My husband said cleaning the bathroom was a ‘woman’s ‘job’—what happened after still makes me smile

When my spouse informed me that cleaning toilets was “women’s work,” I knew what to do. What occurred next featured his beloved Xbox, my cousin’s housekeeping abilities, and a few words that flipped his life upside down. The look on his face was truly precious.

Looking back, I should have noticed the warning signals earlier. However, when you’re in love, you make allowances for those you care about. That is precisely what I did with Eric for the whole two years of our marriage.

Don’t misunderstand: Eric was not an awful spouse. He was actually quite excellent in many respects. He remembered my birthday, sent me flowers on strange occasions, and could make me giggle until my sides ached. During our first year together, I honestly thought I had won the marriage jackpot.

“You’re so lucky,” my buddies would say. “Eric’s such a catch.” He was, in his own way. He worked long hours as a software developer and earned a fair salary.

He never grumbled about doing “outside” things like grocery shopping, putting out the garbage, and dealing with auto repairs. He took charge of these tasks without seeking permission. But what about inside our homes? That was evidently my turf.

I also worked full-time, operating a small marketing agency downtown. Despite this, I was the one cleaning floors at midnight, doing laundry on weekends, and ensuring we had clean dishes for supper.

Eric would come home, grab a drink, and sit in his gaming chair for hours playing Call of Duty or whatever new game had piqued his interest. “Babe, you work so hard,” I’d remind him when remorse crept in. “You deserve to relax.”

He’d give me the youthful grin that had me falling for him in the first place. ” Thank you for understanding, Alice. “You are the best wife a man could ask for.”

So I continued cleaning. I continued cooking. I kept thinking that love meant doing everything on my own while he leveled up his video game characters.

Looking back, I see that I was enabling him. But at that moment, it seemed like I was being supportive. Everything changed when I saw the two pink lines on the pregnancy test.

As I gazed at the tiny plastic stick in our bathroom, my hands began to shake. After months of trying, we finally had confirmation that we were going to be parents.

“Eric!” I called out, literally jumping on my toes. “Can you come here for a second?”

He halted his game and jogged to the restroom. “What’s wrong?” “You sound weird.”

I held out the test with a smile so broad that my cheeks hurt. “We’re having a baby.”

His face transformed instantly.

His eyes widened and crinkled at the corners, revealing the largest smile I’d ever seen on his face.

“Are you serious?” He took me into his arms. “Are we really doing this?” “We will be parents?”

“We’re really doing this,” I said, laughing through delighted tears.

Eric had always been adept with youngsters. My sister’s twins adored him, and he would spend entire family gatherings making blanket forts and teaching them card tricks. His excitement about our kid made my heart want to explode with joy.

Over the next few months, Eric consistently showed his ability to step up when necessary.

He took me to every doctor’s visit, put together the cot without saying a single bad word, and spent hours researching baby monitors and car seats. He’d return home with little clothing that he couldn’t stop buying.

“Look how small these shoes are,” he would remark. “Our baby’s feet are going to fit in these.”

He painted the room a gentle yellow since we wanted to be surprised by the gender. He placed blackout curtains and a nightlight that projected stars onto the ceiling. When I couldn’t keep anything down due to severe morning sickness, he brought me crackers and ginger tea to bed.

During those nine months, I felt like we were true partners. Eric was highly attentive, loving, and involved in all aspects of our child’s preparation. I figured having a baby would bring out the best in both of us.

I had no clue how mistaken I was about to be.

Our daughter Emma came on a Wednesday morning after 12 hours of labor. When they laid her little, wrinkled body on my chest, I realized what people meant when they discussed immediate, overpowering love. Eric stood at the hospital bed, tears running down his cheeks, and softly stroked Emma’s black hair.

“She’s perfect,” he said, his voice full of emotion. “Look at those little fingertips. Alice, we created this wonderful person.”

Diaper changes, feeding schedules, and little sleep dominated the first few days. But Eric astonished me.

He took two weeks off work and immersed himself in fatherhood with the same zeal he’d displayed during pregnancy. He changed Emma’s diapers without complaint, walked the hallways with her when she was crying, and worked out how to swaddle her better than I did.

“You’re a natural,” I told him one night as he rocked Emma back to sleep after her 3 a.m. feeding.

“I want to be the best dad possible,” he said quietly. “She deserves that.”

For the first two weeks, we were a team.

We took turns waking up with Emma, splitting the cooking tasks, and Eric even assisted with the washing. I began to feel that parenting had transformed him and that having Emma would make him more accountable for everything.

But then he returned to work, and things changed.

The modification did not occur immediately.

Eric remained involved in Emma’s care for the first month after he returned home. He’d make her supper, bathe her, and read her bedtime tales, even though she was too little to understand. But what about home chores? Those slowly returned to me.

“You’re home all day anyway,” he’d reply as I brought up the bulging laundry basket. “I’m exhausted from work.”

Six weeks after giving birth, I was back to doing everything. I was responsible for cooking, cleaning, laundry, food shopping, and providing 24-hour care for a newborn.

Eric would arrive home, play with Emma for 20 minutes, and then vanish inside his gaming setup for the remainder of the evening.

“I need to decompress,” he would say. “Work is really stressful right now.”

Meanwhile, I was operating on three hours of sleep, coated in spit-up, and wondering when I’d last taken a shower. But I reminded myself that this phase was just temporary. Maternity leave would finish someday, and we’d find a better balance.

Then I became ill.

It began on Thursday with a scratchy throat, but by Saturday morning, I was feverish and unable to stand. Emma had been fussy all night, and I had been awake with her since 2 a.m. My body ached, my head throbbed, and I felt like I might collapse.

“Eric,” I said faintly from the couch, where I was trying to feed Emma. “I need aid. I’m very sick.”

He looked up from his phone, frowning. “What kind of help?”

Could you kindly clean the bathroom? I should have cleaned the bathroom yesterday, but I’m in a bad mood. And could you please take care of Emma for a few hours while I rest?

Eric’s face instantly twisted up in distaste. “Gross. That is your job. This is a woman’s job. I am not cleaning toilets.

I gazed at him. “What did you just say?”

Come on, Alice. You know I don’t do that. It is horrible. “You’re better at it anyway.”

Let’s get things straight, I thought. Are you using the restroom like a frat boy? Completely fine. Is it appropriate to clean the restroom when your wife is sick and exhausted? Too horrible.

That’s when I made the decision that would alter everything.

“Stacey?” I remarked on the phone after Eric entered the bedroom. “I need a favor.” “A large one.”

My cousin Stacey has been working as a professional maid for the last eight years. She was competent at her profession and owed me a favor. Last year, I helped her get through a difficult divorce by allowing her to remain in our guest room for three months and providing her money for a lawyer.

“What’s going on, honey?” Stacey’s voice was filled with concern. “You sound terrible.”

“I’m horrible. I would appreciate it if you could come clean my house on Monday morning. I’ll pay you the full rate plus a bonus.

“Of course!” But, Alice, you don’t typically seek assistance. Is everything alright?

“I’m about to teach my husband a very expensive lesson,” Alice said.

Monday morning, Stacey came at 9 a.m. with her supplies and her usual bright grin. “Where do you want me to start?”

“The bathroom,” I said firmly. “Make it absolutely spotless.”

While she worked, I prepared a little overnight bag for Emma and myself.

Three hours later, our home was pristine. I paid Stacey in cash, with a large tip, and hugged her goodbye.

“Thanks for this,” I said. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Anytime, cousin. But I have a hunch there is more to this story.

“There surely is. I will call you later.”

Eric arrived home at 6 p.m., perhaps expecting dinner to be ready.

Instead, he discovered me and Emma sitting on the couch, both dressed to go out. His eyes widened as he scanned the home.

“Wow!” he exclaimed. “You’ve finally cleaned. This house looks fantastic.”

“Nope,” I said, smiling. “I’ve hired someone. I assumed, because you don’t like touching toilets, I’d pay with your Xbox.”

“You what?”

“Your Xbox.” I sold it online this morning. I got $800 for it, which covered Stacey’s rate wonderfully. You weren’t utilizing it anyhow. You were too busy explaining that toilet cleaning is a woman’s job.”

“Alice, you can’t just sell my stuff!” he insisted. “That’s not fair!”

“Actually, I can, and it is fair. You stated that domestic duties are my responsibility; thus, I can use household money as needed to complete them. Right?”

He remained silent, staring at the spot where his gaming setup had once been.

I kissed Emma’s forehead and rose up to collect our overnight bag. “We’re going to stay with my mother for two days. Meanwhile, you can enjoy your spotless kingdom and reflect on what you said. Oh, and Eric? Stacey did not do the wash. That is still your job today.”

The expression on his face as I went out the door was really priceless.

When I arrived after two days, the home was clean, the laundry was folded, and Eric greeted me with an apology and a pledge to do better. The hubris was gone, as was the entitled bubble he had been living in. Sometimes you need to sell a few items to teach your spouse a valuable lesson.