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When people hear I live with my ex, his wife, and our child, their first reaction is usually something like, “Wait, what? Is this some kind of sitcom — or cult?” Spoiler alert: It’s not. It’s just modern parenting in an insanely expensive city like San Francisco, where rent skyrockets faster than a toddler’s energy levels after a nap.
Let me set the scene. A few months ago, after we’d both experienced one too many rent hikes, my ex and I had a talk. We realized that maintaining separate apartments while also co-parenting a tiny human was not sustainable unless we wanted to eat ramen noodles for the rest of our lives.
That’s when his wife joined the conversation. Surprisingly, she was the one who first floated the idea: “Why don’t we just live together?” And just like that, the blueprint for our unconventional household was born.
So here we are: three adults, one 5-year-old, and a two-bedroom apartment we’ve somehow made work for the past nine months. It’s a home full of chaos, compromises, and yes, a surprising number of poop emojis used in our group chats.
We’ve figured out how to make it work
Living together post-breakup isn’t exactly the plot of a rom-com, though I’m sure there’s a market for something like that. It started with a lot of awkward moments, like deciding who would do the dishes without turning it into a showdown in front of a child. Somehow, I always end up with the mystery leftovers, maybe because I’m the only one who doesn’t gag at the sight (or smell) of week-old pasta.
Before we moved in together, my ex and I weren’t exactly best friends, but we’d found a respectful rhythm texting about our kid, showing up for day care pickups, and just generally keeping things polite. Co-habiting felt daunting, but necessary. And gradually, we figured it out.
Now, everything’s on the table, literally and emotionally. We created a shared calendar to divide up pickups, grocery runs, and chores. Mondays and Thursdays are my dish days. He takes out the trash and does the laundry. Our third housemate covers groceries and makes lunches for our kid. When conflicts pop up (and they do), we have a rule: no letting things fester. We talk it out on “porch check-ins,” a weekly 20-minute chat outside, away from our daughter, just to vent or recalibrate.
It’s like running a tiny domestic government, but the policies revolve around nap schedules and snack preferences instead of tax codes.
Living together has made a lot of things easier
Despite the growing pains, living together like this has its perks. Three adults mean there’s always someone available for last-minute day care runs or meltdowns. There’s backup when one of us needs to scream into a pillow or just take a coffee break.
It’s not easy, but it works. Because we’ve learned that when you can’t ghost each other, you grow up and communicate.
Financially, it’s a lifesaver. Splitting rent, utilities, and groceries means we’re not bleeding money on separate apartments. And honestly, in San Francisco, where a decent two-bedroom can run $3,500 a month, and I make about $4,200 after taxes, this arrangement isn’t just clever, it’s essential.
The benefits go beyond logistics
But beyond logistics and money, this living situation has reshaped how I think about family and support. We’re not your traditional nuclear family, and sometimes that feels like a superpower rather than a weakness.
Sure, it’s messy. There are moments when I miss the old “just me and my kid” dynamic. But seeing my ex, his wife, and me all working toward the same goal of raising a happy, healthy kid is incredibly powerful. It’s a reminder that family isn’t just about blood or legal ties. Sometimes it’s about showing up, communicating honestly, and figuring things out together.
And here’s the kicker: my child gets it. She’s 5, and she knows the rhythm of three nights with me, three with her dad, one shared dinner all together. We don’t trade off in parking lots; we live in the same apartment, just in separate rooms. Her toys stay put, her bedtime routine doesn’t change, and if she forgets something, it’s just down the hall. It’s not perfect, but it’s peaceful, and she never feels like she’s being split in two. The other day, she proudly told a friend, “My family’s weird, but it’s cool.” That felt like the ultimate seal of approval.
Living with my ex and his wife has taught me that co-parenting isn’t a competition. It’s a collaboration. It’s messy, funny, and full of poop emojis, but it works. And honestly, isn’t that what parenting is all about?
So no, this isn’t a cult or a sitcom. It’s just modern life. Three adults, one 5-year-old, and a whole lot of love, laughter, and compromises.
The post I live with my ex and his new wife. It makes coparenting our kid easier, and we save money on rent in San Francisco. appeared first on Business Insider.
