It is late, the middle of the night. I am twenty years old and asleep in the bedroom nestled in the corner of my parents' house. The next day I am going to visit my boyfriend in upstate New York, making my beauty sleep even more pressing.
I get up, though, suddenly having to go to the bathroom. I quickly make my way there and attend to business, feeling a sense of calm as I am relieved of the pressure that drove me to the bathroom in the first place.
Wait, stop. I wake up again. No, not again--because I am in bed. What...?
I am wet. WET. And the calm gives way to a rising sense of disaster as the slow, awful realization of my situation clears out the cobwebs in my brain. Turns out I didn't get up, didn't go to the bathroom, didn't even get remotely close to a toilet, folks.
I dreamt the whole thing. Oh--well, except for the relieving myself part. Unfortunately, that was very real, as evidenced in my bed and all over my legs.
I jump out of bed with the reflexes of a cat jumping out of water. I strip it; I strip me, throwing a robe on. I turn on the shower and start piling the bed clothes together and this is how my mom finds me in the middle of the night.
What are you doing up, Jess? And (upon seeing me turning my bed practically inside out) what are you doing?
I look at her. I am too tired, too shocked to even try to make anything up. Besides, she's my mom; she of all people has seen me soil myself before. Just not for a good 18 or so years.
I peed the bed, mom.
That's all I say, and my mom doesn't even look too shocked (now that I think about it, I wonder why she didn't look shocked that her 20 year-old daughter wet her bed, but well, she didn't).
And that was it. I went back to cleaning and I assume my mom went back to bed. However, a small worry did creep into the back of my mind: what if this happens again when I visit my boyfriend?
And maybe that was when I decided to not trust my dreams. Especially the ones involving a toilet. And maybe that is also when I started making sure I go right before I go to bed--sometimes twice--and then again, early in the morning. Call me paranoid, but hey, you can't argue with me when I say I've had...well, a bad experience.
I always promised myself that I would take that story with me to the grave. But then I stopped caring so much about being seen as an adult who has never wet the bed, I guess. But I would still like to be seen as an adult who has never wet the bed more than once...
Any stories you would like to share? Any embarrassing moments that, at the time, you swore you'd never tell--even under threat of torture--but now that you've put some time between you and the event you can see the humor in it?
If so, do share.