This happened last Monday night, and was written on Tuesday, Sept. 7th. I found it hidden in my to-be-published pile. So, here 'tis.
Last night was pretty awful.
The Girl and The Baby wailed all. night. long. They took turns tormenting us. We took turns comforting them. It is not an even exchange, at all.
At 4:15 The Girl came stumbling into my room, clearly exhausted and incapable of normal thought process. I felt her pain.
What follows is a verbatim account of our conversation. I emailed it to myself last night (this morning?) lest I forget what she said. Sure enough, when I saw the email at 8:30 this morning I had no idea what it was.
"Moooooommyyyyy, I peeeeeed in my paaaaants!" (again with the wailing)
"Ok, baby, ok. Where did you pee?"
"Right heeeeere!" (points to her little girl bits)
"No, I mean, where were you when you peepee'd?
"In my pajama pants." (said as if her mother is a complete idiot and should know better than to ask such stupid questions)
"Sweet Baby, where were you standing when you peed in your pants? Were you in the kitchen, in the bathroom, in your bedroom?"
"Ok." (losing all hope of ever sleeping through the night again while simultaneously coming to terms with never being able to live in a house that is pee-stain free.)