I just had the cutest experience.
So I'm sitting here on the couch watching Breaking Bad. Fourth episode from the end of the series. Stuff's getting intense, right?
It's 12:40 a.m. Dark out. I'm home from a later-than-usual night at work.
Marie looks in the trash can, sees the meat, Hank calls her and she asks, "Why is there what looks like brains in the trash can?"
I hear noises from somewhere in the direction of the kitchen. Someone opening a door and shuffling around. The girls' room connects there, as does the back door, so my first thought is, 'Someone's breaking in and is in here right now.'
I pause Breaking Bad and walk over to the wall and look around into the kitchen. It's Beatrix. I've never seen her get up in the middle of the night before. Luckily it's the one night this week I'm up late. Usually I'm in bed by this time.
Why? She had to pee! She was super scared, though. Tears in her eyes. Poor thing. Turning her eyes away from light sources, all tired, probably confused.
I went in the bathroom with her and helped her pee in the little toilet on the floor, and I think she was really glad I was there to help. She might not have gone to wake either mama or I up. It looked like she was headed right for the bathroom.
Maybe she was tearing up because she was psyching herself up for a scary lone jaunt through the darkness just so she could relieve bladder tension and sleep again. Or maybe she thought she'd make one of us mad by waking us up. Hm, that makes me afraid of my own temper.
On the walk back to her room she broke into a light jog. I cuddled in bed with her for a minute, but I think it annoyed her, so I got up and left the room, dad duty accomplished. Maybe it didn't annoy her. Sometimes she moves suddenly.
Perhaps tomorrow we can talk about it and make a plan of action for future night bathroom excursions. That would be the good dad thing to do, wouldn't it? That and do the dishes.
So I'm sitting here on the couch watching Breaking Bad. Fourth episode from the end of the series. Stuff's getting intense, right?
It's 12:40 a.m. Dark out. I'm home from a later-than-usual night at work.
Marie looks in the trash can, sees the meat, Hank calls her and she asks, "Why is there what looks like brains in the trash can?"
I hear noises from somewhere in the direction of the kitchen. Someone opening a door and shuffling around. The girls' room connects there, as does the back door, so my first thought is, 'Someone's breaking in and is in here right now.'
I pause Breaking Bad and walk over to the wall and look around into the kitchen. It's Beatrix. I've never seen her get up in the middle of the night before. Luckily it's the one night this week I'm up late. Usually I'm in bed by this time.
Why? She had to pee! She was super scared, though. Tears in her eyes. Poor thing. Turning her eyes away from light sources, all tired, probably confused.
I went in the bathroom with her and helped her pee in the little toilet on the floor, and I think she was really glad I was there to help. She might not have gone to wake either mama or I up. It looked like she was headed right for the bathroom.
Maybe she was tearing up because she was psyching herself up for a scary lone jaunt through the darkness just so she could relieve bladder tension and sleep again. Or maybe she thought she'd make one of us mad by waking us up. Hm, that makes me afraid of my own temper.
On the walk back to her room she broke into a light jog. I cuddled in bed with her for a minute, but I think it annoyed her, so I got up and left the room, dad duty accomplished. Maybe it didn't annoy her. Sometimes she moves suddenly.
Perhaps tomorrow we can talk about it and make a plan of action for future night bathroom excursions. That would be the good dad thing to do, wouldn't it? That and do the dishes.
