and poured a glass of wine. Then I made a list of everything Keith thought I didn’t do: laundry, groceries, bills, appointments, mental load—the endless invisible work of running a household.
I posted a triumphant Instagram: “Day 1 of my own vacation. No screaming. No mansplaining. Just peace and pasta. #StayAtHomeQueen”
By Day 3, Keith called, confused. I told him, “You went on a vacation because raising a human isn’t real work. I took one too. I earned mine.”
When he returned, the house was spotless, dinner ready, and a note on the fridge read:
“Welcome home! Laundry’s on the couch. Baby’s at Nana’s. P.S. I’m not the maid. I’m your partner.”
He never called my work “nothing” again.
