This morning at 4:30, I heard Drama Queen hollering, "Mom! Mom!" I was so out of it that I reached across The Hubster to wake up the fictitious mom on the other side of him. It took me a second for the thought to register, "Wait a minute. I'm
her mom!" I got up and stumbled my way to her room to see what she needed. She told me that her bed was wet. I stood there swaying and trying to figure out why her bed would be wet. "Did she wet the bed? She doesn't ever wet the bed." Just a couple of thoughts later she told me that her bed was wet from her ice. I, in my stupor, thought she said "eyes." That started a whole new round of confusing thoughts: "Her bed
is soaking wet from her eyes?
Has she been crying in her sleep? How could she possible cry that much to soak her bed without calling out to me earlier?" It finally sunk in that she said "ice" instead of "eyes." That made much more sense, of course. For whatever reason the child regularly takes a baggie of ice to bed with her, to cure whatever is ailing her, I guess. Apparently it leaked this time.
The moral of this story, I guess, is never count on me in the middle of the night to take care of anything. Shoot, I don't even know who my children are at that time of night.
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