You'd think the boy sucks back water like a sponge, the way he desperately needs to pee SEVEN times after getting in bed.
I'm not kidding.
He doesn't actually urinate every time he makes the trek from his room to the toilet, but he certainly makes a production out of it.
KID: "Mommeeee, Daddeeee, gotta go potteeeeeee."
US: Sigh. "You know where it is."
KID: Stomps like King Kong thru the city streets, muttering in a smart-ass, whispered falsetto, "Youuu know where it isssss."
US: Bigger sigh. "You have five minutes."
KID: "Okaaaayyyyy" loud enough for the neighbors three houses over with their air conditioner on since February to hear. Then he pulls down his SpongeBob Square Pants underwear, wiggling them off one leg at a time, then flipping them off his foot high into the air with much bravado and shuffles and bangs around doing God-only-knows-what before stomping up the little wooden steps and slapping his butt down on the vinyl Bob the Builder potty seat ring on the big toilet.
US: Five minutes later "Ok, you done?"
KID: "No, gotta potty."
US: "Henry, hurry up."
KID: "OK, errrrgh."
US, to each other: "Gee, wonder where he got that."
KID: Five minutes later, wanders into the living room wearing nothing but his Cardinals World Series t-shirt and a smug grin, swinging his underpants from one finger, "Done. Here."
US: We help him put them on not because he needs our help, but because fighting it will only further drag out this already absurd nighttime ritual. "Go to bed. And go to sleep."
And so it goes. Over and over and again and again. Sometimes he mixes things up, just to keep us interested. Like, he might unwind an entire roll of toilet paper while he's sitting there waiting. Or he might actually pee.
I'd complain about this more, but after our poop problems from earlier in the year, this seems minor. I'd rather he try several times and not go than stay in bed and make a mess. I realize he's playing us like the off-key instruments we are, but things could be worse.
Last night, for instance, we got our wish. He went to bed and went right to sleep with only one quick, unproductive trip to the bathroom.
Monday morning, 5:40 a.m., we awoke to this:
KID: Mamaaaaaaaa, Daddeeeeeeee
US: Groan, "Whaaaatttt?"
KID: Hysterically screaming, "Mybediswetmybediswetmybediswetmybediswet!"
I'm not kidding.
He doesn't actually urinate every time he makes the trek from his room to the toilet, but he certainly makes a production out of it.
KID: "Mommeeee, Daddeeee, gotta go potteeeeeee."
US: Sigh. "You know where it is."
KID: Stomps like King Kong thru the city streets, muttering in a smart-ass, whispered falsetto, "Youuu know where it isssss."
US: Bigger sigh. "You have five minutes."
KID: "Okaaaayyyyy" loud enough for the neighbors three houses over with their air conditioner on since February to hear. Then he pulls down his SpongeBob Square Pants underwear, wiggling them off one leg at a time, then flipping them off his foot high into the air with much bravado and shuffles and bangs around doing God-only-knows-what before stomping up the little wooden steps and slapping his butt down on the vinyl Bob the Builder potty seat ring on the big toilet.
US: Five minutes later "Ok, you done?"
KID: "No, gotta potty."
US: "Henry, hurry up."
KID: "OK, errrrgh."
US, to each other: "Gee, wonder where he got that."
KID: Five minutes later, wanders into the living room wearing nothing but his Cardinals World Series t-shirt and a smug grin, swinging his underpants from one finger, "Done. Here."
US: We help him put them on not because he needs our help, but because fighting it will only further drag out this already absurd nighttime ritual. "Go to bed. And go to sleep."
And so it goes. Over and over and again and again. Sometimes he mixes things up, just to keep us interested. Like, he might unwind an entire roll of toilet paper while he's sitting there waiting. Or he might actually pee.
I'd complain about this more, but after our poop problems from earlier in the year, this seems minor. I'd rather he try several times and not go than stay in bed and make a mess. I realize he's playing us like the off-key instruments we are, but things could be worse.
Last night, for instance, we got our wish. He went to bed and went right to sleep with only one quick, unproductive trip to the bathroom.
Monday morning, 5:40 a.m., we awoke to this:
KID: Mamaaaaaaaa, Daddeeeeeeee
US: Groan, "Whaaaatttt?"
KID: Hysterically screaming, "Mybediswetmybediswetmybediswetmybediswet!"
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