We got married when both of us were already mature, a bit past our thirties. The first three years were nothing short of idyllic, both emotionally and financially. My wife, Emily, held a prominent managerial position in a respected Seattle firm, and her salary was enviably generous. Although my earnings were considerably more modest, it never became an issue. I never felt insecure about Emily earning more. On the contrary, I saw it as a blessing, especially since Emily never once mentioned our financial gap or made me feel inferior. She always encouraged me to spend freely, reassuring me that our budget was comfortably balanced.
But everything changed dramatically once we had our daughter. Emily inevitably had to go on maternity leave, even though her employer continuously pestered her with calls and requests for advice, right up until the very birth of our little Sophie. After Sophie’s birth, things finally quieted down at her workplace. However, our family’s income plunged sharply. Of course, we received all the appropriate benefits from the state, but these payments couldn’t even begin to match the bonuses and occasional cash-in-hand Emily regularly received from her exceptionally generous boss, Mr. Thompson.
Now, the entire financial responsibility rests heavily on my shoulders. I work tirelessly, stretching every dollar, but the budget remains painfully tight, especially given our current health complications. Right after Emily recovered from childbirth, our little Sophie began experiencing health issues. When that finally stabilized, Emily suddenly fell into a deep depression. We now have a therapist regularly visiting our home—a kind-hearted, exceptionally skilled professional, whose services, naturally, don’t come for free.
In my mind, I had always assumed Emily would stay home until Sophie turned two—typical nowadays. Afterward, our daughter would start daycare, Emily would return to work, and our family finances would finally rebound. But when I cautiously mentioned this scenario to my wife, she responded unexpectedly. Emily revealed she wasn’t ready to rush things and wanted to “strengthen” Sophie’s health first, postponing daycare by another year or even longer. Before I could even digest this new reality, a much more serious force entered our home—my mother-in-law, Margaret.
Margaret unexpectedly arrived from Portland last weekend and immediately launched into an uncompromising lecture:
“A mother must stay at home until her child starts school, and a husband must support the family financially! Have you any idea how many diseases and infections lurk in daycares these days? It’s nearly impossible for a child to grow up healthy there. Or do you actually wish harm upon my precious granddaughter?”
Margaret framed her accusation so dramatically, it felt like outright emotional blackmail. Of course, we aren’t enemies of our own child! But surely there must be some reasonable middle ground. Almost all of my colleagues and friends send their children to daycare, fully aware that illness is indeed common there. But daycare isn’t only about germs—it’s also an environment where children learn how to socialize, interact, and adapt to life outside their parents’ embrace. Moreover, it provides mothers with an essential chance to return to their careers, rather than being trapped indefinitely between pots, pans, and diapers.
Yet all my attempts to convince Margaret that Emily needs to return to work—and that daycare is the only realistic option—have failed miserably. My mother-in-law remains stubbornly entrenched in her position, and our once-friendly relationship is now growing colder by the day. Margaret has taken to relentlessly criticizing me over my supposedly insufficient salary, while I’m increasingly losing my patience, emotionally begging her—at least for now—not to interfere in our family’s affairs.
I sincerely hope that our situation won’t escalate further. Beyond that—only God knows what lies ahead.
