Your A'Peein'

We live deep enough in the woods to be serenaded by coyotes and owls at night, but close enough to a major highway that we can hear helicopters and sirens at all hours of the day. I can sleep through all of those noises as if I’ve mixed Nyquil and Demerol. However, if my daughter so much as whimpers in her sleep, my wife and I are as wired as meth addicts within seconds. Parents have an almost supernatural ability to hear their children in distress in the middle of the night and spring to action when they need us. Thus, when our daughter popped out of bed a while back complaining that the bed was wet, we took charge. We did our duty as parents to clean the mess and ensure her that everything was okay.

She has since wet the bed every night. EVERY NIGHT. Usually between 2:10 and 2:50 a.m. EVERY. FUCKING. NIGHT.

Here is how things have changed over that period of time:

Night #1: Within seconds of opening her door, Debra and I are in her room, comforting her and telling her that accidents happen. Debra changes her pajamas, tops and bottoms, because we can’t have Abby wearing Ariel pants with a Tinkerbell shirt. Debra also makes sure she uses Pjs with pants rather than shorts because Abby gets cold at night. Meanwhile, I take off the wet sheets, flip the mattress, and put on clean dry sheets. I even put on a new pillowcase because God forbid someone comes over in the middle of the night and sees that we’ve got a Little Mermaid pillowcase on Cinderella sheets. We make sure she has a cup of water, we tuck her in, we make sure her music is loud enough. We each give her a kiss, and quietly slip out. Damn, we’re good parents, we think to ourselves. Despite these occasional middle-of-the-night inconveniences, having kids is wonderful.

Night #2: Again we spring into action. This time, though, the mattress doesn’t need to be flipped, because of course the other side still has drying pee on it. I change the sheets, of course, but the pillowcase is fine as is. Debra changes the pajama bottoms, but the top isn’t wet, so it can stay on, despite the fact that she’s now wearing a Tinkerbell shirt and Little Einsteins pants. Hey, they’re both Disney, it’s all good. We kiss her goodnight and slip out, checking the volume of her Backyardigans CD. Ha ha, we say nervously, let’s hope this doesn’t happen tomorrow night. Ha. Ha ha.

Night #3: Abby’s door opens and we both sit up very slowly. I’ll get it, I say. Debra doesn’t object. Quite the contrary - she flops back down like she's been shot. I take the sheets off and flip the mattress, noting the stain that is still there from two nights prior, but at least it’s dry. The new sheets don’t even have cartoon characters on them, that’s how far into the linen closet we’ve gotten. I change her into Jo Jo's Circus pants, again keeping with the Disney theme. Abby is asleep the second I put her on her clean sheets and I’m tempted to just crash right there with her. Her music has turned off, but I'm really not in the mood to fuck around with her radio at the moment.

Night #4: Abby’s door opens and we just exhale in frustration. Your turn, I say. I did this last night. Debra takes off the sheets but is too tired and/or not strong enough to flip the mattress because there’s about nine gallons of piss inside of it and it’s like moving a waterbed. We are down to shorts now because we haven’t had time to do laundry. So Debra puts on the Little Einsteins shirt that should have gone with the pants we changed her into the other night and generic Old Navy shorts. Luckily Abby is asleep as Debra changes her so she doesn’t object, but the next morning Abby will come into our bedroom stark raving naked because she doesn’t like the way those Pjs look together at all.

Night #5: Abby’s door opens and I shout an expletive. It’s my turn in the rotation and I realize we are out of clean sheets, so the only thing I can do is put a towel over the pee. I change her into a pair of shorts that probably fit her nine months ago, but now make her look like she should be riding in a French bicycle race. In an adorable little tired voice, she says “I’m cold,” and I say “that’s because you keep peeing in your freakin’ bed. It’s cold to sleep in pee. If you stop peeing you’ll be warm.” I think if she’d been more awake she may have argued, but she just falls back asleep.

Night #6: Debra just screams “OH MY GOD WHY DID WE HAVE CHILDREN GODDAMMIT THIS IS YOUR FAULT SHE HAS YOUR BLADDER FUCK YOU.” I start doing the math in my head - if she does this every night until she is, say, twelve…how many sheets is that? How many mattresses? How many pairs of Little Mermaid pajama pants? Yes, I know they make those little plastic diapers, but isn’t it worse that she’ll be sleeping in her own pee? At this point, do I care? At any rate, Debra makes her way into Abby’s room, but I’m not sure what transpires because I’m asleep by the time she gets back.

Night #7: I don’t even bother looking for sheets, I just get a towel from the linen closet and put it over the pee. “Sleep on the other side of the bed,” I tell Abby, but she’s already unconscious so she doesn’t hear me. I can’t find any clean pajamas at all, so I put her in a pair of ballerina tights. I figure what the hell, they’re probably warm. The mattress is starting to smell like Gary Busey, but I don’t give a crap because I don’t have to sleep on it.

Night #8: The maid has come, so in theory I’ve got a closet full of clean sheets that I could put on her bed, but there aren’t words to describe how little I give a shit. Changing sheets involves lifting the corners of the mattress and pulling them over and...I mean, fuck that. I put a towel on the pee and STRONGLY debate whether or not I really even need to change her pajamas since most of the pee seemed to drip down her leg and out the foothole. But again, God bless the maid, she’s got clean Pjs so we might as well use them. Only I can’t find them. Our maid has a strange habit of washing, drying, and folding laundry and putting it in random places. It’s not in Abby’s room, it’s not in our room…but I find a pair of our son’s sweatpants and even though they look like clown pants they seem comfortable. She’ll probably appreciate being able to take a leak on someone else’s clothes anyway.

Night #9: Change pants. Towel on the bed. Pray to God to strike me dead.

Last night: Debate whether or not to call the pediatrician to ask if it’s legal or even possible to render Abby surgically unable to pee. Do they have foster families that take kids only at night? Can we stop giving her liquids altogether?

I suppose it could be worse - she could be shitting the bed every night. At this point I’d probably just throw a towel over that too. On an unrelated note, if anyone needs a slightly used mattress for a toddler bed, I can get you one for a VERY reasonable price.