I stretched, bent, and posed during yoga class while Matthew took our sweet girl for a walk.
I came home to find him quickly preparing dinner; they’d had such a nice time out that he lost track of time, and he was preparing the enchilada lasagna (which was delicious, by the way).
In front of the TV stood our daughter, watching her newest TV obsession: Pinky Dinky Doo. Legs spread wide, she bore testimony to the fact that they’d rushed back into the house as she still wore her pink and green Crocs. Normally, the shoes are left by the door, generally in a cluttered heap.
But that wasn’t the only thing about her that bespoke the rush. As I stood there, I noticed a growing puddle between – and then including – her feet. This was not a splash-sized puddle but one in which small animals could drown.
“Matthew, did you take her to the bathroom when you got home?” I asked from the living room.
“No, but she peed while we were out,” he replied. “Why?”
“She just peed on the floor.”
I cleaned it up, he finished dinner, and we ate. He regaled me with tales of their afternoon. Among other things, they stopped and got a fruit tea, split into two cups: half for her to drink, half to bring home for me. For those of you not living in this part of the south, fruit tea is not a nice, herbal fruit tea, like you might imagine. It is an absolutely delicious combination of caffeinated tea and fruit juice, something like this. Not, one might suggest, the ideal beverage for a two-year-old to be drinking at four in the afternoon. In large quantities, as it turned out: by the time they returned, my share of the tea was in her as well.
We progressed through dinner, the bedtime procedures, and all of the loving feelings that well up in you as a parent when your child softens into sleep.
Then, as always, she cried in her crib an hour or so later. This is part of our normal operating procedure: she wakes up (partially); we take her, half-asleep, to the potty; she pees and, if all goes well, sleeps until the morning, until the light peeks through the side of the window where no blind or shade covers it. (I’m hoping that the shortening days will work in sleep’s favor!) It’s a pretty good routine for us.
But not tonight. Matthew went in to get her to find that she was standing, crying, and peeing. Wet jammies, wet sheets, wet crib, wet floor. The crying stopped when he walked into the room: “I standing in a puddle of pee, Daddy!”
“She got us both,” he said to me as he cleaned her and her bed up.
I couldn’t remember the last time she’d had one accident…and then she had two.
Really, we’re lucky. She’s been out of diapers since before her second birthday. We’ve saved ourselves loads of diapers (literally, since we’ve been doing cloth!). The occasional extra load of laundry is no big deal. I guess we just didn’t expect lightning to strike twice.
On the flip side, at least we know she was well hydrated…