I was peed on last night.

Enzo was a very tired missed his nap boy. He was also a boy who’d had two explosive diapers during the day so skipping bath time was not an option.
The tub was filling, I’d undressed the small squirmy boy and he was perched on my lap, head snuggling against my shoulder arms around my neck as he squatted, standing on my knees. It sounds like an awkward position but he was comfortable and cuddly.
That’s when it happened. My lap was suddenly warm and wet. I gasped and sputtered “Did you just pee on me? No, fella! Pee goes in the potty!” And he looked up, oblivious to what I was ranting about.
I put him in the tub. My pants were not a very absorbent pair and dripped when I stood up. I didn’t want to drip through the house, so I took them off and deposited them in the laundry room.
Once in my bedroom, I removed my other urine soaked clothing (that is to say, my underpants) and looked up to find that I hadn’t closed the window. The ground level window that looks out onto the neighbors front door.
I stood paralyzed for a moment and then inched to where my bathrobe laid and threw it on before fleeing the room.
The good news is, the next door neighbors moved out last week. The Mr. told me so when I told him what had happened. Still, I don’t know when I’ll find myself ready to open that window again.

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