Kyle and I have a son named Mason, who just turned three. I’m a full-time medical billing specialist and work from home. Kyle works in construction. For the past three years, I’ve balanced my job, household responsibilities, and Mason, while Kyle “unwound” after work on the couch with his phone.
When Mason turned three, I brought up the idea of daycare. He’s outgoing, and honestly, I needed the ability to concentrate at work. I found an excellent daycare, priced at $900 a month. Since we’ve always split everything, I discussed it with Kyle at dinner: “Hey, I found a daycare for Mason. It’s perfect. We can split the cost 50/50.”
Kyle didn’t avert his gaze from his meal. “Why would I pay for that?” he questioned. “Because it’s for our child,” I replied.
He scoffed. “YOU’RE THE ONE WHO WANTS TO DUMP HIM THERE ALL DAY. I never asked for that. You work from home. You don’t need daycare. You’re just being lazy!”
I stared at him, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “Lazy? I manage a full-time career and a toddler simultaneously. It’s impossible to do both well.”
“Not my problem,” he said, turning up the volume on the TV. “If you want him gone, you pay for it. I’m not paying a stranger to raise my kid when his mother is sitting right there.”
“Fine,” I said calmly. “I’ll figure it out.”
The next Saturday, Kyle had the day off. Usually, I handle the majority of Mason’s care on weekends too so Kyle can ‘rest,’ but this time, I woke up early, dressed in a sharp business suit, and grabbed my laptop bag.
“Where are you going?” Kyle asked, blinking sleep from his eyes as he walked into the kitchen.
“To the library,” I said, pouring my coffee into a travel mug. “Since you won’t help with daycare costs, I have to work weekends to make up for the productivity I lose during the week watching Mason. He’s all yours for the next 8 hours. Good luck ‘unwinding’.”
“Wait, what? You can’t just leave!” he shouted.
“I’m working, Kyle. Just like I do every day.” I walked out the door and turned off my phone.
I spent the day in blissful silence at the library, actually getting ahead on work for the first time in years. When I walked back into the house at 5:00 PM, the living room looked like a hurricane had hit it. Toys were scattered everywhere, a juice box had been spilled on the rug, and the TV was blaring cartoons.
Mason was crying on the floor, and Kyle was sitting on the couch, head in his hands, looking like he hadn’t showered or eaten all day. He looked up at me with wild eyes.
“He… he never stops,” Kyle whispered hoarsely. “He climbed the bookshelf. He drew on the wall. I couldn’t even go to the bathroom without him screaming. How do you get any work done?”
I set my bag down. “I don’t. That’s the point.”
Kyle pulled out his phone right then and there. “What’s the Zelle info for the daycare?” he asked. “Take him. Please.”
