(3) Mom

1K 11 0
                                    


MOM POV

I had sent John off with a smile and a healthy lunch this morning. He didn't seem to fazed with his blowout this morning, and wet sheets is what I expected to wake up to.

I toss my son's sheets in the washer and start it up. I'm glad I let him attempt to diaper himself last night, it finally put an end to the dragged out begging for him to just do it himself even when he knows he can't.

Part of me is glad he can't diaper himself, it gives us another thing to bond over, but I immediately shut down that thinking. My fifteen year old son shouldn't be wetting the bed, he should be old enough to hold it through the night, like a normal kid. But my son has never been all that normal. He's his own special person and I love him for it.

What has surprised me the most about this long ordeal was hope easy it was to get him back into diapers like he was a toddler. I expected much more of a fight than what I got but I guess he knew what was best for him and my sanity of washing sheets.

I sigh as I set my coffee down on the counter and work on making myself breakfast. I don't understand how my son hates coffee, I swear the blood in my veins is half coffee. He must get it from

his father.

His father and I weee high school sweethearts for a few years before he grabbed his stuff and left. It didn't impact me much as he was drunk or high half of the time, I didn't what him around baby Johnny but I did t have much of a choice at the time.

I've let Johnny believe that his father was a fine man up until he left. There is no reason to put any other notions in his head, he downer need to think he'll turn out like his father, a washed up high school graduate who couldn't put the bottle down.

We never married so I have no ties to the man I once lived, only John.

I sit down at the counter, on one of the two barstool chairs we have. I bring my plate of eggs, bacon and toast in front of me as I open my computer that I pulled off of its plug.

I start going through my emails as I enjoy my food and coffee. My cup is getting a little low, I need to refill it soon.

I'm deleting emails left and right when one catches my eye. Bright words about children struggling to keep the bed dry. I scan the email and click on the available links.

I am taken to a sight portraying images of what looks like a summer camp but instead of regular campers children of various ages walk around with different types of protection.

It's an incontinent camp.

I keep reading and scanning the page. Could it help with John's problems? It wouldn't hurt to try.

I quickly copy and paste a link to a google form potential attendees are supposed to fill out. I quickly send it to John and await his reply.

A few minuets later he comes back saying he filled it out and submitted it. I keep looking at the page and see that there are busses that are going to leave tomorrow afternoon. So soon? Had I not seen this email before?

I fight with my mind. Could I send my son away, even if it meant he could get better?

I click the big green button pay now before I change my mind.

My baby would be on a bus tomorrow afternoon, headed for a camp that will fix his bed wetting issues, and he would be gone for most of the summer.

I hope I made the right choice. 

Summer Camp (DDLB)Where stories live. Discover now