What do I know about bed-wetting
? Almost nothing. Except that I know just enough to sound like an over-bearing-know-it-all and a total failure.
My mother was a bed-wetter until she was 13. She also suffered the sort of childhood abuses that Oprah would think twice about discussing, and I'm guessing those two things are in no way mutually exclusive.
My sister wet her bed until she was 8 or 9, but she had some serious genetic issues including, but not limited to, almost no leg function or ear function until she was past 4 years old, one oddly
shaped kidney right where you and I have two, a good dose of mental retardation, and almost no structure at home. This one time she got up in the middle of the night to pee, walked into the hall by the bathroom, walked back into her room, dropped trou
* on the floor, pulled'm
up, walked back into the hall by the potty, walked back
into her room and climbed into bed. At 8 or 9, on vacation in Colorado, my dad found a pile of peepee
sheets that I had been hiding from him over the course of a week and beat the crap out of her. She never pee'd
her bed again.
I in no
way agree with beating the bed-wetting out of a kid, for the record. It just happened. That's all I'm saying.
I have never been a bed-wetter. Well, except that there was that one
Anyway, both of my boys have been bed-wetters. 1of3 did it until he was about 5, and I tried everything. I tried no drinks after 7, I tried making him wear his brother's Pampers. Nothing worked. Especially the diapers bit. When he started school, he just stopped.
I never got too worried about it; I mean, I double-mattress-pad their beds already (YOU spend a week in the hospital with your son, Captain Asthma, who can't breath almost at all and see how much you're willing to wrap in plastic after it). I have a washer. It's not the worst of my problems. I did some reading on it, and the consensus
seems to be that some kids' bladders just don't grow with their bodies like some other kids' do, and it's not their fault, and there is almost nothing at all you can do about it but wait. And so, I let it go.
Because of that, it never even registered that 20f3 was still doing it. I've asked him (repeatedly) to tell me if he does so I can take care of it. but he makes his own bed every day, and I never think to check for it. Once a week I pull the sheets and wash them. They have 2 very good waterproof mattress pads that are apparently quite
absorbent. And, honestly, I have just trained myself to ignore it. It's not on my radar. I thought for a while it might actually be over, but then...
But then I went away for a week and came home and instantly caught the goddamn plague, and so almost 3 weeks came and went without a sheet-change.
Sweet mother of Christ.
My 7 year old has NOT stopped wetting his bed. I think he may actually be going for a world record or something. It was bad enough that I had to go buy new pads for the beds. And perhaps new sheets. We'll see how a few days of baking soda soaks do.
The poor thing is absolutely humiliated
by the whole thing, and if you've ever met him, you'll attest to the fact that humility isn't exactly one of his stronger points. He said he forgets to tell me in the morning. He says he tries to wake up at night but he can't. I know he goes potty before bed every night. I also know that he completely loses his shit if he doesn't drink 15 1/2 gallons of water every day. I also also know that if I come home from the store with overnight pants he will find amazingly creative ways to make both me and his therapist pay for it in his teens.
Rock? Meet hard place.
The fact of the matter is this: he is a bed-wetter. Period. I can't change it. All I can do is wait. But I also cannot live with stinky beds and so I think my plan of attack here is this:
- We're cutting off the water at 7 again. This is going to make my life an absolute hell on earth. He is going to freak out in a largish way. But hell, I have an obsessive-compulsive one year old. I should be able to handle a water freak out.
- We're buying an alarm clock and setting it for 2 am. It's going by my bed. 1of3 will shoot us both in the head with a bazooka if he has to wake up at 2 am so his brother can pee, so I am going to be the potty police. We've agreed that we are going to try & re-train his body to wake up.
- We're both taking a little more responsibility for this. It is his job to tell me if he wet the bed, daily, and it is my job to make sure he has a clean bed, daily. He's going to check in the mornings; I'm going to double check for him.
I'm writing all of this because dear god in heaven I would love some input on the subject. This is one of those things where the best advice comes form moms and dads, not doctors and websites. Anyone? Bueller?
*How the hell does one spell peed?
**So, I'm 21, maybe just barely 22, and I'm living with Josh. We shared a house with 4 other guys and I had my own room and everything, but we were totally doing it and we weren't with anyone else, so I guess that means we were dating or something. He was at work and I was reading in his bed and I fell asleep. I woke up later, all cozy and warm, and almost fell right back to sleep when I realized that he still wasn't home. Weird. I stirred awake a little more and realized also that I was perhaps a little too cozy and warm. It took a few minutes to wake up enough to understand that the cozies and the warms were also accompanied by the moists. Yes-sir-ree-bob, I somehow managed to pee in my on-again, off-again, boyfriendish's bed. I didn't know where clean sheets were, or if there even were clean sheets. I totally panicked. And then I saw it, there on the bedside table. A barely touched, almost full beer. And I did what any self-respecting blond would do...I dumped that beer all over the wet spot on the bed and covered the whole thing with towels. See, I am a bit on the clumsy side and spilling beer? Well, that was right up my alley. Josh came home later, rolled his eyes at me, showed me where the clean sheets were, and that was that. And we never mentioned it again. A couple of weeks later, he asked me to marry him, and so I'm guessing I got away with it. And no, I never did tell him. There's a Post Secret for you.