So last night before I ushered the big boy off to sleep I embarked on our nightly routine...milk, diaper, jammies, teeth, books, rocky, bed. When we got to "jammies" portion of the act I was greeted with major disapproval. He simply yelled "Nooooo! Hooooot!" Being that it is presently snowing, "hot" might have been a bit of an overstatement but I am his mother after all so this was not really met with any surprise. The kid does run rather hot but you would be hot too if you were constantly digesting yet another 700 calorie meal. I honestly think this kid could give Michael Phelps a run for his calorie-consuming money. I shudder to think of what grown man version of Boy Wonder will consume. He also moves non-stop and he IS from his father's family lineage so I am giving a bit more credit to the "hot" claim than others might. I asked "Are you SURE you want to go to bed with just a diaper?" he said "YES!"..."and NO clothes?" he barked "YESSS!" so I obliged. What really could go so wrong with this?
The fe-mini woke me promptly at 11:45 screaming of growing pains and her ever prominent need for medicine. Needless to say, being startled from a slumber makes it less than leisurely to get back to sleep so after tossing and turning for an hour I gave in to the urge and went out to the couch. Stayed there til almost 2am and crept back to bed. As I was dozing off I thought I heard whimpers but I couldn't be sure. I seem to hear them whether it be 2pm or 2am as my inner mommy monologue somehow has crying instilled on those "tapes." I proceeded to fall asleep. About 20 minutes later I hear the cries again but this time they are coupled with "Moooom! Where are you? Where is my mudder?" (Obviously we've been reading "Are You My Mother?" a bit too much these days) Being that he is having vivid and lucid conversation I decide these beckonings are worth looking into.
When I walked through his door I should have realized that what I stepped on was foreign but being that my brain was still half sleeping, like a dolphin at sea, it didn't really register. When I got close enough to pick him up in this pitch darkness my hands recognized that I was picking up a child sans pants. There was nothing. Needless to say that didn't speak for the remainder of the situation.
What I lifted from the crib can only be described as a urine-soaked newt with cold, clammy, reptile-like skin that almost felt like it had been submerged in a pond overnight. And he STUNK! My first response was OH NO! I reflected back to what I had stepped on 30 seconds earlier and realized it was his pee-free diaper. This only left one option...his whole evenings-worth of urine was what I was feeling (and smelling) at this present moment. Evidently he ripped that sucker off and threw it overboard in hopes of having a night of Fanny Freedom. Said freedom left him a bed literally dripping with wizzle. His pillow, all four blankets, the fleece crib sheet and all associated stuffed animals were drenched. I was awestruck.
After rescuing him from the confines in his attempt to Flee the Pee, I started baby-wiping him from bald head to tiny toe. Clearly this did not suit his fancy as he was already cold enough the way it was but I just couldn't conceive of putting him back in bed with tinkle stench and a bath was simply out of the question at 2am. Then I had to blindly feel about the bed to gather up any pee-soaked garments or accessories. I was beginning to think the kid just stood up and "whizzed out" all of his crib articles as though they were on fire. We did read his firetruck book before bed so perhaps he was bringing literature to life. I then clothed his chilly, damp little body and sat him in his rocker so I could get to work. The pillow went in the trash as I couldn't convince my mind that it would ever truly be clean with all of the covered stuffing. Some things are just better left to the garbage. The rest was swiftly encapsulated in the aforementioned pee-sheet and sent to the laundry. I kid you not when I say he saturated every last square inch of fabric in wee-reach.
So all in all it was a relatively cheap illustration of the fact that he is clearly not ready for potty training and obviously not capable of handling the temptation to drop trou at any given moment. And I am clearly in no position to be accepting any "Mother of the Year" trophies as I knew this was going to happen. Maybe not in full detail and with as much piddle but I knew. When will I learn to trust my maternal gut and know that some things are just NOT a good idea? Why must I allow an act to play out while my subconscious knows full-well what the grand finale will look like? These situations always leave me feeling like a dumb a$$ because my conscious mind told me not to. But I guess the part of me that wins out is the part that tells me "Just because you know how it is going to end doesn't mean you shouldn't give them the opportunity to experience it." This is entirely strange because that was not at ALL how I was raised. Someone told me not to do something, I didn't do...I might DIE! I was the kid who was so petrified of the: "This is your brain on drugs." ad campaign that snorting cocaine literally NEVER crossed my mind as an option as I was certain I would spontaneously combust. I also had the idea that if something could go wrong with an "experiment" it would go wrong with me. But for some reason I don't think Boy Wonder has this gene. He seems to be one of those "try and see" types. Yikes! I am already shaking my head as I have been warned that there is so much more to come in this arena. When I think of all of the stupid shit my brothers used to do and know the same of my Hubba it really shouldn't come as a surprise. I'm just hoping that I have the mental constitution to cope with it. And then I come to the place where I feel this is all by design. It starts with them treating their sleep place like a urinal so when they manage to do it after a night of partying it all makes logical sense. Gradual building as opposed to baptism by fire. I get it. And perhaps I am at the place where I feel like if I am somewhat controlling the experiment then it is a safer environment than if he were off willy nilly on his own. Either way I am certain that the M-cubed quotient will far surpass 902 and luckily I have the wherewith all to see it, laugh at it and expect that there is so much more to come!
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