The benefits are obvious: My home is quieter, as is the world, and my head. Nobody’s reaching out to me at 4 a.m. Email has slowed to a halt. Texts are nonexistent. Emergencies are waiting until 8 a.m. It’s just me, the thoughts sloshing around my mind, and the low hum of the refrigerator. I can actually feel my brain moving around inside of my head, excitedly. Or maybe that’s the caffeine.

This block of time belongs to me. I’m not making PB & Js for school lunches or picking up Legos or getting my day kidnapped by some inane battle on social media. I have to be careful not to wake anyone—I can’t tromp around the hallways like Frankenstein’s monster—but I can get a couple of hours before the children rise and the madness begins.

There are drawbacks, of course. My body has fully reset itself. By midmorning I’m looking for lunch. Midafternoon, I’m ready for dinner. I find myself craving a nap, and it’s not that shocking for me, the kids and Humphrey to pass out collectively by 8 p.m. If my wife wants to plan a dinner with friends, I have to prepare my body like an astronaut.

It’s worth it. Lately, I’ve begun to wonder: Do I dare join the 3 a.m. club?