I was **seven months pregnant**. My feet were swollen, my back felt like it was being **held together with duct tape**, and every step felt like I was carrying **a watermelon strapped to my spine**.
And yet, I was **still working**.
I wasn’t asking for much. Just a break. A chance to rest before I had to **push a human being out of my body.**
But when I told my husband Doug that I was thinking of quitting my job, his response?
*”You’re just being lazy. My mom worked until the DAY she gave birth to me. Women can handle pregnancy and careers. You’re using it as an excuse.”*
I **stared** at him.
I wanted to scream. Throw a pillow at his head. Maybe make him **sleep in the yard.**
But instead? I **smiled**.
*”You’re right,”* I said sweetly. *”I’ll push through.”*
And that’s when I started planning **my revenge.**
### **Step One: A “Surprise” for Doug**
The next morning, I handed Doug an envelope.
*”What’s this?”* he asked.
*”A surprise!”* I chirped.
Inside was a **gift card**.
For a **prenatal yoga class.**
“You’re always saying pregnancy isn’t that bad,” I said, watching his **confusion**. “So, I signed you up for a simulation experience. They’ll attach a 30-pound belly to you, restrict your movement, and make you experience labor contractions. Just for fun!”
Doug paled. *”Wait, what—?”*
*”You said women can handle both work and pregnancy. So, you should try it too!”* I patted his arm. *”Don’t be lazy.”*
### **Step Two: The Full Experience**
When he arrived at the center, they strapped a **weighted belly** onto him and made him **wear ankle weights** to mimic swelling.
Then, they **tightened a belt around his chest** to limit his breathing, just like my baby had been **squishing my lungs for months**.
And the best part?
They **hooked him up to a machine that simulated contractions**.
By contraction **number two**, he was **screaming.**
By contraction **number four**, he was **sweating through his shirt**.
By contraction **number six**, he **begged to stop.**
*”You’re just being lazy,”* I reminded him, holding up my phone to record his **misery**.
—
### **Step Three: The Lesson**
That night, Doug **collapsed** onto the couch, groaning in pain.
I handed him a **cup of tea**.
*”I get it now,”* he admitted, massaging his stomach. *”I didn’t realize how hard it was.”*
*”Oh, so now you understand?”* I smirked.
*”Yeah. And… I’m sorry,”* he muttered. *”If you want to quit, you should. You deserve to rest.”*
Finally.
Justice.
I kissed his forehead and whispered, *”That’s all I needed to hear.”*