Pregnancy is supposed to be this magical time, right? All joy, anticipation, and that adorable baby bump glow. Well, let me tell you, it can also be when your husband suddenly forgets how to be human. I’m Regina, 35, and I thought I had life figured out until my darling Dan threw me a curveball that would make a saint swear…

“Hey, babe!” Dan called out as I waddled through the front door, my six-month-pregnant belly leading the way. “How was work?”

I groaned, kicking off my shoes. “Like being a beached whale in an office chair. But I managed.”

Dan chuckled, his eyes falling to the shopping bag in my hand. “Ooh, what’d you get?”

“A dress that doesn’t make me feel like a sausage in casing,” I replied, pulling out a flowy maternity dress. “This is so comfortable! Just what I need to squeeze my growing belly and breathe easily.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Whoa, big spender! Better watch that paycheck, honey.”

I laughed, thinking he was joking. Oh, how wrong I was. 😡

“No, seriously,” he continued, his face oddly serious. “You should start saving up.”

“For what?” I asked, confused. “The baby stuff? We’ve been putting money aside for months, yeah?”

Dan shook his head, looking at me like I was missing something obvious.

“No, for when you’re not working after the baby comes. You’ll still need to cover your half of the bills, remember?”

I blinked, certain I had misheard him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Well, yeah,” Dan said, as if explaining that water is wet. “We’ve always split everything 50/50. Why should that change just because you’re having a baby? Fair and square!”

I stared at him, waiting for the punchline. It never came. 🤷🏻‍♀️

“Dan,” I said slowly, “you do realize I’ll be recovering from pushing a tiny human out of my body, right? And then taking care of said human 24/7? Postpartum recovery. You do get the concept, yeah?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean our expenses will magically disappear. And I ain’t gonna magically start earning twice as much. Start saving now so you won’t fall behind.”

I felt like I was in some bizarre alternate reality. 😨

“So, let me get this straight. While I’m on unpaid maternity leave, healing from childbirth, and taking care of our newborn, you expect me to contribute exactly the SAME as when I’m working full-time?”

“Exactly!” Dan beamed, as if I’d finally grasped some profound truth. “See? You get it!”

I didn’t get it. Not one bit. 😢

That night, as I tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position for my ever-expanding body, I heard Dan shuffling around in the living room.

When I returned from my fifth bathroom trip of the night, I found a pink ceramic piggy bank on my nightstand with a Post-it note stuck to it.

“START SAVING, MOMMY!” it read in Dan’s chicken scratch.

“Dan?” I called out, my eyes wide with disbelief. “What’s this?”

He appeared in the doorway, grinning like he’d just solved world hunger. “It’s for your savings, honey. You’re gonna need it.”

And then he laughed. Actually laughed.

I stared at the piggy bank, then at Dan, then back at the piggy bank. At that moment, I made a decision. If Dan wanted to play this game, I’d play. And I’d win. 😈

Over the next few days, I became a human calculator. Every penny spent, every minute invested in this pregnancy… I tracked it all. Dan wanted 50/50? Oh, he’d get 50/50 alright.

I created a spreadsheet titled “The True Cost of Growing a Human” and got to work. Prenatal vitamins? Check. Maternity clothes? You bet. But I didn’t stop there. Oh no, I went deeper. 😏

“Hey Dan,” I called out one evening, “quick question. How much would you say it costs to pee 17 times in one night?”

He looked up from his phone, confused. “Uh, what?”

“Just estimating the water bill increase,” I said sweetly. “Oh, and while you’re at it, how much would you charge to carry around a bowling ball in your shirt all day?”

Dan’s eyes narrowed. “Regina, what are you talking about?”

I smiled innocently. “Just some pregnancy math, honey. Don’t worry about it.”

As the days went by, my list grew. I added everything—the visible costs like doctor’s appointments and the invisible ones like “3 a.m. existential crisis about becoming a parent” and “hormonal cry session over dog food commercial.”

Finally, after a week of meticulous tracking, I was ready. I printed out my masterpiece—a beautifully detailed invoice of pregnancy expenses.

Dan came home from work to find me sitting at the kitchen table, the invoice in front of me, and the piggy bank next to it.

“Hey, what’s all this?” he asked, setting down his briefcase.

I smiled. “Oh, just some light reading. Why don’t you take a look?”

Dan sat down and picked up the paper. His eyes widened as he scanned the list.

“Regina… what is this?”

“That, my dear husband, is your half of the pregnancy costs,” I said cheerfully. “Since we’re splitting everything 50/50, as per your request.”

His jaw dropped as he reached the total at the bottom. “This… this can’t be right.”

“Oh, it is 😙,” I assured him. “I’ve been very thorough. See, there’s even a line item for ‘mental anguish caused by husband’s financial demands.’ That was a pricey one.”

Dan’s face cycled through an impressive range of emotions: shock, disbelief, confusion, and finally, dawning realization.

“Regina, I… I didn’t mean…”

I held up a hand. “Oh no, you were very clear. We split everything down the middle, remember? So, this is your half of the pregnancy costs so far. And don’t worry, I’ll keep a running tally after the baby comes too. Diaper changes at 2 a.m.? That’ll be $20 each. Breastfeeding? Let’s call it $50 per session. Oh, and for every stretch mark, I’m charging a beauty tax.”

Dan looked like he might faint. “But… but…”

“Now,” I continued, patting the piggy bank, “I suggest you start saving up. After all, you’re gonna need it.”

Dan stared at the invoice, then at me, then back at the invoice. Finally, he let out a long, defeated sigh.

“I’ve been an idiot, haven’t I?”

I nodded sagely. “The biggest.”

Then, with all the grace of a pregnant penguin, I shuffled off to our room, pausing only to pat the piggy bank mockingly. “Your turn to feed the pig, Dan. And trust me, it’s got quite the appetite.”

But I wasn’t done yet. Oh no, this was just the beginning of Dan’s financial awakening. 😌

Over the next few weeks, I became a pregnancy accountant extraordinaire.

Every trip to the store? Logged with military precision. New medical bills? Cha-ching, right onto Dan’s tab. Those 3 a.m. wake-ups because the baby decided to practice river dancing on my bladder? You bet that made the list.

I started charging for every twinge, every waddle, and every time I had to ask Dan to tie my shoes because I couldn’t see my feet anymore.

Running errands while feeling like I was carrying a bowling ball in my shirt? That came with a hefty convenience fee.

Dan’s eyes grew wider with each updated total. I swear I could see his wallet wincing in his back pocket. He was racking up a debt to me faster than a shopaholic with a new credit card at a Black Friday sale.

Finally, after watching the numbers climb higher than my ever-expanding waistline, Dan cracked.

“Okay, okay!” he exclaimed one morning, hands raised in surrender. “I get it. I really, really get it.”

And just like that, the tide turned. Over the next few weeks, Dan’s attitude did a complete 180. 🥳

He started taking on more household chores, accompanying me to every doctor’s appointment, and even signing us up for a couple’s prenatal yoga class.

One evening, as we sat on the couch, my feet in his lap as he gave me a much-needed foot rub, Dan cleared his throat.

“Regina,” he began, looking sheepish, “I owe you an apology. A big one.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“I was so focused on the finances that I completely lost sight of what’s really important. You’re growing our child, and instead of supporting you, I added to your stress. I’m sorry.”

I felt my eyes welling up (🥹damn pregnancy hormones).

I squeezed his hand. “I want you to know that from now on, we’re in this together. Completely. No more 50/50 nonsense.”

“So, does this mean I can tear up the invoice?”

I nodded, a mischievous glint in my eye. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

I grinned. “We get to smash that piggy bank together.”

He laughed, really laughed, for the first time in weeks. “Deal.”

And so, with great ceremony (and maybe a little too much enthusiasm), we shattered that ceramic monstrosity into a thousand pieces. As we swept up the remnants, I couldn’t help but feel like we’d cleared away more than just broken pottery.

“You know,” Dan said, scooping up the last of the piggy shards, “I think I learned an important lesson here.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

He pulled me close, his hand resting on my belly. “Never underestimate a pregnant woman with Excel skills!”

I let him tear up the invoice, but not before getting a firm commitment that he’d step up and support the family properly when the baby came. I had him agree, in writing, to cover all our expenses while I was on maternity leave.

And that piggy bank? Well, let’s just say its patched remains now serve as a reminder in our garden, a testament to the day Dan learned that in marriage, just like in parenting, it’s not about keeping score. It’s about being a team.

 My world shattered in an instant when my husband brought home his pregnant mistress and kicked me out of the house. My revenge was a wound that wouldn’t heal.

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.