Elizabeth woke up at 3:14 this morning. Not crying — just that soft, insistent whimper that means she’s hungry and not going back down without a fight. I heard Jenn stir first, then felt her swing her legs out of bed. And for a split second, I did the math.

She’d been up at midnight. And 1:30. I’d taken the 5 AM shift yesterday. She’d done bedtime with Cecelia while I got Elizabeth down the night before. I’d trained early that morning, so I’d been up since 5:15 anyway. She’d made breakfast. I’d done the morning bottles. She’d—

And then I stopped myself.

Because somewhere in that half-asleep mental ledger, I realized I was doing the thing I hate most: keeping score in a game nobody’s supposed to win.

The Rhythm You Can’t Predict

When Cecelia was born, I thought we’d figure out a system. A rotation. Something clean and fair that would let both of us feel like we were pulling our weight without burning out. And for a while, we tried. “You take tonight, I’ll take tomorrow.” “I’ve got mornings, you’ve got evenings.” It felt logical.

But two kids in, I’m learning that fairness isn’t the same thing as partnership. Because the rhythm of life with a newborn and a toddler doesn’t care about your system. Cecelia wakes up asking for Mama. Elizabeth settles faster in my arms some nights, Jenn’s the next. Some days Jenn’s running on four hours of sleep and I’ve got enough in the tank to take over. Other days, it’s the opposite.

The math doesn’t work. And trying to make it work just leaves you both exhausted and resentful.

What I’m Learning Instead

This morning, I got up. Didn’t say anything, just scooped Elizabeth out of the bassinet and brought her to the couch. Jenn whispered “thank you” and was back asleep before I even got the bottle warm. And I sat there in the dark, Elizabeth’s little hand curled around my thumb, and thought about how much energy I’ve wasted trying to make sure things were even.

Because here’s what I’m starting to understand: marriage isn’t a transaction. It’s not about making sure you’re both holding the same amount of weight at all times. It’s about carrying what needs to be carried, when it needs to be carried, and trusting that your partner will do the same when you can’t.

Some weeks, Jenn carries more. Some weeks, I do. Some nights, she’s the one who gets up without thinking. Other nights, it’s me. And the goal isn’t to keep the scales balanced every single day — it’s to make sure that over the long haul, we’re both still standing, still serving, still choosing each other.

The Long View

I’ve been praying about this lately. Not in some grand, “Lord, give me wisdom” kind of way — more like quiet, honest conversations in the early morning when the house is still. Asking God to help me see Jenn the way He sees her. To serve her the way Christ served the church. To stop counting and start loving.

And I think that’s the shift. Because when you’re keeping score, you’re focused on yourself — what you’ve done, what you’ve given, what you’re owed. But when you’re focused on serving, you’re looking at the other person. What do they need? Where are they stretched thin? How can I step in?

It’s not about fairness. It’s about faithfulness.

What 3 AM Taught Me

By the time Elizabeth finished her bottle, the sky was starting to lighten. Jenn came out to the living room around 5:30, still half-asleep, and took Elizabeth so I could get my training session in before Cecelia woke up. I didn’t ask her to. She just did.

That’s the thing about partnership. When you stop keeping score, you start keeping each other upright. And that’s a better rhythm than any system I could’ve built.

So if you’re in the thick of it right now — the sleepless nights, the endless give and take, the feeling that you’re doing more than your share — I’ll just say this: stop doing the math. It doesn’t add up the way you think it should. And that’s okay.

Marriage is a long game. And in the long game, the scoreboard doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re both still in it, still serving, still showing up for each other when the alarm goes off at 3 AM.

Your neighbor,
Rick