Deep into the dark night, as I rolled over in my bed, a thought popped into my head. “You better get up and take Sam to the toilet”. It was as if an old friend was very gently, matter of factly, and casually mentioning that a peeing incident was imminent. My first thought was “Yep, better get her to the bathroom”. But then, lingering too long in my beautiful, cosy bed, laziness kicked in. The dreaded laziness.
Laziness is intuition’s foremost foe. Laziness issues an order to our brains to begin logically problem solving why I don’t need to follow through on action X because of reasons Y. My brain’s wheels cluttered around and quickly came up with “she hasn’t had an accident in a while” and then “perhaps she’s outgrown it”. Sensing the down duvet’s warmth and my pillows curved perfectly into my neck and shoulder, I finally groggily decided “I am sure she will be fine”. Getting settled and back to sleep, that friendly voice says “OK, but remember, she did have those two small glasses of juice before bedtime”. With that, my friend left the decision up to me on how to proceed and me, great lover of warmth and comfort, snuggled back into bed and welcomed sleeps kind embrace.
Half an hour later, a small, raspy “Mom…Mom……..MOM!” comes echoing down the hall and through my door. Raising from bed and willing my body to remain vertical, I made my way to my daughter’s room. Opening her pink stocking decored-door, I peered into the dark. Slowly, she raises her head to meet my eyes with her gorgeous, sweet, angelic face and flatly claims, “I peed myself and my nose is really bugary”. I looked at her, her wet bedding, and turned my eyes to the heavens (in this case, a bedroom ceiling) and gently whispered a chagrined thank you for my ignored warning and then began the all too familiar motherly midnight job of bed-stripping, bathroom-tripping, and small child body-washing. New pj’s on, bed freshly made, a smooch goodnight on the lips and back to bed for both she and I.
My intuition knows me well. It knows I am a reasonable mom and that when unpleasantries arise, I can usually deftly manage them. My intuition also knows that I find keeping on top of laundry a real chore. Being American, I come from the land of huge washing machines and even bigger tumble driers. But, I live in Scotland, where washing machines are for the most part small and generally stashed in a not much larger kitchen. Due to locality, any dirty wash litters said tiny kitchen floor until finished. As our kitchen is a beehive of activity, the intruding laundry makes for a major tripping hazard and space invader. As for driers, many people (including myself) here don’t have them, opting instead to hang clothes to dry on lines in often perilous weather conditions. Hanging out “yer washin’” in Scotland could later mean tracking down wind-blown items from understanding neighbors backyards. Or upon retrieving laundry, surprisingly still where you actually pinned it, discovering it has been frozen stiff.
Although I may hail from “give it to me now, instant gratification” America, living here these past eight years has slowed me down. Coupled with being a bit of an eco-girl, I have weekly resisted the urge to purchase Whirlpool’s top of the line drier, enabling me to produce gorgeous, warm, fluffy towels to tantalize my weather harassed skin. All in all, one bed wetting incident produces a tiny, pink nightgown and flood of bedclothes including a sheet, a pillowcase, a mattress liner, a duvet, a fleece blankie and a duvet cover. These items all may come from a child’s single bed but there is no way they will amount to less than three loads of washing. When the washing is at long last complete, my house will sport many large, damp items in varying shades of pink with flowers, stripes and bows handsomely draped over banisters and doors. You may ask, well, why not just hang them over your drying rack? Which in truth makes sense, but in this house, that is where you will find the normal clothes wash from earlier in the day, still tediously and amazingly slowly drying. Like I said, laundry is a real chore.
Ultimately, had I resisted laziness and been wise enough to listen to my friendly intuitive guidance, it would have taken a mere five minutes to waken my angel, get her to the bathroom for a potty trip, then gently tuck her back into bed. Because I opted for laziness, I will spend approximately three hours today waiting for a machine to complete its sudsy revolutions and listen to it aggressively spin out any remaining water. This is the way intuition works. When we heed this internal advice, we prevent ourselves from dealing with huge delays and piles of extra work. Weighing it up, five minutes versus three hours, it’s a no-brainer. Next time I will listen and act upon intuition’s good advice and leave logic to our world’s bankers, because they seem to be doing such a brilliant job with it.