I awake to a soft thump the sound of pattering feet. Josiah scampers into our bedroom and announces, "I have to go potty."
"So go" I grumble only half-awake and unwilling to get out of bed unless absolutely necessary.
Josiah wanders into the bathroom. I hear the toilet flush and water running. Good, I think, he remembered to wash his hands. I glance at the clock, curious what hour of the morning it is. 2:30 a.m. ugh. Oh how I long for day when he will figure out that he can go to the bathroom in the middle of the night without waking us up.
The water is still running and I hear a soft thwacking noise. "Josiah, are you okay?" I whisper.
"There's no soap."
"Oh yeah. I need to refill the soap. I'll do it tomorrow."
After a few minutes of quiet I begin to wonder why he isn't going back to bed. I listen a little harder and hear soft sobs followed by a small sniffle. I reluctantly roll out of bed to investigate. I find Josiah standing forlornly near the sink in the dark bathroom, softly crying.
"Josiah? What's wrong? Why aren't you going back to bed?"
"I can't wash my hands. There's not enough soap."
Feeling a bit perplexed and somewhat exasperated by his sudden desire for clean hands, I quietly assure him, "It's okay. Just dry your hands and go back to bed. I'll fix the soap tomorrow. It's 2:30 in the morning and I'm really tired. I'm not going to get more soap right now. Come on."
I help him back into bed and give a soft kiss. He may be a little inconvenient sometimes, but I sure do love him.