Two

If Harry Potter is the Master of Death, then I am the Master of Sleep. Non-sleep, that is. That is my parenting expertise. And they most certain way to bring about any given sleep issue, is to write about it, claiming that is hasn't happened. I'm trying to figure out how to get this rule to work toward my benefit. If you'll look to my last post, the last paragraph, you will see I wrote that Jacob has not peed the bed yet. Well that night, the second night of having the bed, Jacob did pee the bed. We have that nice waterproof cover, and let me tell you it has already earned it's keep! We changed Jacob's clothes, put a fresh diaper on him, and covered the spot with a doubled-over towel. And what do you know, we woke up a couple hours later...to more damn pee. I have to say that is the first time I think he's had a double-leak through (twice wetting the bed in one night).

The next morning (ie evening) I washed the nice waterproof cover, had it in the dryer for 3o minutes and it hardly did a thing. This was the first night I was going to give Jacob melatonin so I didn't have time to wait around for it to dry. I put it on the bed wet, and Jacob went to sleep. It took him a long time and he freaked out if I left the room, but he went to sleep without screaming in my face or flailing his limbs around. Here is the part where I will not write about how hopeful I am that the melatonin is going to be our God-send. Oh, and I didn't mention that I had doubled up with the diapers because of the night prior.

Next morning: No leak-through. Phew. I did not get cocky though and decide to skip the two diaper thing last night. I did put two diapers on him. And he still leaked through. All over his clothes, all over the bed, the down comforter because he kicks the covers off in the middle of the night and they end up under his butt where the pee leaks out. So here I am, three hours and twenty minutes from when I need to leave for camp, have not packed, nor done the laundry I need to do in order to pack - and now I've got two more loads of laundry to do.

Two is rapidly becoming my least favorite number.