Miss Independence.

She's all "What? This is my 'Mom got me new boots' outfit. I had to try them on, and obviously they require my dirtbag hipster Seattle outfit in order to adequately judge whether or not they'll work for me. Hey, bro, they totes work."

Heh. Anyways. I'm pretty upset today. I woke up late this morning, because hitting the snooze button on the iPhone under my pillow is becoming easier and easier. My daughter's bedroom light was on even though after she falls asleep we turn it off for her, but that's okay because often she'll wake up in the mornings, turn it on and go doze in bed.

I decided, right before heading out the door to work, to check on her, give her a hug and a kiss so I had some good Alex lovin' to get me through the morning. Except... she wasn't in bed. A little drop of panic mingled in my blood; was she just wandering the dark house alone? Before I decided to tear the house apart in a mad mommy search, I opened the door further. She was curled up in her rocking chair, asleep.

Her bed was soaked. She peed out in the middle of the night, and instead of coming to us for help, she changed her pajamas and underpants and curled up under a clean blanket on her chair. You guys. She's three. She's too young to be taking this sort of shit on all by herself. She didn't come to us. She dealt with it alone, and she didn't even come curl up with us to sleep the rest of the night away. She just... She just hunkered down. Alone. Pee stained. Alone.

My heart could break. While independence is a wonderful thing (um hello, America), it's just too early. It sort of makes my stomach turn, imagining her in the middle of the night, little bags under her sleepy eyes, worry in her heart, as she realized what happened. Was she scared we'd be mad? And when? When did she tuck herself in into her chair? Is there a crick in her neck? What happened? Why didn't she come to us?

I surveyed the scene and the moment my eyes fell on that big pee stain in bed, my heart sank for her. I wanted to cry. Instead I went to her and picked her up, blanket and Ha-Ha and all, held her tight to my body as I carried her to our bedroom. I told Todd what happened, and she opened her eyes and said "Mama my bed, you see my bed?" and then I just wanted to die. I tucked her in, Todd came close to her, and I said "She's too independent, and it worries me."

I worry about zombies and ghosts and shit, so I know that often times Todd and I don't necessarily share the same concerns. But when Todd said "I know, same here," it almost made it worse. I'm so scared that later in life she will take far too much all alone, will stack the worries and responsibilities too high on her shoulders and will never tell a soul about them. Will she distance herself from her spouse? Will she pull away from her family?

She's only three, and already she's taking on the weight of her kid world. I've seen signs of it before, the messy trails of a little lady who craves control over life. The countless outfit changes (see photo above), the water everywhere after trying to get water for herself, or wash herself, or hell if I know what it was. But this morning was a small devastation for me as a mother. As tiring as parenthood can get, when your child pulls away or shrinks inside or refuses to show up on your radar, you are desperate to clean up pee. You beg to wipe away tears. You would sell your soul to comfort.

I wish I would have woken up, mysteriously, whenever it happened, like it does in the movies or on TV. Alex waking up to her crisis, mommy waking up because Mommy Instinct picked up on something. I wish I could have cleaned her up, consoled her, reassured her all was well. I wish she fell asleep between Todd and me, warm and secure, instead of scrunched up on an old rocking chair, cold and lonely, soothing herself, by herself.

I wish, I wish, I wish.