The Bed Wetter’s Plea: A Poem for the Bed Wetters of the World

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I am not sure what got into me here. Well, I will tell you what it was- Bertie. Bertie at Wal-Mart. As I passed her by this morning, she called out, “GOT ANY BED WETTERS IN THE HOUSE? GIVING OUT FREE SAMPLES OF BED PADS!” Sweet thing. She meant no harm. She just brought back memories of that label.
A bed wetter.

 

I have wet a few beds in my day. I remember praying to God when I was little that I would stop wetting the bed when I was married because, Good Lord above, what would he think? Would he feel the encroaching puddle, high tail it and run? THE THOUGHT.
It is no fun being a bed wetter. This little soft spot I have for Super Mattress Soakers will never go away, which is why I wrote a poem.
A poem for the bed wetters of the world.

This morning I woke up

Feeling sort of wet
I hoped, I prayed, I pleaded to God
That it was only sweat
But as I sniffed and wrinkled my nose
I quickly realized 
That what I smelled wasn’t a rose
And that left me paralyzed
I didn’t want to stand up
I didn’t want to move
I didn’t want to interrupt
My mom and put her in a bad mood
I promise, I would start out
That I used the toilet before bed
I didn’t drink big cups of water
I did just what you said
But “You need to try harder!”
I could hear her say,
“We are wasting so much water
Washing your sheets every single day.”
Then I would look down at my feet
So ashamed at my mistakes 
Another day of not getting a treat
Because in my bed I leave lakes.
One of these days, I told myself
Surely I won’t still wake up like this
Surely I won’t still need to cry for help
Surely I won’t still be on the naughty list
I wish that you could understand
That this is the way I’m made
It is part of my body’s growing plan
That these wet mornings will soon fade
So instead of narrowing your eyes
And making me feel small
Hold and hug me tight
It is a part of growing, after all!

 




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