"Mommy…Mommy…"

Hilary groaned and squeezed her eyes shut more tightly, as if that would stop the squeaky and incessant addressal of her.

"Mommy…"

Hilary sighed and finally allowed her eyes to flutter open. It burned, even in the darkness. Forcing herself up with her hands, Hilary looked down towards the floor at the side of her bed and found Harry standing there and staring right back up at her.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Hilary grumbled tiredly, rubbing one of her eyes to try and stop the sting.

"I have to go to the baloom," Harry softly informed his mother.

Hilary raised a bewildered eyebrow at this. "Okay…so…go to the bathroom."

"I can't!"

"Why not?" Hilary groaned.

"Mommy, I can't go by myself," Harry fretted. "I dunno where it is!"

"Yes, you do, sweetheart."

"Nuh uh, it's dark."

Hilary huffed and lowered her head once again, squeezing her eyes shut for a quick second before opening them up again and clambering out of bed. She thought Harry just needed her to lead him to the bathroom, so she was surprised when she felt one of his little hands reach up and brush her leg.

"Harry?" Hilary muttered tiredly.

"Hold my hand, Mommy," Harry murmured.

"You really need me to hold your hand? Just to get to the bathroom?"

"Yes, Mommy."

Hilary bit her lip, but nevertheless, she put her own hand down and took her son's into it. From the bed, the still sleeping Tyson let out a loud, obnoxious snore, causing Hilary to roll her eyes. Of course, he never got woken up by the kids. It was always her. She had bragged about it at first, but now she realized it wasn't really something to be proud of.

She led Harry out of the room, her youngest shuffling quickly alongside her. It was quite obvious that he had to go to the bathroom quite badly. Why he couldn't have just gone on his own Hilary didn't understand. Harry may have been newly potty trained, but he was nearly three years old. Hilary thought that getting to the bathroom on his own wouldn't have been so bad, especially when he was able to get into her and Tyson's room on his own with no (apparent) problem. But Hilary didn't want to question and upset the boy. That was the last thing she wanted. It may have been nearly three in the morning, but she couldn't take her exhaustion out on Harry. No way.

Once they finally got to the bathroom door, Hilary let go of Harry's hand and expected him to step into the bathroom. He walked slightly in front of her, but stopped before he could actually get into the bathroom. Hilary was about to ask him what was wrong, but that question would be quickly answered without any vocalization.

She suddenly felt something wet beneath her feet, causing the woman to unwittingly shriek and jump a little bit. She glanced towards Harry, who was sheepishly looking down towards the floor in a valiant attempt to avoid eye contact with his mother.

"Harry…"

"Uh…I hal an acchifent, Mommy."

"No kidding," Hilary groaned as she trudged off into the bathroom to get supplies to clean the mess up. Harry may have been potty trained, but that didn't make his bladder any resilient. The accident, of course, wasn't Harry's fault. He had been trying to use the bathroom, after all. Turns out they had just waited a little bit too long.

Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately for her), this happened enough that Hilary knew exactly how to deal with it, and fairly quickly at that. She'd have to clean up the carpet, and then Harry, before changing his pajamas and putting him back to bed.

At least he no longer had to use the bathroom…

She started to clean up the mess, and Harry, who for once didn't seem overly bothered by his little accident, rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet while patiently waiting for his mother to finish cleaning up the floor so she could get to him. He was just kind of uncomfortable, and wanted to be washed up with a fresh pair of pajamas.

While Hilary was busy cleaning up the considerable mess on the carpet, the sound of soft footsteps padding on the carpet moved closer and closer to the mother and her son. They eventually got very close before stopping, the person responsible for the footsteps letting out a hushed noise of interest. Hilary glanced up and found herself staring up at the towering figure of Tyson, who had his eyes half closed with a hand under his shirt, rubbing his shoulder.

"Hil?" Tyson murmured. "Whatcha doing her? And why is Harry up?"

Hilary narrowed her eyes at this series of questions. "You don't want to know."

"Uh…okay," Tyson replied through a massive yawn.

"Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom…"

"Ugh, Harry, no you don't!" Hilary whined, hanging her head.

"That wasn't me, Mommy!"

Hilary looked back up and found Harry blinking out of confusion. Pressing her lips together, Hilary looked over her shoulder and found Tyra standing behind her, a worrisome look plastered on the little girl's face, as she desperately held on to her pajamas. For a five-year-old adept at potty training and bladder control, all she wanted was her crowd of family to move aside so she could enjoy the facilities of a lavatory, which was more pleasant with some privacy.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"…Hilary, why did I just step in something wet?"