A Crappy Night

Last night was one for the record books. My new dog woke me up around 1 AM, breathing rapidly and looking really uncomfortable. Still half asleep, I held up my cell phone flashlight to survey the situation. She was lying on her blanket grunting and next to her on the floor was something small, skinny, and brown. "Dang it, Zoey!" I muttered under my breath and headed to the bathroom tripping over a toy or two in the dark. "This is why I hate having a dog in the house. Ugh. So gross!" I grabbed some toilet paper, eyes still half closed, bent over, and picked up...a plastic loaf of bread from my daughter's cooking set! I couldn't help but laugh, even if it was one o'clock in the morning. Zoey just looked at me as if to say, "See? I told you I didn't do it. Everyone always blames the dog!"
I turned my attention from phantom turd pick up to my still uncomfortable dog. Even though she is slowly gaining weight, she's still pretty skinny, and every time she eats or drinks she ends up looking like one of those Ethiopian kids in those ads you see on TV. Her belly looked bloated, her breathing was rapid, and she seemed to be trembling. The vet in me immediately went to work. What could this be? Had she had a seizure? Congestive heart failure? I kept coming up with things, and none of them were good. So I did what any good vet's spouse would do...I woke my husband up.
Me: Something's wrong with Zoey.
Him: Huh?
Me: Something's wrong with Zoey. Look at her!
Him: Did you really just wake me up in the middle of the night to look at a dog?
Me: YES! Now what do you think? Think she could have had a seizure?
Him: No. I think she needs to pee.
Me: What?
Him: I think she needs to go outside!
Me: Really? Will you take her? (Thinking to myself, I bet you don't bring home another dog from work!)
And so, Superman walked my dog at 1 AM in his underwear. I just love that man.
Zoey looked much happier when she came back in, and I decided that a diagnosis of needing to pee was certainly preferable to anything else I had come up with. So I snuggled back into my nice warm bed and went back to sleep, until...
My bedroom door flew open at 4:30. There stood one of my six year olds, looking surprisingly bright eyed and bushy tailed. "Mom and Dad, I need your help!" she announced, almost in a singsong voice. What the hell is wrong with this kid? It's 4:30 AM. Why does she sound so chipper? "My sister pooped in her bed!" And there it was again, a hint of...glee, perhaps?
I sat straight up, cleared the cobwebs from my poor, tired brain and processed this information. Poop. In a bed. And not the baby's. "CRAP." Literally. I headed upstairs, where the child in question had already shed her defiled pajamas and was now sitting on the toilet wailing. (Approximately six feet or so from the door to the nursery.)
"Baby, I'm sorry you're upset, but please be quiet. If you wake your sister up, you are going to have more problems than poop in your bed!" Between sobs I managed to figure out that the kid had pooped in her sleep and didn't wake up. How in the blue blazes does one do something that foul and not wake up?!? I have no idea. But for whatever reason, the kid who has never so much as wet the bed now had dried poop welded to her skin.
I sent downstairs for diaper wipes and went to work, trying my best to make my "I'm so sorry, Honey" face and not my "I'm about to barf and I didn't know I signed up for this before I was a mom" face. I have to confess that I thought about Ashley Judd's poop in the bed scene in "Ya Ya Sisterhood" but at least I didn't step in it, and I'm proud to say that my reaction was nothing like hers.
I got my kid cleaned up and tucked back in, her sister happily chattering away like it was 4 o'clock in the afternoon.
Back downstairs, her dad said, "Why can't I get her that awake for school in the morning?" "I'm sure I don't know." "Well, it's nearly 5 AM, we might as well just stay up!" Um, no, Chatty Cathy, we might as well try to take advantage of another HOUR of sleep!
Now everyone is up and out the door to school and work. Zoey, completely worn out, is snoring like a chainsaw at my feet. So glad she's getting some rest. All in all it was a pretty crappy night.