(More than) Fourinarow.net

About 1 a.m., Sam came down to my room, ran over to my side of the bed and told me he wanted to sleep with me.

“Do you need to go potty?” I asked.  “No!  I want to sleep in your bed!” he responded.

“Okay,” I told him, “but do you need to go potty first?”

“No.”

“Okay.  Get in.  But you better not pee in my bed,” I told him.

“Okay.  I won’t,” he told me, as he snuggled in.

Now, being almost 40 and expecting my FIFTH baby, I don’t claim to be the Queen of Pee Control or anything.  I mean, I pee when I laugh.  When I cough.  When I jump.  Or run.  Or sneeze…

So I don’t really get too upset when Sam has the occasional accident in his (or my… or Maria’s) bed at night.  He did go to bed last night at 6:30 p.m. and didn’t wake me to tell me he had peed in my bed until 11 hours later.  That’s a long time for a little boy.

But, by the time he woke to tell me, I had ANOTHER little boy in bed with me.  This one snuggled right up next to me, practically suffocating me, as is his norm.  Not wanting to disturb Luke and wanting to keep my sleep interruption to a minimum, I had Sam strip while I placed towels under the mattress pad and on top of the sheets where the accident occurred.  Then I threw another sheet on top, so that it would be a little more comfortable to lay on.  (Sorry, but there was NO WAY I was going to disrupt Luke and wake myself up enough to strip the bed and remake it that early in the morning.  Plus, it was just a small spot. Really.)

I got Sam dressed in dry clothes and as soon as I finished, he grabbed his blankie and made his way quickly around to MY side of the bed.  As if to sleep there.  Ha.

“Um… no.” I told him.  “I put towels down and a sheet.  You can still sleep on ‘your’ side until morning.”

“NOOOOOOOOOO!” he screeched and stomped his feet.

“Yes,” I told him.  “Or you can go back upstairs and sleep in your own bed.”

He screeched some more, started bawling, and ran up to his room, crying the whole way.

To his nice, warm, DRY bed.