Kidy
Tonight, little one, as you pull on cozy pajamas, you remember waking up wet this morning, and your tummy feels a little heavy about it. 'I have the answer!' Grow says right away. 'Don't drink one drop of water tonight, and there won't be any wet!' You push the cup of water away.
A little while later your throat feels dry and uncomfortable, and you can't think about anything except being thirsty. 'Grow,' you say, 'this isn't helping. My throat is just dry now, and I still don't know if tonight will be wet or dry.'
Grow pauses. 'You're right, that wasn't a good answer.' Grow pats the blanket and explains the real thing: 'Think of it like a little cup inside you. During the day, your cup is already really good at holding water. But holding it all night long, while you sleep and cannot even feel it, that is a much harder trick. A small sip before bed is fine, just not right before you lie down.'
Together you make a little map: a soft cloth with a row of stitched stars, one for every night. Tonight you turn the first star over, and it gives the tiniest twinkle in your fingers, whether the night ahead is wet or dry, since trying is what earns the twinkle, not being perfect. 'Every star gets turned,' says Grow. 'That is the whole rule.'
You take one small moonlight sip of water, then one last stop at the potty before climbing under your blankets, the star map resting on the nightstand beside you. Grow tucks the blanket close and asks, 'So, little one... did we grow a little today?' You nod, sleepy and light. 'Here is your little grow for tomorrow,' says Grow. 'Tonight, take a small moonlight sip, then one more potty stop before you climb into bed.' See you tomorrow, little one.