My Husband Demanded I Save up While Pregnant Because I Won’t Be Able to Work When Our Baby Arrives…

Six months pregnant, swollen feet, dealing with cravings, and balancing a full-time job, I thought I could count on my husband for love and support. Instead, what did I get? A piggy bank with a note telling me to “SAVE UP” for maternity leave. Well, guess who’s about to get a serious reality check?

People often paint pregnancy as a magical time filled with excitement and anticipation. Let me tell you—it’s also a time when your husband might forget basic decency. I’m Regina, 35, and I thought I had life all figured out. That is, until my dear husband, Dan, dropped a bombshell that would make even the most patient woman lose her mind.

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

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

Dan noticed the shopping bag in my hand and perked up. “Ooh, what did you buy?”

“A dress that doesn’t make me feel like a stuffed sausage,” I said, holding up the flowy maternity dress. “I need something comfy. I can barely breathe!”

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

I laughed, thinking he was joking. Oh, how naive I was.

“No, seriously,” he added, his tone suddenly serious. “You should start saving up.”

I blinked. “For what? Baby stuff? We’ve been saving for months.”

Dan shook his head. “No, for when you’re on maternity leave. You still need to cover your half of the bills, remember?”

I stared at him, sure I had misheard. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You know, we split everything 50/50,” he explained, as if I should have already known this. “Why should that change just because you’re having a baby?”

I waited for him to crack a smile and reveal the punchline. Spoiler: there wasn’t one.

“Dan,” I said slowly, “you realize I’ll be recovering from, I don’t know, giving birth to a human and then taking care of that human 24/7, right?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but the bills won’t disappear. I’m not going to magically make double. Better start saving so you don’t fall behind.”

It felt like I had entered some alternate reality.

“So, while I’m on unpaid maternity leave, healing from childbirth, and taking care of our newborn, you expect me to pay exactly the same as when I’m working full-time?”

“Exactly!” he said with a proud grin. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Spoiler: we were not on the same page.

That night, as I lay tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable position with my growing belly, I heard Dan moving around in the living room. When I returned from one of my many nightly bathroom trips, I found a pink ceramic piggy bank on my nightstand with a Post-it note.

“START SAVING, MOMMY!” it read in Dan’s messy handwriting.

I couldn’t believe it. “Dan, what is this?” I called out, holding the piggy bank in disbelief.

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

And then he laughed. Actually laughed.

At that moment, I made a decision. If Dan wanted to play this game, I was going to play along—and I’d win.

Over the next few days, I turned into a human calculator. Every penny spent, every bit of discomfort—I tracked it all. Dan wanted 50/50? He was about to get a very detailed invoice.

I created a spreadsheet titled The True Cost of Growing a Human and got to work. Prenatal vitamins? Check. Maternity clothes? Absolutely. I even calculated the cost of peeing 17 times a night.

One evening, I casually asked, “Hey Dan, how much do you think it costs to carry a bowling ball strapped to your belly all day?”

He looked up, confused. “What?”

“Just factoring in the wear and tear on my back. Oh, and I’m adding the extra water bill for all my midnight bathroom trips.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing, Regina?”

“Oh, nothing,” I replied sweetly. “Just pregnancy math, darling.”

The list grew longer by the day. Doctor’s appointments, emotional breakdowns over TV commercials, even stretch marks—I calculated it all. After a week of tracking, I was ready to present my masterpiece.

When Dan came home one evening, I was sitting at the kitchen table with my spreadsheet and the piggy bank beside it.

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

I smiled. “Just a little light reading. Take a look.”

His eyes widened as he scanned the list.

“Regina… what is this?”

“That, my dear husband, is your half of the pregnancy expenses,” I said cheerfully. “Since we’re doing 50/50, remember?”

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

“Oh, it’s right,” I assured him. “And don’t worry, I’ll keep updating it once the baby arrives. Diaper changes at 2 a.m.? That’ll be $20 each. Breastfeeding? That’s $50 per session. And for every stretch mark? I’m adding a beauty tax.”

Dan looked like he was about to faint. “But… but…”

I pointed to the piggy bank. “Better start saving, Dan. You’re going to need it.”

Finally, he let out a long sigh. “I’ve been an idiot, haven’t I?”

“The biggest,” I agreed.

Over the next few weeks, Dan’s attitude did a complete 180. He started taking on more chores, came to every doctor’s appointment, and even signed us up for a prenatal yoga class. One evening, while massaging my swollen feet, he cleared his throat.

“Regina, I owe you a huge apology,” he said quietly. “I was so focused on the money that I lost sight of what really matters. You’re carrying our child, and instead of supporting you, I stressed you out. I’m sorry.”

My pregnancy hormones kicked in, and I felt tears well up. I squeezed his hand. “Thank you. And from now on, we’re in this together—no more 50/50 nonsense.”

“So… can I tear up the invoice?” he asked hopefully.

I grinned. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“We smash the piggy bank together.”

Dan laughed for the first time in weeks. “Deal.”

And with great ceremony, we shattered that piggy bank into a thousand pieces. As we swept up the remains, it felt like we had cleared away more than just broken pottery—we had swept away the ridiculous notion of keeping score in our marriage.

Dan learned an important lesson that day: never underestimate a pregnant woman with Excel skills. We’re a team, and no piggy bank could ever come between that.