This Is The Thanks I Get?

We've been pretty lucky on the potty training front. (I can't believe I just said that out loud! Quick - throw some salt over your shoulder!) (What?) Mia's been trained for close to a year now, and we've only had a handful of accidents. They've cropped up when she's been too excited to take time away from the fun, or when I haven't been diligent in asking if she needs to go. Very rarely, she's had an accident in the middle of the night.

Such as last night.

After calming her cries and assuring her that this was no big deal, I stripped off her wet jammies, getting myself soaked in the process. I wiped her down with a warm washcloth and dressed her in dry jammies, laying her on a pillow on the floor while I worked. I quickly changed her sheets, switched out the blankets, and tried not to notice the pee that had gotten on my own pajamas. I'd have to change, too. I piled the wet clothes and bedding in the bathroom to be dealt with in the morning, and scrubbed my own hands free of the urine smell they'd absorbed. Then, I tucked her back into a clean, soft bed. I leaned down and kissed her face, snuggling for just a moment before saying goodnight.

So grateful was she for my midnight service that she looked up at me with sleepy eyes and mumbled:

"Someone has the yucky! It's not me, mama, it must be you! You need to go brush your teeth, OK?"

I just nodded on my way out the door, and went to change my clothes. Clothes that were soaked through with my precious baby's urine. I walked past the pile of stinking bedding, wondering how lucky one mom can be.

I get to have urine-interrupted sleep, followed by midnight insults.

Woo.

But how weird am I, that I love this pee-soaked, nighttime crying, morning-breathed life?

Don't answer that.