Of Morning Troubles

Look at me, blogging so blasted early in the morning.  Those of you (as in, most of you) who read my blog haven't even read last night's entry, and here I am throwing another one at you, typing at a time that only I would consider unnaturally early (as in this is just about the time I'm usually rolling over, looking at the video monitor, wishing silently I won't see any children moving and then telling myself they'll be okay for another couple of minutes because I still need that extra five minutes [at least] for my brain to open up and decide to really get out of bed).

Yes, I'm lazy.  I know this.  Get over it.

This morning, however, I was wrenched awake by a sound through that very monitor of a gag followed by a choke.  I was almost sure it was Emmett and continued listening for further sounds (such as the small coughing that followed) to indicate he was okay - I had almost satisfied myself through sound alone that it was just saliva when the good parent in me decided I should actually look at the monitor to be sure my babies did not need my assistance.

The screen flashed to a view of Micaiah's room just in time for me to see her place her tiny ear against her bedroom door, listening for any signs of life to indicate she could effectively knock on her door and receive a response (her favorite method of getting out of her room lately).  Then, after a brief flash over to the non-movement in brother's room, where he was sleeping serenely, I saw her once again, wander back to her bed and simply stand there, staring, as though she was not sure what to do with it.

Uh oh, I thought, it must have been her I heard and there must be a mess to clean up.  Yippee.

Pulling all my pre-8am gumption (as in none), I hurried to her room, where she introduced me to the puddle, yes puddle, of urine on her bed.

Now, let's remember, my brain is not functioning properly yet (it hadn't had it's five minutes to open up) and my eyelids are still at half-mast.  I slowly begin to process through this.  She was wearing a diaper.  And, yet, she has a puddle.  What kind of diapers does she have?  Were they really so low quality she soaked through an entire puddle?  Wait, no, they were Huggies.  We like Huggies.  So, how . . .?

And then she lifted her nightgown, without my even asking, and I saw underwear.  And the mental processing continued.  Oh no, Philip forgot to put her in a diaper last night, this would be where the puddle came from.  No, wait, those are not the same underwear she was wearing yesterday.  And they're inside out . . .

And just as I realized that, she answered my unasked question, "I break my diaper and I put on underwear."  At which point she pointed to her right and, sure enough, laying in front of her door was a half-torn diaper just laying there (or, what I mean to say is, it was in some dark corner I would never have seen because there is no way her room is cluttered enough that I would not notice a half-open diaper laying right in front of the door).  And all the pieces started to come together.  Yet my brain was still not comprehending.

Because something about it being not 8am made me think that I had to understand my daughter's mental processes before we could move on.  So what followed was a series of questions like, "Why did you take off your diaper?" to which I received three-year-old responses like, "Because, I take it off and it over there."

More confusion, furrowed brow, "But why did you take it off?"

"Um, because I break it and take it off."

Clearly we were getting nowhere.  Someday I'll understand three-year-old logic.

For now I have to settle with repeating myself over and over.  "We only put on underwear if we're going to use the potty when we need to - not if we're going to potty in our beds."

"Ok.  Is it breakfast time?"

Sigh.