Emma has now successfully slept through the night without peeing for almost two weeks. According to the booklet we received along with the alarm (see earlier bedwetting posts) entitled “Seven Steps to Nighttime Dryness – A Practical Guide for Parents of Children with Bedwetting” it is important to know when to stop using the alarm. The booklet instructs: “Before you stop using the alarm, your child should have 14 consecutive nights of dryness with nightly alarm use, and 14 additional dry nights using the alarm every other night.”
Well I don’t know about you, but this just seems like overkill to me. Emma has gone 12 nights without bedwetting and if I’m honest, (which I’m about to be) she has only worn the alarm five or six times during those 12 nights.
“You’re totally flying without a net,” Richard said when I announced I just didn’t see the point of pinning the alarm onto her nightgown yet again.
“But she hasn’t wet the bed at all since we’ve been in Aspen,” I responded.
“Are you at least putting the pad down?” Richard asked.
I shook my head no.
“Are you insane?!” Richard asked.
“No,” I answered with a tinge of defensiveness. “I have a theory about this.”
“You always have a theory,” he muttered.
I’m just going to interrupt this dialogue to say – one of the many wonderful things about family is they have to listen to ones theories. I think it’s perhaps even part of US Policy on marriage and family or if it isn’t, it should be. Theories are good, if for no other reason than it allows the other family members to tease the theorist later when their theory is proven wrong. Which in my case is with frightening regularity. But that doesn’t stop me from coming up with new ones.
“I have a theory,” I repeated, looking meaningfully at him.
“Okay. Let’s hear it,” he said as my mother wandered into the kitchen joining us.
“Oh I love theories!” my mother added.
“Okay. Ready? Here it is,” I allowed for a dramatic moment of quiet to pass. “She’s dehydrated out here and as a result she is hardly peeing at all, even during the day.”
“What? You mean her kidneys are failing?” my mother asked with a look of concern.
“No, Mom! I don’t mean it so literally.”
“But you just said she wasn’t peeing and you think she’s dehydrated,” my mother said.
“Okay, well not technically, but she isn’t drinking as much out here and therefore isn’t peeing as much either.” I looked triumphantly from Richard to my mother.
Richard walked out of the room.
My mother watched him go and then said, “Where’s he going?”
“Richard hates my theories,” I answered.
“I love your theories,” Richard’s voice could be heard saying from another room.
A few days later after Emma and Richard had spent the entire day together, Richard said to me, “You know she’s been drinking apple juice and water all day.”
“Uh-huh,” I replied.
“Tons of liquids,” Richard said.
“Your point?” I asked, somewhat rudely.
“No point. Just providing you with some facts. Emma. Consumption. Lots of juice. Lots of water. “
“Okay,” I conceded. So maybe she’s not dehydrated. Maybe it’s the altitude.”
“Basically you’re saying we hit on a free space while in Aspen, but she’ll start wetting the bed when we return back to New York.”
“Yup. That’s what I’m thinking,” I replied.
“Huh,” Richard said.
So maybe I’m wrong about my theory. At this point I hope I am. And since this is now day 13 I’m keeping my fingers crossed that when we return to New York in another two days, I will be able to report an end, once and for all, to the bedwetting. Regardless of my theories, Emma has done spectacularly well up to this point. We are all so proud of her.
This, all of us, agree on.
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