About 1:40 Friday morning, I was waking up, becoming aware of Maggie whining in her bed (she and Lilly still sleeping on bottom bunk together.) By the time I was coherent, Jeff had already left our room to see what was wrong. She was walking down the hall towards our room, saying, “I want my frog…” (What? What frog? She has no frog.)
Thinking she was just sleepwalking or groggy, he directed her back to her bed, but before he was fully nestled back into our bed, she started crying. He went to investigate again, and she said, “I tee-tee’d.”
Now, Maggie, (age 4) has been fully potty trained since she was 2 1/2 and since that time has maybe once or twice peed in the bed, but that’s been well over a year ago. But I guess with dealing with a bladder infection this week, she just needed to go and couldn’t wake herself up in time. So the brand new, less-than-a-week-old mattress – you know the real mattress that doesn’t have a vinyl cover – yeah. It’s peed on. Sigh.
Jeff helped her in the bathroom while I pulled out new undies and shirt, and investigated the damage to the bed. It didn’t seem terribly bad, and to change the sheet would mean waking up Lilly, who was sound asleep on the other end of the mattress.
So I grabbed a hand towel and put it over the wet spot, thinking Maggie could just sleep on the towel, and we’d deal with the pee in the morning. (Hey, I was still groggy; don’t judge me for my laziness.)
Carson started fussing and I took him to bed with me while Jeff helped Maggie change and get back to bed. I heard some commotion before it was finally quiet and when he came back to bed, he leaned over and whispered, “And to top off the weirdness… she dropped her binky in the toilet.” I stifled the giggles.
Somehow, while pulling off the old shirt to put on the new one, the binky flew out of her mouth and into the toilet. It’s gone now. For good. No recovering from that one.
[And yes, our four-year-old still takes a binky to bed. She’s our firstborn. Our guinea pig. Please, enough with the judging.]
So we settled down to go back to sleep.
A few minutes later, Maggie was calling “Daddyyy” in a hushed whisper. He went to check on her again; I was thinking maybe she had to pee again.
He came back and whispered, “Her underwear are wet, but she said she didn’t tee tee.” I left Carson sleeping in our bed, surrounded by pillows, and went to help. We soon discovered that the wet spot on the mattress was far wetter than I had previously ascertained, and it had soaked through the hand towel and into Maggie’s undies, poor kid.
So we helped her change her undies –again– soaked up the wet spot, put a bigger towel over the area (Lilly is still asleep) and instructed Maggie to move closer to the other side of the bed, and not lay on the towel.
She started to climb into bed and stopped, stating, “there’s a roach.” I spotted it on the wall just above her bed. (We had been using my cell phone as a flashlight this whole time, working in the dark, as not to wake Lilly.)
“She’s right,” I said. I pulled off my slipper and handed it to Jeff. What? He’s the man. He kills the bugs. Unless he’s not home. And then I squeal and shudder and then do a kind of drive-by squash-and-run heebie jeebie routine.
Anyway, so I handed Jeff, man of the house, bug slayer extraordinaire, my hard-soled slipper. He crawled onto the bed and smushed the small roach against the wall, after which it fell behind the bed, and now is somewhere under the bed, dead. Yuck. I got a paper towel for him to clean the wall, and Maggie climbed into bed, brave soul.
We kissed her, untangled Lilly (still sleeping) from the sheet they shared, and covered the both of them back up.
As I was moving towards the bed to kiss Maggie’s forehead, Somebody – I’m not saying who – suddenly and loudly let out a, ahem, bodily noise, to the surprise of all of us, unnamed person included. At this point the three of us in the room who were awake started giggling. I kissed Maggie and we left the room, and Jeff and I snuggled into bed, still giggling, and trying not to wake up Carson. “This is going on the blog,” I whispered. “Except for the part where [unnamed person] farted.”
Okay, well, that last part was just too funny to not share. At least I changed the name of the
innocent guilty party. Hope you’ve enjoyed hearing about a not-so-typical night at the Hazletons.