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I. My face, deep red with a combination of embarrassment and tears, was on full display, the rest of my body fully moving in momentum to my locked-tight wrist, which was firmly in the grasp of the supervising party in my life, my Mommy, who’s infuriated look pulling me along said all anyone needed to know. I could have whined, I could have done anything, but I felt…paralyzed. Things like this had happened so much in my life lately that I didn’t know what else to do. I just more or less marched along, I didn’t know what else to do. It was so embarrassing. I wanted to be anywhere but here, but here I was, unable to leave. It'd have been embarrassing enough if I was only in trouble. Making this whole thing even worse was what was around my waist. My bottom? Covered in poop. I had a diaper on, sure, but still, anyone within a 10000000 mile radius could smell it. It had a huge blowout, there were messy streaks going down my previously-pristine leggings. It looked every bit as bad as I smelled. It wasn’t the first time I had one of these, but for whatever reason, this was different. I’d even had poopy blowouts in the mall before; today, I was just on a heater. Tantrums, all of that. At this point, I didn’t even care, and I figured that if this was how I was going to be treated, I might as well give Mommy what she wanted. We were a sight for anyone who bothered to pay attention; my Auntie Stef walked at a steady distance behind, carrying my “older” sister, who, judging from this whole scene, had clearly passed me in the maturity department. “Unbelievable, just unbelievable, I’m at a complete loss for words,” Mommy bemoaned aloud, targeted at an audience of one, “all this, all this…embarrassment for Mommy, all because of a poopy diaper, a poopy diaper!” This end of the statement drew a few curious stares, but Mommy was undeterred. “A poopy diaper baby, you’ve ruined the day for all of us, and especially your sister, all because of a damn poopy diaper, something I think we see more than once per day? I don’t get it, I really don’t.” Mommy was scary when she was upset because there were bits of calm mixed into the inner seas of her volcanic temper. “You just think you’re going to get to watch Gabby’s Dollhouse when your sister does when we’re home, well, you’ve got another thing coming, Missy. You’ll be lucky if you’re able to leave your playpen all week after this little display, ughh!” Mommy started again, before once again showcasing the madness of it all, “…all because of a poopy diaper, unbelievable, even your sister doesn’t melt down like this because of an accident, and she’s expected to use the potty; you’re not, you go in your diapers, ugh, just unbelievable.” I just tried to move fast in my complicated waddling state, my legs uncomfortably mixed with my own fecal matter, all while reflecting on the current events. Seeing my sister really surpass me and take her rightful spot as the older kid in the house, it just set me off.. It wasn’t fair, she got to have her ears pierced, and I had to watch! What should have been a delightful rite of passage for my sister, Mommy, and Auntie Stef, quickly devolved into my own tantrum on the floor of Claire’s shortly afterwards, to the delight of no one. Compounding it all was the fact that in the middle of this tantrum, I had made a runny poopy in my diaper, making a further mess even worse by throwing myself on my bottom in the middle of it all. All because I was supposed to watch the other three shop for my sister. I didn’t want to watch this! I just wanted to be anywhere else; or my own ears pierced. How dare they! As I was dragged across the mall floor by Mommy towards the family bathrooms, I snapped back into reality. I’d been falling into these mindsets more and more lately, which was concerning, but probably was something I’d better become more used to. I didn’t know when I’d ever be out of this treatment, if ever, so maybe I’d better just start giving into the end of the rainbow more; I didn’t know where this was ultimately headed. I’m a little conflicted though; on one hand, this was my present and indefinite future reality, which thought this was what I always wanted, and I should be ecstatic, but on the other hand, this was my present and indefinite future reality, and it was embarrassing mostly and other times cringe worthy. It truly had become a textbook case of “be careful what you wish for”, forced into this due to my own missteps, unlikely to ever leave, at least anytime soon. As simple as my life had become, it was equally complemented by perceived complication. We finally got near a familiar sight, the family restroom sign pointed a direction that our destination was nearby. I was surprised Mommy took this detour; but then, why would she need to get the car seats poopy and make my Auntie Stef’s car stinky if she didn’t have to. Maybe, I guess, I didn’t know. Just guesses, my time for planning and those sorts of things had gone out the window a long time ago. Just as I was hoping for something uneventful, we turned the corner to the family restroom and…it was “out of order”. “Hmmm,” Mommy looked at Auntie Stef, “any ideas?” “Let’s just take everyone to the ladies room, I’ll take Amelia potty while you can take care of Courtney’s poopy diaper, there’s a place to change her there,” Auntie Stef informed her. “Alright, ladies room it is,” Mommy still seemed annoyed, but obviously not with her sister. We once again were off at Mommy’s brisk pace. Thankfully, the ladies room wasn’t too far away. I wasn’t too sure though, I didn’t like the fact that this was much more public than the family restroom we originally were going to use. As we went in the doorway, Auntie Stef took my sister, “want to go to the big girl potty with Auntie?” “Mmhmm,” I heard Amelia say. “Alright, we’ll meet you out here when we’re done, see you soon,” Mommy smiled and kissed Amelia, before turning towards our destination. Mommy pulled me towards a back corner, where there were several changing tables, built in to the counters, each separated into different changing areas by a dividing wall, but set up in a way that multiple changes could take place simultaneously. As we approached, I saw another mom starting a similar job with her own toddler, who sounded about as thrilled as I was to have their diaper changed. I was still a crying, teary mess, so I had no room to talk. Mommy walked to the table next to the occupied one, setting down her brioche diaper backpack on a space behind the changing table. She moved my hand from her vice grip to around a metal rod by the structure, leaving me to stand awkwardly while she took everything out. A new diaper, a travel case of wipes, a changing pad, new clothes, nothing was spared; she even took out hand sanitizer for herself for after the change was done. Like I said, very prepared. As I stood there awkwardly, alternating my glances between Mommy’s pretty brioche Petunia Pickle Bottom bag and the environment around us. As I glanced, the other mom looked over, giving us both a half smile, before doing a bit of a double take at me. At 5’6”, I wasn’t the typical baby having my diaper changed.Soon, I felt Mommy pushing me towards the table, her immense strength overpowering me, “Up,” was all she said. As I moved my poopy bottom towards salvation, I noticed Mommy making a smile to the other mom who was looking at us. “Poopy diapers, doesn’t matter how big the baby, always gonna be poopy diapers, am I right? Just when I thought I had both of my girls out of diapers, this one decided her journey in them didn’t want to be over, and here we are!” Mommy said in a feigned exasperation of catharsis. “Oh I can relate to that!” I heard the other mom say, “when her brother was born,” she began telling Mommy, motioning to the toddler she was changing, “she decided to cancel her own potty training, and I’ve got two loads of poopy diapers to change now! Gotta love motherhood!” “Have lots of babies, they said…” Mommy began and laughed, to which the other mom laughed too. She pulled back my sodden leggings and began the dirty work. As she pulled them down my dirty legs, she pulled out a plastic bag, rolling the leggings into the bag, tying it shut, and walking over, past the other relatable mom. Mommy quickly tossed it away, there was no reusing of it, not in any known universe. “Looks like a code brown and a half,” I heard the other mom say. “Like I said, just another day,” Mommy laughed, coming back to find me, “it’s why they sell clothes right?” As Mommy began pulling out wipes, the other mom must have finished, I heard her say goodbye, and Mommy happily bid her adieu. I always found mommies/moms to be such strange individuals. They were the only people I knew who could exchange pleasantries while being wrist deep in poopy. I guess it was a labor of love or something sappy. “Phew, phewwie, you stink stinkyyy,” Mommy teased somewhat melancholy; I think she’d rather be doing anything but this right now, especially given her current state of furor. Before taking on the diaper, she ran a series of wipes up and down my legs, cleaning off the blowout aftermath, putting the wipes in another plastic bag she’d popped out. Soon after, she opened the diaper, revealing the mess that necessitated this visit in the first place. “Yucky wucky, you’re so stinky, inky,” she teased, taking on the unenvious task of cleaning my diaper area. As mad as she could get at me, diaper changes were always pleasant, Mommy made them fun, no matter how many she did. She made baby noises, Mommy noises, in exaggerated tones throughout the entirety of the charge. Prior to Amelia using the potty, Mommy was just the same. A real natural, one could not argue.I knew I was really in for it when I got home, but for this moment in time, Mommy made me forget about it, as brief a reprieve as it might be. The cool wipes moved across my bottom, up the crack, over and over. Across my little peepee, which by this point was very much unusable except to potty, and all over the rest. A large cloud of baby powder soon followed, as did a dollop of rash cream. Soon, Mommy lifted me, sliding another diaper underneath me, taping it up. Mommy then took out a khaki skirt, pulling it up my legs. It matched my purple Gabby’s Dollhiuse shirt, I was impressed. “All done, Princess,” Mommy looked at me, putting the wipes into the used diaper and taping it up;, “lay there so Mommy can pack all your diaper goodies up.” Mommy squirted hand sanitizer on her hands, and began rubbing them as she looked at the landscape. She put the wipes container back, the powder and cream back, and then had me get off the table while she put the changing pad away. She slung the brioche bag on her shoulder, taking the used diaper in one hand and my hand in another. As we walked towards a garbage can, another mom came in, babies in tow. She and Mommy made eye contact, each shaking their heads and exchanging a laugh. Mommy tossed my used diaper out, and led me out towards the mall, where Amelia and Auntie Stef were waiting. “Looks like you got that solved,” Auntie Stef chuckled. “All in a mom’s work, right?” Mommy said lightheartedly. “Of course, nice choice too, she’s really rocking that diaper, isn’t she?” Stef asked. “You better believe it, you know she loves it, doesn’t she? Doesn’t she?” Mommy teased. I just got red and embarrassed. Aunt Stef was right, I was “rocking” my diaper. My skirt was really short, the bottom peaked out, and when I raised my arms the teeniest bit, the diaper stuck out the top. Anyone could see it, anyone within ear shot could notice it. “Well, let’s go home, we’ll get Amelia a frosty and us some lunch, and we can take it home and eat it; I’d love to eat in, but we need to get the baby down for her afternoon nap, she’s kind of cranky, if you couldn’t tell,” Mommy said in a mocking tone, to which the two laughed. Amelia gave a cute laugh of her own, but I think it was mostly to humor the adults. Off we went, Mommy holding my hand and pulling me, Aunt Stef carrying my sister. Two different directions, me pulled towards perpetual and infinite babydom, my sister pushed to higher and higher heights. I was overwhelmed, and so deeply conflicted. As we made it out to Auntie Stef’s Highlander, a dark and extended reality began to settle on me that I would never escape. As I was buckled in my car seat, I began to sob, beginning to process the day that this ear piercing adventure had wrought. “Oh Courtney, it’s ok, you’re just tired baby,” Mommy tried to console me, handing me a bottle, “drink some milkies, and enjoy the ride; Mommy will carry you in at home if you fall asleep, you’ve had a long day Princess.” I took the bottle and began to suckle down the bitter pill my life had swallowed. It wasn’t always this way, but it looked like it was going to be moving forward. As I began to doze and take it in, I thought about it all, and how I had no one else but myself to blame.

A few days ago I stretched, yawned and tried to rub the sleep from my eyes as I slowly woke up. I wasn’t sure why but things felt different. I snuggled back down to try and defer actually getting up for a few more minutes but there was something niggling at the back of my mind. What is it? I eased the bedding down and I was wearing pyjamas... I haven’t worn pyjamas for years and these are for a little kid so...? Actually, they felt strangely comforting, soft stretchy cotton that seemed like an old friend. However, as I wriggled a little more I could feel there was something further down. Pulling the sheet away I could see that my jammie bottoms were puffed out quite a bit, the yielding material was dragged into a ‘V’ shape magnifying what was underneath and I became aware of exactly what it was that felt so ‘different’. I ran my hand over the cotton bulge and could feel the slinky padding hugging my lower reaches. I drew my hand away in shock... just what the hell had happened to me? # A few days ago I received an email that said I’d won £3.5 million on the lottery. I knew it was a hoax, on the same scale as the African General who wants my banking details so he can deposit a vast sum in my account for some spurious reason. I clicked delete. Even though I knew I’d deleted it when I returned to my email it was still there. I read it again and it definitely said I’d won £3.5 million on the lottery. I re-read it a third time but on this occasion it said I COULD win £3.5 million if I played the lottery and it even had the numbers written out that I should use. This was strange because, although I’d played the lottery when it first started, using a selection of birthdays and ‘lucky numbers’, I’d never so much as won a penny. However, and I had no idea how this scam worked, the numbers I read on the email were the same numbers I’d used all those years ago... and I’m talking like twenty years back. I wasn’t going to be sucked into the lottery again so pressed delete. Two minutes later it popped up again, only this time the numbers had changed and I was told, if an email can tell you anything, that these were winning numbers for next week and I’d definitely win £3.5 million AT LEAST. For the rest of the afternoon, every time I returned to my mail, the message had reappeared but the numbers hadn’t changed. Although I knew it was a scam I couldn’t let it go. That night I had the most vivid of dreams that I’d won a huge amount of money (I had no idea how much but it was millions) and my life was so much more fun. For a guy in middle age, with few friends, few opportunities and even few chances of advancement in my dead-end job, the freedom my dream presented was glorious. So, come the morning and decided if the email was still there I’d invest in a lottery entry. I followed the link, used my credit card to secure the ridiculous (but hopeful) investment and used the numbers provided. Up came the information that on the Saturday night draw, there was £28 million that was definitely going to be won and I was thanked for my entry. “GOOD LUCK” Meanwhile, work didn’t get any better but at least the email had enabled me to dream of luxury I couldn’t afford but was sure I’d enjoy given the chance. It was silly I know, but as the weekend approached I was getting more and more excited about the draw because you could watch it live online. My Saturday nights usually follow a pretty unexciting formula of pizza and a few beers, whilst enjoying a movie or listening to the albums I’d collected since I was young. I’d slip on my headphones and happily sink back in time to when each song brought back a memory; a gig I’d seen, a TV programme I’d watched or a blockbuster I’d sat transfixed by at the local Odeon. Ah, nostalgia isn’t what it used to be... it’s actually better, well, for me anyway. Guess what... I won £7 million. # I mean, this bed isn’t mine. Well, it is, well something similar (though not the same) as the one I had as a kid. Also, I’ve never had a Paws Patrol duvet cover or a bed that crinkles when you move. I could now feel the waterproof sheet over my mattress as I took in more and more. The wallpaper was all Paws Patrol... someone must have had a fetish about this... whatever it was... I presume a TV programme for kids. Oh, that’s what these images are on my pyjamas... more Paws Patrol. This is stupid. I’m forty-five years old so... but the mirror on the closet door showed I wasn’t... staring back was a five or six year old little kid. I looked confused but snug in my PJs but there was no escaping the padding. How? Why? “Morning sunshine.” A woman with a South African accent walked into my room all cheery, drawing back the curtains before coming over to brush the hair from my forehead and giving me a morning kiss. “Exciting day for my little sunbeam,” she smiled encouragement, “but let’s have breakfast first and then I’ll get you ready for your first day at school.” Loads of things, confused things, were whirling around in my head and I wanted to say something ... mainly “who the hell are you?” but all that came out was a childish “Yes mama.” MAMA? She reached out her long elegant hand, softly took hold of mine and helped me from my bed. I rustled a little as I walked but it seemed normal as we wondered into the kitchen. “Good morning our clever little student.” I presume this was papa (?), who had a similar twang, was smiling and looking cheerfully over his morning paper. A baby girl, around two, whom I suspect was my sister and she just gurgled her “Hewwoo Stuud...” she failed to say student but beamed at me anyway. I automatically smiled and replied ‘Howzit‘ and patted her giggling head. A bowl was placed in front and cereal poured. As I ate my ‘parents’ were chatting enthusiastically about my first day of school in English but with quite a guttural accent. I had no idea who these people were but I was a little kid so they must be my parents. “Did you sleep well Davy boya?” Papa was asking that accent extending a word. I nodded but that padding around my groin told me that I’d at least wet it but, I assumed, if I wore it they must have been expecting me to use it so... However, I still was trying to work out what was going on because when I went to bed last night I was definitely a forty-five year old man, with an awful job at a company finance, a mortgage and... oh yes.... hadn’t I just come into some money? Was that a dream? Was this a dream? Yes, that’s what it must be because I’d been asked a question online hadn’t I. “When were you at your happiest?” # It had been a question that went alongside some of the info that winning a huge sum of money entailed. I assume they wanted to assess that I wouldn’t go off the rails with such a huge amount and that I was psychologically equipped to handle this fortune. As I’d never won anything before I wasn’t sure if these questions were reasonable or not but, as I was still euphoric about all that money, wasn’t that bothered about the morality or intrusion of such questions. I’d mentioned that I was happiest when I’d taken some time out after school to do voluntary work overseas. I’d spent just over a year working in South Africa with aid workers and other volunteers rebuilding villages that had been devastated by fire and drought. I’d helped build a school, which had been emotional when I saw all the eager little kids from the area in their beige uniforms of short and shirt, flocking to be educated. It was one of my most gratifying moments. On the back of that memory I also mentioned that I was also so excited about going to school when I was five. That first year was wonderful - all the friends I made, all the fun we had, all the great teachers who seemed to love us as much as our parents. It was such a lovely period of my childhood and had that euphoric feeling you wished lasted a lifetime. It then asked, in what I thought was a very frivolous way, if I’d give my £7 million back if I could have those days back. Of course, in the same flippant vein, I replied I’d give everything for a return to a more loving time. Oops!!! I looked up at my ‘parents’ and they were beaming with pride in having their son about to embark on his first day of school but I wondered why because these weren’t my actual parents. My actual father had left home when I was ten and died from TB seven years later. Mum remarried when I was thirteen, it was all OK but I got a job and left home when I was twenty. It was the job I still had and one I didn’t particularly like but it paid OK and better than no job at all. My fiancée decided at the wedding chapel she couldn’t go through with it and so, for the last fifteen years, I’d cut myself off from socialising and kept myself to myself. So, who wouldn’t crave a more loving time? Those queries had certainly opened me up a bit and perhaps it was the bottle of celebratory champagne I’d quaffed all to myself when I answered those questions that have led to... I looked at the date on ‘papa’s’ paper – it was NOW, not the date when I was five years old. How? what? why? erm... ohhhh! # I finished my bowl of cereal and mama smiled in a most loving way. “OK sweet-potato, let’s get you ready for your first day of school... exciting isn’t it?” A wriggled in my seat well aware of the soaked padding I was sitting in and then I remembered something more. When I had first started school I still wore nappies. I hadn’t mastered the potty at night and I’d worn a nappy for the first year in class. I was the only one but the teachers took it in their stride at every break to check I was dry, or change me if needed. Mama stripped me out of my Paws Patrol jammies, slipped me out of the wet padding, wiped me down and doused me in lotion and powder before applying a colourful thick disposable. “These are special fun pants for our little student,” she beamed (she was a very happy and pleasant lady whoever she was) to absorb more so you’ll need less changes by your lovely teachers... isn’t that nice?” Her accent wasn’t quite as thick as papa’s. “Yes mama, thanks mama.” I said as she opened up the plastic pants for me to step into then shuffled them up and over my special multi-coloured padding. “You’re going to have a wonderful time sweetheart, all those new friends... and papa says he’s so proud of you... we all are.” She tapped my padded bottom, went to the closet and pulled out my new uniform I was going to be so proud to wear. It meant I was growing up. The khaki shirt slipped over my head followed by my new matching shorts, which like the plastic pants, she shuffled over my padding. Hold on. I’m forty-five so I haven’t worn... erm... deeerrr... umm... Except, my old self was retreating in my memory as the prospect of starting that first day of school arrived. Photos were taken by my proud parents of me in a uniform and clutching a small Paws Patrol backpack. I guess I was a fan of Paws Patrol. My bedroom had not been my bedroom, the house hadn’t been my house, my parents hadn’t been my parents, except... everything was. So now I was ready for school, wearing shorts, shirt and no shoes, I wondered what else wasn’t mine but was. As the door opened, and the blast of hot air came flooding in, I realised I was about to start school in the South African bush. Not quite the more tribal area where I’d help re-build the school, this was rural but still urban. There were quite a few other kids my age all marching towards a low brick building further down the road – Nelson Mandela Laerskool. I excitedly greeted Menzi also starting today but Neo was still clutching her mother crying. I had no idea who these kids were but apparently I did. I spoke a welcome in Afrikkans and greeted others in English it looked like my school was going to be very diverse. It also looked like I wasn’t the only one going barefoot as we first timers nervously stood around wondering what we were supposed to do. Pretty soon a host of teachers came along, smiling and welcomed us all to our new class. It was at that moment when I apprehensively (and comprehensively) filled my luier. # “Well hallo Davy.” There were other greetings going on in English, Afrikkans, Zulu and several other local accents, as each new child was welcomed to their first class at their first school. “Hallo Miss.” She made herself known, “Miss Mbeki.” “Hallo Miss Mbeki,” I replied with a nervous smile but happy to be starting school. It meant I was now a big boy. “I’ll change you once we get everyone settled.” She whispered in my ear so no one else heard. I wasn’t sure how she knew but I suppose adults know these things which are a mystery to a... hold on a minute... I’m not a kid I’m, erm, a fort, thir, twen, erm, no, I’m five? # With the instruction to ‘Always Play Nicely’ echoing in our heads, we all went and found things to play with. Friends were sought out and new friends made as toys were enjoyed in the hot morning air. Meanwhile, I was gently guided to the back of the building where the toilets and changing rooms were. “OK Davy, you’re our first customer of the day,” Miss Mbeki smiled encouragement, “so, let’s get that wet thing off and you into something drier.” It didn’t seem to bother her I still wore aluier... I mean a nappy... we were supposed to mainly speak English but there were so many other languages, we all slipped into versions of our original tongue at times. Off came my shorts, plastic pants and ‘special’ nappy. “These are nice and thick Davy, your mama really looks after you.” A thorough wipe around followed by an equally comprehensive dousing in cream and powder was the first of many such treatments I’d be receiving in future. The replacement nappy felt even thicker but not as colourful. So, once everything was back in place and I was sent off to play, I couldn’t let that worry me. There was simply too much excitement to see and do in that playground. “Seven million, seven million, seven...” This thought was echoing around my head but had no idea what it might mean. I believed it was a number, and though I could count quite well seven million meant nothing special to me... yet it still was at the forefront of my head as we frolicked and amused ourselves. It was a glorious day, so we spent most of it outdoors and I made loads and loads and loads of friends. I played with anyone and everyone and had a great time. So good in fact that I didn’t want to hurry home but mama was waiting at the gate and I excited ran into her loving arms. “Mama,” I enthused, “it was the best day ever.” She smiled and hugged me close and murmured. “So seven million well spent?” Those words again but I had no idea what she was talking about but my nappy needed changing so I skipped, holding her hand, all the way back home. “Sweetie, you’re soaked.” I shrugged. I’d never been happier or more content. I loved mama, papa, my little sis and the teachers and all my new friends and... Mama kissed the top of my head as if she knew my thoughts and answered as she stroked my well-cushioned bottom. “And we love our sweet little padded boy... so let’s make this day even better.” She cleaned me up and put me in a similar colourful nappy to my little sister and left us to play together outside as she went to get snacks. Sis had a special swing she liked so I pushed her on that to happy squeals. Eventually mama came out with a tray and we sat on the grass in the warm late afternoon air whilst I excitedly told her about my first day. As I chatted animated by my own enthusiasm I rolled a ball between me and little sis. She giggled and, getting her co-ordination rolled it back as best she could. I was home, happy and content. I loved my family and they loved me... I couldn’t wait for school tomorrow. Mama smiled at us both. “I’ve been blessed with two of the cutest little sweethearts in the world.” We giggled back and then hugged her. She patted our padded bottoms. “Yes two little cuties I hope you always stay just as you are.” ### They didn’t know it but ‘little sis’ had also won seven million on the lottery and had answered the same question as Davy. When the people in charge found two that had enjoyed their younger years so much and were prepared to exchange money for such a life – the trade was made and they became brother and sister who would stay just as they were for ever.

So a fantasy of mine has always been to go 24/7, even if its only for a short period of time. 3 weeks from today is our tentative start date. Is there anything I should know going into it? Does anyone have a go to everyday diaper?

Hello to all the special people, who got (or want to get) urinary incontinent by wearing diapers 24/7. And hello also to all people, who are actually on this struggling way with incontinence desires... I

Sigh. Confession time! At the end of this past