I finally saw
I remember when Lula was a few days old, and in the midst of changing her newborn size diaper a few millimeters of sweet day old baby pee some how managed to get on the couch slipcover. My mother who was
I remember limping down the hall to the laundry room, muttering under my breath about how ridiculous the whole thing was. That I'd "rather drink her pee than wash the entire sofa slipcover" but I was too tired and hopped on hormones to argue.
Cut to yesterday. For me, night training is a potty training PHD - compared to the GED of wearing in big girl panties during the day. For years I felt like every other sentence that came out of my mouth was, "Do you have to go potty?" Now I've graduated to at least 5 to 10 "Did you go potty?" asked each and every evening.
And on occasion, there's still an accident. Now that we're back in an apartment, it's not as easy as throwing the sheets into the wash before I walk out the door for work. So at night, before I go to sleep, I've been forced to revert to an old tactic: picking up the sleeping child, carrying her to the bathroom, helping her on the seat, waiting for the tinkle of the tinkle and the getting the almost 60 lb child back to the bed. (Whew, the laundry is starting to seem easy.)
So last night, as I pulled back the covers and prepared to scoop up the sleeping child, I noticed a mysteriously moist spot. I stared curiously, "Sweat or tinkle? Sweat or tinkle?" And in order to get an answer, I did what I think most moms would do. I shoved my nose into the spill and sniffed. Sniffed big.
Sweat! I proclaimed. And then I laughed at the woman I'd become and was very thankful that I didn't end up on the wrong end of the poop/chocolate conundrum.