It’s 3 AM (or any other time in the middle of the night). The baby starts crying. She is awake for a bottle. I lay there for just a second to let my body get used to the idea that I’m about to wake up and climb out of a comfy bed. Ugh!

The baby is still in our room so I don’t have to go far. She cries a little bit as I change her diaper and get her bottle ready. I usually sit on our bed to feed her.

I’m exhausted! Can barely keep my eyes open as I sit there in the dark. Counting down the minutes until I can put her back in her bed and climb back into mine.

While I put the baby up over my shoulder to burp her, she makes some noises. Cries a little more.

He doesn’t even move! Lays there beside us…sleeping…snoring. It’s in this moment that I hate my husband!

Ok that probably seems harsh. I don’t hate my husband. Not really. I love my husband…I do. But I also hate him. In that moment. There he is sleeping. Snoring even. Snuggled into a nice warm bed. Comfy! Hate him.

Now I know all I have to do is nudge him and tell him to get up. He would. He would help and do whatever it was I asked. But I don’t want to nudge him. I don’t want to be the one to wake him and ask for help. In true “woman” fashion, I want him to want to wake up on his own. Roll over and at least ask if I need anything.

He doesn’t. So I continue to hate him at that 3 AM feeding.

In his defense, I get over it by 7 AM. When the other kids come bouncing in to start their day. There are many mornings that he will usher them out, close the door behind them, and let me sleep. At least until the baby decides it’s time to do it all over again. In those moments he really redeems himself. Until 3 AM rolls around again that is.

What is it about 3 AM?