Then came Friday.I told him to stay home for “utility appointments,” but instead sent a doula and my friend (with her screaming twin babies) to give him a crash course in parenthood. By the time I got home, he looked like he’d survived a war.Later, I gave him a scrapbook titled “Things You Didn’t See” — full of photos and texts showing everything I’d been managing alone.He finally broke down. Apologized. Meant it.And the kicker? He called his mom — the same one he claimed “worked until the day she gave birth” — only to learn she actually stopped working four months in!

Doug’s changed since then. Now, he’s the one making pancakes and rubbing my swollen feet.Turns out, the best way to show someone how hard you’re working… is to let them live a day in your tired, aching, kickbox-battered shoes.