After yesterday’s sofa nap I decide getting the extra sleep is more important than getting up for my morning shift. Thus begins what will end up being an almost two-week writing drought.

The Elderbeast resists going to school once again, but relents eventually. Perhaps he’s too tired to battle as well.

No morning shift means I haven’t had my first coffee of the day. I remedy this by having two coffees at work. The day is nice and breezy–the first day, in fact, that I haven’t sweated half to death on the coffee run. Clearly the perfect day to get bonus coffee.

Later that evening I hear the Kinderbeast crying in his sleep. I go in and find him kneeling up in his bed, completely distraught. At first I think he’s thrown up, but the lack of a telltale pool of vomit lining his sheets puts paid to that theory. Then I think he’s had a nightmare, and hasn’t quite woken up from it. He’s crying, but unable to tell me what’s wrong. Then I finally realise he’s wet the bed. In five years, it’s the first time he’s ever done it.

I hand him over to Rach for much-needed cuddles while I strip the bed, make a futile bicarb-based attempt to soak up the gallon of blissfully odourless toddler pee that has soaked into his mattress, then decide to flip the mattress instead. Meanwhile the Kinderbeast is demanding to return to bed. We hurriedly get fresh sheets on there and he goes straight back to sleep.

Not the adventure we were expecting for the evening.