Well, all was going well in the Land of Perfect Parenthood, and then without warning Crap Dad popped in for a visit the other night. He's normally on days, especially the early morning shift, but on Sunday he decided to do the night shift.
All was quiet in Rainman Towers. The bath had passed without incident, the hair had even had a wash, one fingernail had been trimmed, we were doing well. The Boy was settled early in bed, Dad had washed the school uniform ready for Monday morning well before the usual 11.30pm knocking on the ceiling from the downstairs neighbour to signal the end of the spin cycle. All was good. And so Dad decided to take his delicate frame to the Land of Nod. And then fell into a blissful sleep.
What happened next is a bit of a blur. I like to think like all parents I am a light sleeper... one eye forever open to guard over our most precious possessions. And our children. But on Sunday night something happened and I'm not sure what.
It's all a bit vague from hereon in, and that's because it's The Boy's version of events... I remember none of it. And I still don't know. He maintains this is how things went, but I have no clue. All I know is that the interlude will have started with The Boy entering my bedroom with the lightness of touch and subtlety of a dawn police raid. The time is "dark":
The Boy: "Daddy, I've wet the bed"
The Dad: "Which bed?" (I like to think the fact I asked this question was a clue that I wasn't properly awake. We only have two beds. I was lying in one of them.)
The Boy: "My bed"
The Boy: "Can I come into your bed?"
The Dad: "No. There's no room. You'll have to get up".
I remember none of this conversation. I only know about it because at 3.30am I woke up. And I heard a noise in the lounge. So I went in there and the light was on and sitting on the sofa wearing nothing but a cushion was The Boy. "What are you doing?", I asked.
"You said I had to get up...", he said.
I have no idea how long he'd been sitting there. I went to bed at 10pm. It could have been hours. I'm sorry mate, I really am.
So there you go, Crap Dad didn't wake up for his son. And I don't know why, it's not like getting up in the night isn't a regular occurrence. I racked my brain to work out why on this one occasion I didn't wake up properly. And there's only one thing that was different on that Sunday to any other day.
It was the day I started Slimming World. And that's why I'd gone to bed early, to cope with the pain. And so I've done some research. And I can only assume that the events that took place on Sunday night were hallucinations... as a result of malnutrition.
So parents everywhere, let's not let this happen again. See this as a warning. I urge you, rise up and eat. Take the battle to the fridge. Throw away the Muller Lites. Bring back the Pringles. For the sake of children everywhere, rise up and eat.
How many syns are in a six pack of Wagon Wheels?
This blog is about bringing up The Boy. He's 12 years old and autistic. It's written by The Dad. It's my words, my view. Other people will think differently and have different opinions. Good.