My Husband Wouldn’t Watch Our Newborn To Let Me Shower, So I Came Up With a Plan To Teach Him a Lesson

The first few weeks after my daughter was born were a blur of love, exhaustion, and figuring out how to survive on two hours of sleep. I’d read the books and taken the classes, but it turns out that nothing truly prepares you for motherhood until you’re in the trenches.

I adored my daughter—every tiny sigh, every little stretch, even the way she clung to me during those late-night feedings. But I also felt like I was losing pieces of myself, one skipped shower at a time.

The problem wasn’t just the sleepless nights or the constant cluster feeding. It was the fact that my husband, Nick, didn’t seem to realize that my world had been turned upside down while his stayed largely the same.

It started innocently enough.

I’d hop into the shower, hoping for ten minutes of hot water and peace, only for Nick to knock on the door within minutes, holding our crying newborn.

“She needs you,” he’d say, apologetic but resolute. “Take her, Piper.”

I’d barely have time to rinse the soap off before he was handing Gigi to me. The first time, I let it slide. The second time, I bit my tongue. But by the third, I was seething.

One day, after another two-minute rinse, I confronted my husband.

“Nick, why can’t you just calm her down yourself?” I collapsed onto the couch.

He shrugged, looking genuinely confused.

“She loves showers. They calm her down. And I can’t stand seeing her cry. It breaks my heart. So, handing her to you is the best solution, Piper.”

As sweet as that sounded, I was furious. I hadn’t had more than five minutes to myself since Gigi was born, while Nick took his long, uninterrupted showers every morning.

How could he not see the double standard?

A week passed, and I reached my breaking point. I hadn’t shaved my legs in days, and the thought of standing under the warm water for even ten minutes felt like a luxury I’d never know again.

I needed a plan. I needed something to make Nick understand what I was going through without turning it into yet another argument.

I thought about calling my mom, but she lived overseas and couldn’t exactly pop over to help. So, I decided to call Nick’s mother, Dawn.

Dawn and I had always gotten along well. She was kind, practical, and had a way of making people feel seen. I wasn’t sure how she’d react, but I needed help, and I was desperate enough to risk it. Gigi was my entire world, but I was at my wit’s end now.

When Dawn arrived, she took one look at me and frowned.

“Goodness sake, sweetheart,” she said, setting down a bag she’d brought with her. “You look exhausted.”

“I am,” I admitted, tears threatening to fall furiously. “And Nick doesn’t seem to get it. Dawn… I need help…”

She sighed, her face softening.

“Let me talk to him, honey.”

When Nick came home that evening, Dawn didn’t waste any time.

She had spent the past hour cooking her famous chicken stew for me, including homemade rolls. She had been the perfect mother figure that I needed. But when Nick came home, her entire demeanor changed.

“Nick, sit down,” she said firmly.

He blinked, surprised.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been… let’s say, less than supportive of your wife. Of the mother of your child. That changes tonight. Do you understand me?”

Nick chuckled nervously.

“Okay, Mom. What’s the plan? You’re here to help, right? So, what do I need to do?”

“I’m here, sure. But that’s not quite it. I brought supplies,” she said.

From her bag, she pulled out a bath set—gels, scrubs, bath bombs, candles, the works. She set it on the counter and turned to me.

“You, my girl, are going to take a three-hour break. Right now,” Dawn said. “You’ll soak in the tub, eat some good food, and watch a movie or read a book. Heck, take a nap if you want. Nick will handle everything else.”

Nick paled.

“Wait, what?”

“Oh, you heard me, boy,” Dawn said, crossing her arms. “It’s time you learned how to take care of your own child without relying on your wife.”

He glanced at me, then back at his mom.

“But you’ll be here to help, right?”

Dawn smiled.

“No, I’ll be here to teach.”

For the next hour, Dawn walked Nick through everything. From how to soothe our daughter, how to handle diaper changes, and how to burp Gigi after feedings. She made him take notes, correcting him when he got something wrong.

“Hold her head higher, Nick!” she shouted at him at one point.

“Mom, I’ve got this!” Nick grumbled, but he adjusted his grip.

Dawn wasn’t having it. I was just sitting there eating my chicken stew and watching everything unfold.

“Oh, really? Because you’ve been ‘having this’ by interrupting Piper’s showers for weeks. Let’s make sure you can handle it, shall we?”

He sighed but stayed focused.

By the time Dawn deemed him ready, Nick looked like he’d run a marathon.

“Good luck,” she said cheerfully, handing him our daughter.

As I slipped into the tub, I felt an enormous weight lift off my shoulders. The candles flickered, the bubbles foamed around me, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like myself again.

When my three hours were up, I found Nick in the living room, rocking our daughter while she dozed in his arms. He looked tired but proud.

“How’d it go?” I asked.

He grinned.

“I survived. Barely.”

Dawn, sipping her tea from the couch, chuckled.

“Not bad for your first real go, Nick. But don’t think this is a one-time thing,” she said.

I raised an eyebrow at her.

“Dawn, I think you’re my new hero.”

She winked.

“Honey, I’m just doing what any mom would do.”

That night, after Dawn left, Nick and I sat down for a long talk.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quiet. “I didn’t realize how much you were doing, or how little I was stepping up.”

I nodded, my throat tight.

“I just need you to meet me halfway. I love being a mom. I love being Gigi’s mom, but I can’t do it all alone.”

There was a silence in the living room. It was heavy and loaded.

“Honey, I thought I had postpartum depression,” I confessed. “Last week, when Gigi was screaming at the top of her lungs and you were asleep in bed… everything felt too heavy. Too consuming. Like nothing I did could ever make it better. I wanted…”

“You wanted to what, Piper?” he asked.

“Disappear,” I admitted quietly.

“Do you need help? Tell me, darling. Do you need professional help?” he asked.

I took a moment to think about it. I mean, I was now aware of the problem, aware of my feelings, and aware of the possible consequences if I did have postpartum depression.

“I don’t think we’re there yet,” I answered truthfully. “I think I just need some help and some time to myself now and again. But now I know about it, so I’ll keep checking in with myself.”

Nick reached for my hand.

“I’ll do better, I promise,” he said. “But you’ve got to promise that you’ll let me know if anything comes up. If it gets serious, and if it’s not about just taking a moment for yourself, then we’ll get help. Okay?”

I nodded.

We made a deal that night. Nick would give me time to recharge every day, and I’d teach him the ins and outs of breastfeeding support, bottle care, and newborn do’s and don’ts.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.

And as I watched him cradle our daughter that night, his face soft with love, I realized that we’d get through this together.

Dawn’s visit had been a turning point. She hadn’t just taught Nick how to care for a baby; instead, she reminded me that it’s okay to ask for help.

And motherhood isn’t about doing it all alone—it’s about sharing the load, leaning on your support system, and finding moments of peace amidst the chaos.

That night, for the first time in weeks, I fell asleep knowing everything would be okay.

Gigi would be fine. We all would. Right?

What would you have done?

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‘She’s on My Maintenance, I’ll Kick Her Out If She’s Not Obedient,’ My Husband Said About Me during His Celebration

When Abby loses her job, she seeks comfort in her husband, Gregor, to keep them afloat until she finds another. But while Abby assumes that Gregor will be supportive, she finds out how he really feels when they celebrate his birthday surrounded by their closest people…

I’m not usually one to share my life online, but after what happened recently, I figured my story should be shared. Let me tell you all about the time my husband tried to humiliate me in front of his friends and how I turned the tables on him in the most satisfying way.

I met Gregor when I was in my forties. I wasn’t looking for anything serious, and the marriage dream had died a long time ago for me.

“Come on, Abby,” my mother said. “It’s never too late to find someone. Don’t you just want to be married and settle down?”

I shook my head.

In reality, I did want that, but after a toxic relationship in my thirties, I was done thinking about it all. I didn’t want that anymore.

But then, I met Gregor and we hit it off right away. He was charming, thoughtful, and genuinely seemed to care about me.

Read the full story here.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.