Bladdering On--Mass Destruction by Night

Life before children used to be different in many ways. I don't miss most of it but the one thing I miss: my glorious, impenetrable bladder.

My friend Dave nicknamed me "The Camel of the Pee World" on a backpacking trip in Yosemite due to my uncanny ability to hold it in...or just sweat it out. Probably a bit of both.

But then I had kids and a full night's sleep? Those days are over. I now have to get up at least once in the night to go to the bathroom. Pregnancy also made me neurotic about it. "Did I go or just think I went? Maybe I should try again because I don't want to wake up in an hour."

Welcome to my neurosis. I did that 10 times per night whilst pregnant.

These days, I really have it down to a urinary science and practically sleepwalk to the bathroom, after which I can usually fall back asleep. Saturday night, I almost made it through the night but was awoken at 4 a.m. by my internal alarm clock. I dragged myself out of bed, went to the bathroom and washed my hands. Only this time I did something a little bit different: I turned on both the hot and cold water, opposed to just the cold like I usually do in the middle of the night.

Livin' it up at 4 a.m.

I stumbled back to bed and fell asleep, only to be awoken at 6 a.m. by a crash and then Bode. Exhausted, I brought him into bed with me and I opted for another Girl Scout try at the potty before settling back in (again, the neurosis).

It was then that I noticed the floor was wet. Very hot and wet. Half-asleep, I waded through the water only to notice I had left the hot water running and it had filled up the sink, spilling over the counter and all over the floor. I turned it off, threw some towels on the floor and passed out in bed.

A couple of hours later, Hadley and Jamie burst into the bedroom. "What happened last night?" he demanded. "Oh, I left the hot water running for a couple of hours," I slurred.

"Well, it leaked all the way downstairs into the kitchen's light fixtures and it came crashing to the floor. There is now a big crack in our ceiling," Jamie exclaimed.

So that was the big crash.

I raced downstairs and sure enough our kitchen looked like a warzone. I spent the morning cleaning everything up.

On the surface, I am obviously the one to blame for this. I left the water running, causing it to gush everywhere. But really, is it my fault? Six years ago I could go through the night without a bathroom break. I even backpacked all over Yosemite earning myself the coveted "Pee Camel" moniker.

I blame the children for this incident.

Without them, I would still be asleep.

I figure it's only fair. Someday they will blame me for everything that has gone wrong in their lives, right?

So what do you "blame" your children for?