He Said Diapers Weren’t a Man’s Job — So I Called His Father
It was 2:04 a.m. when our daughter, Rosie, let out a wail that shook the walls sharp, desperate, and unmistakably a code red diaper situation. I’d already been up three times that night, my body aching from exhaustion, my brain fried from a looming work deadline. Barely functioning, I nudged my husband, Cole. “Can you get this one?” I asked gently. “I’ll grab the wipes and her clothes.”
He barely stirred, groaning as he pulled the blanket tighter. “You do it,” he mumbled. “I’ve got a meeting tomorrow.” I paused, stunned. “Cole, it’s bad. Please.” That’s when he said it so casually, so carelessly, I almost missed the sting: “Changing diapers isn’t a man’s job, Jess. Just deal with it.” I stood there for a second, cold and awake in a way no scream ever made me.
His words weren’t just dismissive they were cowardly. Like fatherhood came with a punch card and mine was always…
