It was an average Saturday morning. I was busily feeding the baby when ‘the call’ rang out from Son 1’s bedroom.
My husband bellowed:
“Honey! I need back-up. You need to come see the bed!”
I sighed and reached for a towel. I pondered the necessity; would a hand towel do it or did I need full size? New sheets? Hazmat suit?
With a fortitude summoning sigh I yelled, “Big or little?”
“Both? How can it be both?”
“There are two pees”.
Ridiculous. There is no time for this! I grabbed the bottle of vinegar water and started up the stairs.
“Sprinkle or gully-washer?”
“Just get up here.”
“Catholic baptism or full immersion?”
“Just bring the camera. You don’t need a towel.”
WHAT in the what?
My son had indeed gotten some “p” in the bed.
Big and little.
Sorry, Husband. You were right. (It is now on the internet. You’re welcome. )
Cute, right? Wrong. This is a habit.
He tried to hide it at first.
Now we are finding “P” in OTHER people’s beds.
Here’s to my Prince and the “P”. Long may you reign. Actually, no. Stop immediately.