When my husband, Eric, first brought up the idea of having a third child, it caught me completely off guard. As the primary caregiver for our two kids—Lily, 10, and Brandon, 5—I was already stretched thin. I work part-time from home while managing nearly every aspect of our household: school drop-offs, meals, bedtime routines, cleaning. I adore our children, but I was worn out from doing it all on my own.
Eric, meanwhile, seemed content to relax after work, often absorbed in sports or video games. Anytime I asked for help or just a break to see a friend, I was met with resistance. “Moms don’t get breaks,” he once said, echoing a traditional mindset he’d grown up around. I tried to explain how overwhelmed I felt, but my words rarely seemed to land.
One evening, as I prepared dinner, Eric casually suggested we have another baby. His tone was so nonchalant, it was as if adding to our family was a simple decision—without consideration for the day-to-day work it would entail. I couldn’t hide my frustration. “Eric, I’m already juggling so much. I’m not sure I could handle more—not without more help,” I told him.
His response: “I provide. Isn’t that enough?” Those words hit hard. I realized then that we had two very different views of what it meant to be a partner and a parent.
Over the next few weeks, our discussions became more strained. Every time he mentioned a third child, it felt like a deeper disconnect. I wasn’t opposed to growing our family in theory, but I needed a true teammate—not just financial support.
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