(Warning: This post is not for the faint of heart and is a little gross. Possibly NSFW. You’ve been warned.)
Do you see that photo above?
That photo describes the blissful way in which I ended last night.
I crept into my daughter’s room, as I do each night, wrote her a note to wake up to, kissed each of my children a couple of times and marveled at their cuteness.
(I also posted said cuteness in an Insta Story, tbh).
Then, I crept into my own room, as I do each night, put on 18 different lotions, kissed my husband a couple of times and fell asleep to an old favorite.
I remember dreaming vividly, but, now hours later, I cannot tell you what my dreams were about.
What I can tell you, however, is that as I woke up to the sensation of water being poured on me.
You know how there’s that thing that happens when you’re sleeping…when your dreams and your reality merge into a state of semi-consciousness? So, if there is a thunderstorm outside you might have loud booming noises enter into your dream’s narrative?
Yeah, well warm water was not actually being poured on me as if I were receiving a fancy treatment at a luxurious spa.
Rather, my son, who had sneaked into my bed in the early morning hours,
was peeing on me.
He did not wet the bed. I did not wake up to soaked covers.
He was cuddled up next to me, sound asleep, spraying pee all over me.
Obviously I got up, washed everything (myself, the sheets, my animal-like-child) as plumbers scurried around my house trying to fix our heat. Our heat has been broken for days. And, strangely, this post from over 2 years ago is basically happening exactly the same way, again, as if I am in a movie sequel called “Groundhog’s Day: Becca and Basements” (literally, the carpet is being installed as I type and I had water bursting out of a radiator this morning).
But, let’s not stray too far from the point here. This morning, my son peed on me.
And, seemingly oblivious to this fact, and to the handful of workers milling about, the next time I saw him he was walking around, completely naked, carrying around a tub of chocolate ice cream, eating it with a spoon right from the carton.
I have raised a frat boy. And, he is only 4-years-old.
I am an overachiever.
So, how was your morning?