“Look, we’ve got a baby now, why don’t we swap rooms…” — How my brother’s wife tried to push Alexander out of his own space
This happened to a good mate of mine from uni days. His name’s Alexander—just twenty-two—and he lives in his parents’ three-bed flat in one of those quiet neighbourhoods on the outskirts of Manchester. Pretty standard setup: three generations under one roof—his parents, him, and his older brother’s family, who’ve just had a baby.
His brother, James, doesn’t earn enough to rent his own place, so he, his wife Emily, and the little one have to share with the parents and younger brother. Everyone’s got their own room, but the kitchen and bathroom are shared. Sure, it’s a bit tight sometimes, but up till now, they’d all managed fine. Alex never complained—kept to himself, studied, worked odd jobs, and, as they say, didn’t step on anyone’s toes.
Then, out of nowhere, Emily, his brother’s wife, corners him with this *brilliant* idea:
“Alex, love, we’ve got the baby now… maybe we could swap rooms? Yours gets all the sunlight! Ours is so gloomy—honestly, it feels damp. Not good for the little one, is it?”
Alex was gobsmacked. He knew the “damp” thing was nonsense—no one had ever mentioned it before. Besides, his room, though a couple of metres smaller, was way cosier—square, warm, proper snug. Theirs had a balcony, weirdly shaped walls, and a draft you wouldn’t believe. Not to mention, that balcony was basically storage—Mum hung laundry out there, Dad kept his tools piled up, and James sneaked out for a fag.
Emily wouldn’t let it go:
“Ours is bigger, anyway! And if you’re bothered by the cold, just seal the windows—it’s not rocket science!”
Alex was seething inside. They were trying to take his space, hiding behind the baby card. James? Absolute radio silence. Never once mentioned wanting to move. Just Emily, circling like a shark, insisting it was *only fair*, that he *owed* them…
Alex said no. Polite but firm. He wasn’t about to give up his room—a quiet little haven—for a thoroughfare where people would barge in every five minutes for nappies, socks, or a smoke. He wasn’t sacrificing the one place he could bring a girl over without someone rummaging for detergent in the background.
“Mum and Dad’s room is theirs. James and Emily’s is for their family. Mine’s the only thing I’ve got,” he told her. “Sorry, but I’m not swapping.”
After that, the mood in the house turned icy. Emily stopped speaking to him, shot him dirty looks like *he’d* done something wrong. James acted like nothing happened. The parents stayed out of it, playing neutral.
Alex noticed, but he didn’t care. He knew Emily’s game—pushing with fake “kindness,” “concern,” and “the baby’s needs.” None of it left room for *his* needs.
“I’d help if I could,” he told me. “But why’s it always got to be at *my* expense? Why should I be the one to bend over backwards while they sort nothing out themselves?”
He’s right. Everyone’s got a right to their own space. Even at twenty-two. Even living at home. Even if someone’s had a baby.
Emily’s miffed, obviously. She didn’t get her way. But Alex isn’t losing sleep over it. He’s not about to feel guilty for keeping *one* corner of the world to himself.
Sometimes, standing your ground just means saying “no” and meaning it.
