Jake and I had a chat. I told him that I loved him no matter what he did. That it didn’t bother me that he wet the bed, and it shouldn’t bother him, either. That it didn’t mean that he was a baby. That it wasn’t his fault, it was just an accident of biology.
However, he had to take responsibility. He had to get his wet sheets and pjs into the wash, wash himself and get into clean sheets and pjs. And that he had to do it just as soon as he knew his bed was wet. If it was during the night, he should wake me up to help him. And he shouldn’t try to hide it, because that was not going to work.
Jake was horrified that I’d discovered his secret. He was embarrassed. His excuse: He didn’t want me or his sisters to know he wet the bed. And he didn’t want to have to go back to wearing diapers (his word).
I told Jake that he didn’t need to wear a pullup (my word), especially if he were only having an occasional accident. I said that he might change his mind if he wet the bed more often. I told him that I knew how awful it was to wake up in a wet bed and, if it was me, I would wear something if there was a chance I would wet the bed.
I told him that wearing a pullup didn’t make him a baby, or change who he was. After all, his older sister had worn one when she was his age, and she was turning out OK. (He would never admit it, but he does think that Emily is a lot more than OK.) He would have to wear protection when he was away from home, but he had to do that even before this accident. He wanted to know how long he would have to do that, but I just said, “We’ll see.”
When we were done, Jake seemed relieved and happy. He promised he’d take care of things if it happened again, and I believe that he will. I promised that I wouldn’t tell his sisters.
He was dry last night.