Last night was just one of those nights where I couldn't get to sleep at all. Darwin had called about 1:30 am to say hi from California, and after that I was up. I laid in bed, I stared at the ceiling, I rolled around trying to get comfortable. Noogs, who was laying at the end of the bed, and I kicked each other.
Eventually I got up and ate the rest of the ice cream and read Chesterton. While pleasant in itself, this didn't put me to sleep because shortly thereafter I had to get up and take antacid for heartburn (welcome to being seven months pregnant!) So, being up, I surfed the internet, checked my email, and played poker on the computer -- and won, too.
At last, around 5 am, I started feeling tired. I climbed into bed, snuggled under my warm covers, got my pillow plumped just so, and stretched out my leg toward where Noogs was snoozing -- and promptly withdrew my foot, as the bed was soaked.
"Honey, you wet the bed!" I said to her.
"I am sorry," she replied, and padded toward the bathroom to change out of her wet jammies.
So Noogs was cleaned and put in her own bed. When I stepped into the laundry room to get the cleaner to spray on the spot, I realized that I hadn't closed the washer when I'd loaded laundry in this afternoon, so the clothes had been sitting in a washer full of water ever since. Closed the washer, stripped the bed (she managed to get everything but the pillows -- feather comforter, blanket, both sheets, and the mattress pad), sprayed the bed and laid a towel down, and remade it. All the while I was recalling what my dad used to say when things weren't going so well. "It could be worse," he'd say. "At least I'm not sitting in cow pies up to my neck." So true!
So at 5:30 this morning I finally laid down and fell asleep. Half an hour later Noogs comes to stand beside my bed and asks, "Mommy, can I sleep with you?"
Fortnightly Book, February 1
1 hour ago