My Husband Refused to Assemble Our Baby’s Crib — So I Did It Myself While 9 Months Pregnant, but the Lesson I Taught Him Was Harsh

I sat on the armchair, staring at the unopened crib box in the corner of the nursery. Everything was ready for the baby’s arrival except for that darn crib. It had been sitting there for weeks, reminding me of all the promises Tom hadn’t kept.

Every time I asked him to put it together, it was always “tomorrow.” But tomorrow never came, and now here I was, ready to pop, exhausted, and feeling more alone than ever.

To him, assembling the crib was just another task on a never-ending list. To me, it was a vital part of preparing for the baby. One that had unintentionally turned into an ominous sign that I couldn’t rely on my husband to be a good father.

So, I decided I’d do it myself.

I dragged that heavy box across the room, my back already aching with the effort. I felt the baby shifting inside me, a sharp reminder I shouldn’t be exerting myself like this. But what choice did I have?

The instructions were a nightmare, but I pressed on, piece by piece, screw by screw, my hands shaking. About halfway through, just as I was struggling to fit a particularly stubborn piece into place, Tom walked in.

He had that relaxed look on his face that used to make me fall in love with him, but right now, it just made me want to scream.

“Hey,” he said, glancing at the half-assembled crib. “Good job. Why did you ask me to help you if you can do it yourself?”

Did he seriously just say that? I opened my mouth to tear him a new one, but the words stuck in my throat. He wouldn’t get it anyway, so I turned back to the crib, not bothering to hide my tears.

He stood there for a minute, then shrugged and left the room. I felt like roadkill by the time I finally finished the crib. I sank onto the floor, staring at it through a haze of tears.

This was supposed to be a moment we shared together, something we could both look back on and smile about. Instead, it was just another reminder of how alone I felt.

That night, I lay in bed next to Tom, my mind racing with everything that had happened.

I realized then that it wasn’t just about the crib. It was about the way he’d brushed off my concerns. He seemed to think that just because I was strong and independent; I didn’t need him.

I knew then that something had to change. This wasn’t just about putting together a crib. It was about putting together our lives, our partnership.

And if he couldn’t see that, if he couldn’t step up and be the partner I needed him to be, then I didn’t know what our future would look like.

One thing was for sure: He needed to learn that this wasn’t just my journey — it was ours. And if he didn’t start acting like it, then we were going to have a serious problem.

The next morning, I woke up with a plan. I wasn’t the type to be vindictive, but after last night, something had to give. Tom needed a wake-up call, and if I had to orchestrate the whole darn thing, then so be it.

“Tom,” I said, rubbing my back like it was aching more than it was. “I think I’m going to take it easy today. I’ve just been so tired lately.”

He looked up from his phone, barely paying attention. “Sure, babe. Take all the time you need. I got everything under control.”

That was exactly what I wanted to hear. “I invited a few friends and family over tomorrow. Just a little get-together before the baby comes. Could you handle the rest of the preparations? You know, get the cake, set up the decorations, make sure everything’s perfect?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, no problem. How hard can it be?”

Oh, Tom. If only you knew.

I spent the rest of the day lounging on the couch while he watched TV or tinkered with his computer. Every so often, I’d glance at him, wondering if he was even remotely aware of what he’d just agreed to.

But no, he was as relaxed as ever, blissfully unaware of the storm I was about to unleash.

The next morning, I made sure to stay in bed longer than usual, letting him sleep in just a little too late.

When he finally woke up, I handed him the list I’d prepared. It was innocent enough, just a few tasks to get the party ready, but I’d left out one crucial detail: there was absolutely no time to get it all done.

“Here’s the list,” I said, stifling a yawn. “I’m just going to rest a bit more. You got this, right?”

Tom scanned the list, still not fully awake. “Yeah, no worries. I’ll get it all done.”

I bit back a smirk. This was going to be interesting.

About an hour later, I heard him in the kitchen, cursing under his breath. I stayed in bed, listening as he scrambled around, realizing just how much he had to do. The clock was ticking, and I knew the pressure was starting to get to him.

“Where the heck is the cake order?” I heard him mutter, followed by the sound of cabinets being slammed shut. “Did she even tell me which bakery?”

I stifled a laugh, picturing him panicking in front of the bakery counter, trying to sweet-talk his way into getting a cake on short notice.

This was exactly what I wanted him to experience: the sheer panic of realizing you’re completely unprepared.

As the morning wore on, I could feel his stress levels rising. He rushed in and out of the house, arms full of groceries, decorations half-dangling from his hands. At one point, he poked his head into the bedroom, his hair sticking up in all directions.

“Babe, where did you say the streamers were?” he asked, his voice a little higher than usual.

“Check the hall closet,” I mumbled, pretending to drift back to sleep.

I knew damn well the streamers weren’t in the hall closet. They were in the basement, tucked behind a pile of old Christmas decorations. But he didn’t need to know that.

By the time guests started arriving, Tom was a mess. The decorations were half-done, the food was barely prepared, and I could see the panic in his eyes as he tried to hold it all together.

I’d been watching from the couch while pretending to read a magazine, which I set aside as our friends and family filled the living room.

The moment of truth came when my mother-in-law arrived. She gave Tom a once-over, her eyebrows knitting together in that way only mothers can manage.

“What’s going on here, Tom?” she asked, eyeing the half-hung decorations and the empty table where the cake should’ve been.

Tom stammered, running a hand through his hair. “I, uh, I had everything under control, but… things got a little crazy.”

I could see the judgment in her eyes, but I didn’t intervene. This was his mess, and he needed to face it.

As the guests settled in, I stood up, feigning a bit of exhaustion as I made my way to the front of the room.

“Thank you all for coming,” I started, my voice steady despite the fire burning in my chest. “I just wanted to say how much it means to me to have you all here. It’s been hard getting ready for the baby, since I’ve been doing a lot of the preparations myself.”

“Including assembling the nursery. In fact, I had to assemble the crib by myself just a few days ago, big belly and all. It was very difficult and I still feel tired.”

The room fell silent, all eyes on Tom. He shifted uncomfortably, his face flushing with embarrassment. Even his mother looked away, unable to hide her disappointment.

“And it’s made me realize,” I continued, “that it’s important to remember that marriage and parenthood are about partnership. It’s not just one person’s job to carry the load.”

I let the words hang in the air, the weight of them sinking in as the guests exchanged awkward glances.

Tom’s mother sighed, shaking her head slightly.

“Tom,” she said quietly, “you should’ve known better.”

Tom looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor, and for a moment, I almost felt bad for him. But then I remembered the weeks of empty promises, the nights spent worrying, and the crib I’d had to assemble on my own.

No, he needed to feel this.

After the party, when the guests had all left, Tom and I sat down at the kitchen table. He looked exhausted, drained from the day’s events. I didn’t say anything at first, just let the silence stretch between us until he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t realize how much I was leaving on your shoulders. I thought I was helping, but I was just… I don’t know, I wasn’t there like I should’ve been.”

I nodded, feeling a knot in my throat.

“Tom, I need to know that I can rely on you. Not just for the big things, but for everything. I can’t do this alone, and I shouldn’t have to.”

He reached across the table, taking my hand in his. “I promise, I’ll do better. I’ll be there. I’ll change.”

As I looked into his eyes, I could see the sincerity there, the determination to make things right.

“Okay,” I said finally. “But this is your chance, Tom. Don’t waste it.”

Here’s another story: Marsha grows suspicious when her husband starts disappearing for hours and taking secretive calls. Then she catches him burying mysterious bags in the yard and confronts him. But what she discovers inside the bags leaves her both shocked and relieved, unraveling a deeper neighborhood conflict. Click here to read more.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.