Waking Up To Wetness

Sounds gross?  Is gross. To. Wake. Up. To. A. Leaky. Diaper.  A leaky diaper currently being worn by the child sleeping on your torso.  IS GROSS! 

I know so many people who say things like, "I just became oblivious to body fluids after I became a mother."  Well, it IS true that my gag reflex is maybe in its second year of medical school, but that doesn't mean that my day doesn't start off a little worse than it otherwise would to realize that I have been peed on.  Again! 

I love my daughter, I do.  But despite spectacular progress in March and April, the little angel has not slept through the night since May 3.  And I? Am tired.  The last time I got a full night's sleep was  Saturday night, and that was only because we were visiting my parents and I whined and complained so they offered to get up with her during the night.

I was talking to my friend L. yesterday (she has three-year-old twins, so again with the guilt I have over even complaining about this stuff) about the sleeping issues.  I hate to talk about it, but sometimes at work I feel the need to explain why I've lost half my vocabulary since Monday and trip over nonexistent folds in the carpet when trying to walk faster than my usual slog.  She always makes me feel so much better, and she reminded me that there's a big difference between two and three and things will continue to get better, and if all else fails, eventually you can just tell the child to sit on the couch, then, while Mommy sleeps anyway. 

I tend to forget that there will come a time when I don't have to physically protect the little angel from doing things like sticking keys in light sockets and braining herself with the furniture and stealing the cat's food while Sybil is trying to eat.  There will come a time when I don't have to protect her from hair in her mouth and broken flower stems and the need for the Baby Slugrrr to have his diaper changed RIGHT NOW. 

After this conversation with L., I hauled my sleep-deprived self over to the soda machine and found myself trying to picture the little angel with a driver's license, perhaps lying one masseuse table over from me as we discuss where we're going to have dinner after we finish shopping.  This visual gives me the strength to deal.  Is that so wrong?