MY HUSBAND COMPLAINED THAT I WAS RESTING TOO MUCH AS A MOM OF 4, SO WE SWITCHED PLACES FOR A FEW DAYS
For the past ten years, my life has revolved around diapers, school runs, tantrums, and meal planning. I’ve been a full-time mom to four amazing, chaotic, loud little humans. I used to dream about career conferences and sleek office heels—now, I dream about five minutes of silence and maybe a hot cup of coffee that isn’t microwaved three times.
Henry, my husband, has always been a good provider. He works hard, no doubt about it. But somewhere along the way, he started believing that I had it easy. His remarks became sharper, more passive-aggressive.
“You nap during the day, don’t you?”
“I’d kill for some time to sit and do nothing like you do.”
“What do you even do all day?”
And the worst—
“I’m tired too, but I don’t get to rest like you. You should be grateful you don’t have to work.”
That was the moment something in me snapped.
So I looked him dead in the eye and said, “Okay. Let’s switch for three days. You be me. I’ll be you.”
He scoffed. “Fine. You’ll probably enjoy the peace and quiet of my office. Sounds like a vacation compared to this circus.”
DAY 1:
I got dressed, put on makeup for the first time in weeks, packed a lunch, and left for his job while he stayed home. I waved goodbye like it was the best day of my life.
By noon, I’d answered emails, attended meetings, had lunch with actual adults, and even used the bathroom alone. It felt surreal. But meanwhile, back home, Henry was already cracking.
First, he couldn’t get the twins to eat breakfast. Then, our 3-year-old spilled juice on his work shirt. Our eldest had a meltdown over a forgotten permission slip.
By 3 p.m., he texted me:
“How do you do this every day?”
I didn’t reply.
DAY 2:
I came home to find the living room looking like a war zone. Henry had dark circles under his eyes. He begged me to help with bedtime, but I gently reminded him, “I didn’t ask for help when I was doing it alone.”
He tried to keep up appearances but was clearly drowning. Our toddler bit him. The twins colored on the wall. He burned dinner.
DAY 3:
Henry called me at work, whispering like he was being held hostage.
“I get it,” he said. “I really, really get it. You don’t just work. You run a full-blown operation. You’re the cook, the nurse, the teacher, the referee. I’m sorry.”
When I got home that night, he hugged me longer than usual.
“Please switch back. I miss my desk. I miss silence. I miss lunch breaks.”
We swapped roles again—and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t just say he appreciated me—he meant it.
Now, when he comes home from work, he kisses me on the forehead and says, “How was your day?” And if I ever ask him to grab something from the top shelf, he doesn’t say a word. He just does it—gratefully.
