Thursday is TV night.
A younger-than-me friend comes over on Thursdays and we usually watch a couple of shows, always ending with my personal favorite, Parenthood.
Last night, though, was a night I won't soon forget and it had nothing to do with what was on the screen.
About halfway through our first show, I heard what I thought was a whine.
But then nothing.
A few minutes later, I heard a slight cry.
As I paused the TV to go check on which kid was upset, slight cries turned into a big ol' shriek, coming unmistakably from Lola.
I figured it was a nightmare and kind of rushed in to hopefully help her out before she woke up her little sister.
I opened the door to the girls' room and immediately I knew, "Oh, Millie must have filled her pants." One of those unmistakable smells of toddlerhood.
Lola was crying?
I flipped on the light switch, prepared for a diaper change.
I was not prepared for what was everywhere.
Yeah, so apparently, her nighttime pullup was not, um, put on correctly.
I basically turned around and walked right out, laughing so hard I could barely manage to holler for Ray to come help.
Within moments, we got the bath going and the girls got washed while my TV night quickly turned into several-loads-of-laundry night.
Meanwhile, my friend, who patiently waited for us to finish disinfecting children and bedroom materials, said, That confirmed it; she's never having children.