Having my dad sleep over our apartment is a weird experience — partly because we don’t have a bed set up for him yet, so I end up sleeping with dad and Devon takes the couch.
Dad wakes up, like, every hour on the hour to take a leak. Seriously. His bladder must be the size of a shot glass. I’m so happy I declined the prostate option at conception.
Every hour or so, Dad ambles out of bed and looks for the bathroom, because he forgets where it is every. single. time. The bathroom is 3 feet from the bed. He would see it if he simply turned around. I try to tell him where it is, but he can’t hear me, because his hearing aids are in the change bowl in the living room, so it ends with me gesturing wildly and screaming, “IT’S OVER THERE! THE BATHROOM’S OVER THERE!”
In the semi-darkness, I might as well be a giant mute octopus.
My main concern is that Dad will pee the bed, which is not outside the realm of possibility. That’s why I sleep on Devon’s side and Dad sleeps on my side.
The things I do for love.
But, does dad have a soft touch?
This sounds like one of those times you will look back upon and laugh hysterically at over much alcohol.
In fact, let's try testing that theory this weekend.