Off The Record
My Husband Said Diapers Weren’t A Man’s Job — So I Taught Him A Lesson He’ll Never Forget
The reason my husband wouldn’t change our baby’s nappy was that he said it wasn’t “a man’s job.” My heart broke. Yelling wouldn’t work, I knew. Something else that would hit him where it stung was what he needed. My spouse froze when he saw something he was never supposed to see the following morning.
Many believe that having a child completes you. As if every time your child laughs, angels sing and your life suddenly becomes meaningful. They don’t tell you, however, that sometimes at two in the morning, you’re standing barefoot on a carpet saturated with formula and wondering how in the world you got married to someone who believes that fatherhood ends with sperm donation.
I’m Jessica, a 28-year-old married to a 38-year-old Cole. Rosie, our first child, was just born. She is already more intelligent than the majority of adults I know at the age of six months. There are five distinct pitches in which the young girl can scream. She is flawless. and draining.
That particular type of cry was released by Rosie last Thursday night at approximately 2:04 a.m. The kind of “Mom, I’ve detonated!”
After a long day of feedings, laundry, and attempting to meet a work deadline, my body hurt. I kicked off the blanket, moaned, and gave Cole a shoulder tap.
“Babe, can you grab Rosie? I think she needs changing. I’ll get the wipes and a fresh onesie.”
With a grunt, he raised the blanket.
I nudged harder. “Seriously, I’ve been up three times already. Could you please take this one?”
His eyes were barely open when he rolled over. “You manage it. Tomorrow is my meeting day.”
The scent of the obvious catastrophe of a blown-out nappy hit me halfway out of bed. “It’s bad, Cole. While I get her new clothes, I would really appreciate assistance with cleaning.”
He delivered the words that would shatter our foundation at that moment.
“Diapers aren’t a man’s job, Jess! Just deal with it.”
I felt those words hit my chest with a harsh thump. It wasn’t just what he said; it was his nonchalant assurance, as if he were expressing a self-evident reality.
As I stood there in the dark, listening to our daughter’s cries become more and more persistent, my remaining patience finally gave out.
I heard him snore again, but he was already saying, “Fine,”
I cleansed Rosie’s little body back in her nursery, where her moon-shaped night light was softly shining. She hiccuped through her emotions as she glanced up at me.
I whispered, “It’s okay, sweetie,” even though nothing felt right. “Mommy’s got you.”
However, what about me? Who was going to grab me as I collapsed?
I thought of the shoebox in my closet at that moment. The one with the phone number I had vowed not to use. I called.
“Walter? It’s Jessica. Cole’s wife.”
“Everything okay with the baby?” he said in a rough voice after a long period of silence.
We had spoken for the third time. I discovered his number among Cole’s childhood belongings, which led to the first. The second came after Rosie was born, when I sent him a picture of her.
He’d responded with a brief message: “She’s beautiful. Thank you for this kindness I don’t deserve.”
I said, “The baby’s fine,” However, Cole is having a hard time being a father. Additionally, I believe that he might need to hear from you.
More quiet. “What did he do?” followed.
I shared with him the nappies and the months I spent taking care of everything by myself.
Decades of regret were included in Walter’s sigh. He whispered, “Sins of the father!”… “What do you need from me, Jessica?”
Would you be able to visit tomorrow morning? “Roughly eight?”
I believed he had hung up because of the length of the delay.
Finally, he said, “I’ll be there,” “Though I doubt he’ll want to see me.”
“Thank you,” I said in a whisper. I was desperate enough to do anything, even though I wasn’t totally sure what I was doing.
The following morning, at 7:45, Walter showed up looking older than his 62 years. I offered him coffee, and he received it with trembling hands.
“He doesn’t know I’m coming, does he?”
I gave a headshake. “If I’d told him, he wouldn’t be here.”
“Fair enough.” His gaze lingered on Rosie’s high chair as he looked around our kitchen. “She has his eyes.”
Before Cole arrived in the doorway, we heard his footsteps on the stairs. He was still wearing the same rumpled pyjamas from his sleep, and he was massaging his eyes as if he had stayed up all night.
He replied upbeatly, “How are my favourite girls?” until he noticed who was seated at the table. He stopped.
“DAD??”
Walter felt as though the word struck him in the breast. “Morning, son!”
Cole glanced in my direction. “What is this?”
“I asked him to come.”
“Why would you…?”
“Because someone needs to tell you what happens when a father decides certain parts of parenting aren’t his job. And I thought maybe you’d listen to someone who’s lived with the consequences.”
Cole said, “This isn’t your business,” moving to Walter.
“No,” Walter concurred. “Twenty-eight years ago, I forfeited the right to have any influence over your life. When I left you and your mother because I was unable to manage the duties.”
Cole cracked his cup sharply and put it down. “You left because you cheated on Mom and she kicked you out.”
Walter nodded slowly. “That’s what happened eventually, yes. But it started long before that. It started with me saying things weren’t my job. Diapers weren’t my job. Nighttime feedings weren’t my job. Your doctor’s appointments weren’t my job.”
He gestured toward Rosie. “I told myself I was providing… and that was enough. Then I started resenting your mother for always being tired and asking for help. I started staying late at work, finding excuses to be away from home.”
With the exception of Rosie’s rambling, the kitchen became quiet.
“I’m not YOU!” Cole lost his temper.
“No, son. However, I am aware of your route. I have experienced it firsthand.”
Cole turned to me. “So this is what, an intervention? You bring my deadbeat dad to lecture me about parenting?”
“No, Cole. I’m standing up for our family now before it’s too late. before Rosie grew up believing that her father didn’t value her.”
Walter stood up, reaching for his jacket. “I should go. I’ve said what I needed to say.” He paused beside Cole. “For what it’s worth, I’d give anything… ANYTHING… to go back and be the father you deserved. But all I can do now is warn you: don’t make my mistakes. They cost too much.”
Cole and I stood silently after he went. Rosie reached for him and started to fuss.
“I have to get to work.”
“Cole..?”
“I need time to think.”
With a gentle click, the door shut behind him.
In under twenty minutes, Cole was dressed and on his way. It was nearly 9 p.m. when he finally returned home. I heard his footsteps in the hallway while I was rocking Rosie to sleep in the nursery.
He called out, “Hey!” from the doorway.
“Hey.”
He observed us for a while. “Can I hold her?”
I gently moved our sleeping daughter into his embrace. Cradling her to his chest, he studied her face as if he were learning it by heart.
He recalled, “Today I went to my mom’s house.” “Asked her about my dad… about what really happened.”
With my heart racing, I waited.
“She said he was there, physically, until I was five. But he checked out long before that. She said by the time I was Rosie’s age, she’d already given up asking him for help.”
He moved gently to calm Rosie when she stirred.
“I don’t want to be him, Jess.” Tears were shining in his eyes when they met mine. “But I’m terrified I already am.”
“You’re not,” I firmly asserted. “Not just yet. You’re present. You wish to improve. That is already different.”
“I don’t know how to do this. My own father was a ghost. I don’t have a model for this.”
“Then we figure it out together. That’s the whole point of being partners.”
“I’m sorry. For all of it. For leaving you alone in this. For what I said.”
Not yet. It wasn’t enough. However, it was just the start.
It takes time for changes to occur. Cole, however, said he would try.
He was changing Rosie’s diaper and chatting to her in a goofy voice when I entered the nursery.
“Now, Princess, if anyone ever tells you there are ‘men’s jobs’ and ‘women’s jobs,’ you tell them your daddy said that’s a load of…” He smiled and said, “Baloney!” as he met my gaze.
Rosie kicked her legs and grinned up at him.
Leaning on the doorframe, I remarked, “You’re getting good at that,”
“Well, I’ve had a lot of practice tonight.” He fastened the new nappy. “Though I’m still not as fast as you.”
“You’ll get there.”
Cole rolled towards me as we lay in bed later that night. “Have you heard from my dad?”
I gave a nod. “He texted to check how things were going.”
He paused, then said, “Do you think…” “Do you think he might join you for supper at any point? Rosie should know her grandfather, in my opinion.”
I grasped his hand and gave it a light squeeze. “I think he’d like that very much.”
Cole acknowledged, “I’m still angry with him,” But now I have a greater understanding of him. I also don’t want to make the same mistakes he did.
“I gave him a gentle kiss. Cycles are broken that way. Diaper by diaper.”
Cole was already sitting up when, seemingly at the same moment, Rosie’s cries could be heard on the monitor.
He exclaimed, “I’ve got her!” and I finally believed him for the first time in months.
Love isn’t always about sticking by someone through good times and bad. Having the guts to hold up a mirror and declare, “We can be better than this,” is sometimes necessary. We have to be superior than this. Not only for ourselves, but also for the little people who observe everything we do and learn what love looks like from our flaws.
And sometimes the most unexpected gifts—like a voluntarily performed nappy change at two in the morning—bring healing.
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