HE PUT A “DO NOT DISTURB” SIGN ON HIS DOOR… WHILE I WAS DROWNING IN DIAPERS AND TEARS
From the outside, we looked like your average happy family.
But on the inside?
I was raising two kids—basically alone—while my husband Rick became just another person I paid rent with.
With a newborn glued to my chest, a clingy 5-year-old on my hip, and zero hours of real sleep, I was in survival mode. Meanwhile, Rick was “working” behind a closed door, watching YouTube with noise-canceling headphones… and a laminated “Do Not Disturb” sign taped up like it was the Constitution.
The baby would scream. The toddler would cry. I’d knock—just needing five minutes to breathe.
He’d crack the door and say, completely serious:
“Can’t you read? Respect my space.”
And every time I begged, he’d gesture at that ridiculous sign like it was a shield.
But one day, the screaming got to be too much. Not from the baby. Not from the toddler.
From inside me.
I knocked again.
He opened the door and snapped:
“Do. Not. Disturb. I need mental space, too.”
That’s when something inside me clicked.
I smiled. I nodded. And I made a silent promise.
Fine. I’ll respect your boundaries, Rick.
And when I’m done,
you’ll wish I had disturbed you just one last time
While I was drowning in diapers and midnight feedings, my husband found a bold new way to say, “Not my problem.” He didn’t use words. He used a sign.
From the outside, we looked like a Pinterest-perfect family.
