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This morning, when I woke up in Pierce’s bed (because he cried at 4am)—and when I tried to sneak back to my bed, he caught me—I felt like I had been drinking last night—dizzy, disoriented, even a little queasy.  I guess an early morning wake-up call, sleeping in a twin bed with a restless tot, and getting smacked in the face by a miniature forearm (repeatedly) will create the same feeling.  Unfortunately, no fun was involved.

The first thing I did when we woke up was strip Pierce’s lower half-naked so that he could go use his potty chair.  He’s really trained–if only he lived in a nudist colony.  If there is anything on his body, and I mean ANYTHING to catch the spill, he will use it—underwear, pull-ups, diapers, etc.

Taking for granted that he would do his business when he felt the need, I didn’t think much more about it. 

The three of us sat down in the breakfast nook to eat:  me by the window, and the boys in their chairs with their backs to the kitchen.  If you are standing in my kitchen looking at my breakfast nook, there is one of those Indonesian mahogany cabinets on the left that have poles instead of glass in the doors.  We use it as our pantry for snacks, cereal—you know the usual dry goods.

So we are eating and chatting, and I look over to see a yellow stream hosing down the floor, the piece of furniture I just described, going between the poles and soaking the cardboard boxes that are holding the food, and in general freaking me out!  I look over at Pierce and he is handling his hose like a pro!  That is until I yell “No!  Pierce!  Go wee wee on the potty!”  He couldn’t stop, and I was trapped in the wrong end of the kitchen, so I couldn’t grab a bowl or anything to catch some of the destruction he was unleashing on my breakfast nook.  I had to just sit and watch in terror as he finished the job and got to the bottom of the gallon of urine his bladder apparently holds.  Oh!  And he was crying (loudly) from me scolding him.  The whole thing was like watching somebody turn on a shower head where every hole is clogged except one, so all the water is pushed out at lightning speed and strength—the more I panicked, the more he panicked, and the higher his urine stream climbed—up my piece of furniture.

I cleaned up and we recovered, and nothing is so bad that doesn’t have some good.  I cleaned out my pantry of old food and piddly food, and that piece of furniture as well as the surrounding floor are probably the cleanest surfaces in the house.  I think will eat off those tonight.