oznl

Awww, I've said before, she gets a bad press here. This is because if you drew Venn diagrams between my nappies, her, and positive feedback there just isn't ANY intersection of those sets. There IS positive feedback from her. It just doesn't relate to nappies. I've still been impressed at her capacity to maintain her rage (or at least, a Mahatma Ghandi style position of passive aggression) for this long without either deciding to leave or giving in.

It’s never gotten to a money thing. This would be a tough line for her to run because of the massive asymmetry in our lifetime earnings. Although, after a late-career-life pandemic lay-off and the grim reality of being a white, male, aged middle manager from a major multinational in world dominated by woke HR and the resultant reality that I earn only a little now, the fact stands that the overwhelming majority of our marital fiscal pie came from my efforts. I’ve paid all the mortgages, paid her college tuition and built investments in her name. If THAT doesn’t work, then there’s always the counter-strike that there are more than 50 pairs of shoes in the house that we share and 3 pairs are mine… If THAT doesn't work, then there's the point that my nappies are much cheaper than alcohol addiction, drug addiction or ongoing therapy... I think it's always good to have a primary, secondary and tertiary escape plan.

Here in our sympathetic echo chamber we can lose sight about how far outside societal mores we have strayed. One of my beloved’s very last ageing ancestors, an antiquated aunty who was already slightly dotty when I first met her nearly forty years ago, had been, from the comfort of her very expensive and almost embarrassingly luxurious aged care facility, spending more and more time off with the pixies. We were aware that her dementia had been proceeding at pace and my beloved’s phone calls with her had been becoming more and more surreal. Recently, Aunty Dotty had decided that the aged residential facility in whose secure “high care” wing she now resided, was in fact a corporate headquarters and furthermore, she was its CEO. Apparently she’d been issuing managerial imperatives and unemployment threats against a range of staff. Before however she could proceed with the restructure of her business and presumably laying off most of her workers, she got pneumonia (again) precipitating the care facility calling the “next of kin” after packing her off in an ambulance. I listened to one half of the phone call from the aged care facility. When it concluded, I was duly briefed: both on Aunty’s C-suite antics at her “corporation” and the sudden hove into view of unplanned medical interventions. “She’s been admitted into hospital again but we’ve got a do-not-resuscitate directive now so if it comes to that, I’ll have to fly down for the funeral” my beloved informed me. That seemed a little harsh. It’s just a touch of pneumonia and as far as I could tell, she was otherwise very happy running her business. It was her “employees” that I felt sorry for. “Really?” I said. “I know she’s got a bit of dementia but she seems well enough. I didn’t think she was THAT far gone?” “Well it’s not just that. She’s TOTALLY incontinent now” my beloved explained. And that was that. Clearly her life was no longer worth living, at least in the eyes of her family. In fact I know that her care facility is completely geared for nappy-clad residents and probably, for reasons of safety and convenience, prefer them that way. Similarly, Aunty Dotty was troubled by her new padded underwear, after her own idiom, many around her would know. This was NOT a lady who was afraid to complain. I strongly suspected she hadn’t even noticed that going to the toilet had mysteriously become a thing of the past for her. On the face of it, it’s just her next of kin that’s decided that things can’t go on. I HAD to say something, despite my life experience telling me that saying something on the home front when silence is an option is rarely a great idea. “Well I’ve been in nappies for more than 5 years now and so unsurprisingly, there’s a bit of incontinence creeping in there. Does that mean I get a do-not-resuscitate label from you on the way past the admissions desk?” “Don’t be ridiculous” she replied in a clipped voice. Unsurprising. Also unsurprising was the immediate termination of discussion. With a theatrical sigh, she pointedly picked up her smartphone and proceeded to ignore me with it for what would otherwise have been, the balance of our conversation. My mentioning of my nappies and my emerging dependence on them precipitated the usual reaction: a complete shutdown of engagement. It was like somebody pushed the discussion off a cliff. Sitting forlornly in my new and unexpected breakfast table solitude (along with sitting in my reasonably wet night nappy), my imagination wandered forward a couple of decades: into the enlightened age whereby voluntary medical euthanasia decisions had been extended to family members of the perpetually bewildered. Doddering around in my late autumnal years, in defiance of ample evidence for cognitive decline I would still escape from my beloved’s supervision to “fix” things around the house. On day after a slip on a ladder, an expletive, a thud and sudden and unexpected ambulance ride, I found myself laying on a trolley in an ER, my beloved at my side. Men in white coats clustered around. They didn’t talk to me. I’d been finding it hard to find the correct words inside my head to use sometimes and the fall hadn’t helped this at all. “Mrs Oznl we’re sorry that Mr Oznl has suffered this fall but given his age and co-morbidities we’re wondering what your wishes are with respect to his medical interventions?” “Oh don’t worry dear, I mean, he’s TOTALLY INCONTINENT! I don’t think there’s really any point in him soldiering on.” “We respect your choice Mrs Oznl. It IS a nasty ankle sprain and he’d almost certainly need physiotherapy afterwards. We’ll cancel the x-rays and just give him something for the pain until the termination team can get down here from upstairs. We probably don’t even need to change him. They won’t be long and he’ll probably just use his nappy again anyway during the procedure. Most people do.” “Well at least he got the TV aerial fixed before it came to this!” Her position on this cannot be written off as a societal outlier. Since the introduction of voluntary assisted dying laws for the terminally ill in my jurisdiction, many individuals have nominated nappy dependence as the trigger point for them “pulling the plug” so to speak. The truncated conversation and the decision that triggered it writ large her thoughts on the matter: death before diapers. That’s what “normal” looks like apparently…

You've answered your own question: Burning “good” in the pursuit of “better” is a risky strategy 🤣 In my more cynical moments (and my baseline level of cynicism is fairly high to being with) I suspect that the secret to a successful marriage is low expectations. Whilst I myself know for a fact that I am a tungsten monument to perfection 🤣, I accept that my befuddled beloved may misconstrue her bedazzlement at my wonder as flaws on my part and yet she (largely) overlooks them. For my part, I’ve learned to accept that there are aspects to her that will simply never, ever improve. For example, irrespective of lecture, learnings or lived experience, she has zero mechanical sympathy for any device that she uses and consequentially is continually breaking stuff (cue the standard disclaimers: “It just fell off”, “It was like that when I found it” and “Why does everything bad that happens have to be my fault?”) We put up with each other’s imperfections and look at the relationship in terms of its overall balance sheet. If we’d expected an uninterrupted “hearts and flowers” frolic through a field of perpetual nirvana-like state of bliss the union would have carked it on the first rubbish bin night. The nappies are a huge number in the "debit" column however. She’ll trash a washing machine and a mattress every year and nymphomania sounds like a lot of work to me 🤣 Well it's a bit better if you're not the only idiot on the special bus to crazy town 🤣 I'm trying very hard not to regret it but my beloved has other ideas.

Sometime a little over a week ago, I think it was a Saturday, the odometer on my permanently nappy-clad life clocked over 5 years. Any chronologists reading may already have realised that my blog on this is already well more than 5 years old and so my life in nappies must also be more than 5 years. This is true. I went into nappies full time in late 2018 but this only lasted a little more than 2 months before I went back into grown up pants in order to spend a few weeks working integrated with a short holiday in the USA. It proved to be my last ever annual month-long pilgrimage there for work as the world, and my world in particular was going to implode in 2020 but I didn’t know that then. Furthermore, if I’d known then what I know now about how to wear nappies as a grown up, I wouldn’t have come out of them for that trip. It was the first week of April 2019 that I put on a BetterDry in the Qantas Club lounge bathrooms at Los Angeles airport to stay in them ever since and that was a little over 5 years ago. Five years would have seemed like an impossibly long time back then but here we are. I think I was downstairs painting a garage at the time our planet completed its fifth orbit of our star whilst I peed in my pants. I forgot to celebrate, or even to remember. I think that’s emblematic for how things look like to me right now. There isn’t much “nappy news” to see on a daily basis and frankly, it’s sometimes tough to think about what there might be left to write about them. Frankly, I’ve found it to be a curiously flat milestone although this may well just be my general mood. There’s a bit going on right now in the “rest of life” department. So many other things have changed in my life over this 5 years that it’s hard to work out what, if any, changes are nappy-related. I still think I’m happier in my nappy. It’s hard to be sure because I’ve largely forgotten what it’s like NOT to be in them. For sure the thought of taking them of does induce some low-level anxiety but who’s to say that this isn’t a natural anxiety in the face how accustomed I’ve become, both physiologically and mentally, to semi-automatically peeing myself. There’s also some legitimate anxiety about keeping the marital bed dry. Speaking of marital, I’m still married. It’s not been without collateral cost and I think at 5 years, I need to accept that I have all the tolerance and support that I’m ever going to get (ie: not much). She still hates my nappies which means she hates an aspect of me and that eats away at me like battery acid. I thought I’d be more resilient to that but rust never sleeps. Back on day zero I’d just assumed that if I ever lasted as impossibly long as 5 years in nappies, I’d be totally incontinent and the burden of choice would have been alleviated from me. I would no longer have to CHOOSE nappies, I would simply NEED them. That’s proved to be not quite true. What I have is nappy dependence. It means that I need nappies for simple practicality. I need to pee far too frequently and with far too much urgency to stray too far from a toilet. This is now to the point where it’s too burdensome to remain dry whilst conducting something resembling a normal day. My nappies let me operate like a normal person, or even on some levels a bit better. It’s ME who can sit through the whole “Dune” movie but at the end of the day, I’m in nappies because I have made a weird choice. I could retrain. I have still not escaped the responsibilities of my strange choices. Having said that, there’s been, quite recently, one or two glimmers of something that looks like incredibly mild incontinence. There have been damp sneezes. There’s the bedwetting thing but some part of me knows that paradoxically, this is some kind of deliberate behaviour, albeit “deliberate” at a subconscious level where logic and strategy don’t get much airtime. The occasional decision to pee without waking up is coming from my brain, not my bladder though. There’s probably some volition-worthy choice points I could make that would avoid my occasional bouts of night swimming. I’m just not sure what they are. So where to next? Five years isn’t really that long, only half as long as Ivan Denisovich’s Gulag sentence in Solzhenitsyn’s novel and generally speaking, in my Gulag the catering is better. Year 6 I suppose. Perhaps something interesting will happen then. “Interesting’ of course, may well be more in the context of the apocryphal Chinese curse than “engaging” but we’ll see.

Positivity and negativity towards a particular topic are objective terms. They become subjective when prefixed by “toxic”. Toxicity is pretty easy to test for in the science space but social toxicity is a value judgement projected by one group onto another that may or may not share those values via moral relativism. There’s no doubt that ABDL behaviours can be confronting to the social norm and that some degree of negative social sanction can be expected from the general population. In this particular self-selected demographic, the normative values are greatly skewed one way and it is unsurprising that the degree of sanction is high. The corollary of that is that a place like DD is another self-selected demographic and is skewed the other way. Is there an objective “correct”? I don’t know. I didn’t much like the neo-religious preoccupation with the negative: guilt, repression, fear etc. It doesn’t seem very psychologically helpful to me. It was an interesting perspective though.

And that's how it is now for me. Whilst not incontinent, if you ask me not to pee for anything more than an hour or so, that's liable to provoke catastrophic failure. I can be "continent" but I need a clear path to a toilet and zero delays. I truly wonder if we would EVER become incontinent by doing what we do (although dripping-on-sneeze the other day was something new). Having said that, if we were assessed by how able we were to stay dry under daily life challenges, would a practitioner consider us functionally incontinent (or heading towards such a state)? Be happy it wasn't a catastrophic blow-out. I've worn THAT t-shirt. All things being equal, I have full control. Throw variables such a too much of the wrong food into the mix and accidents may well happen now.

To get back to the original topic: Yeah..... Nah.... I don't think so. The politie just haven't considered her best camera angle when removing her. Even if we disregard Occam's razor, a modest tweak of image enhancement suggests a very distinct bum crack, the landscape for which is obscured by diapers. If you look at the fat deposition on her thighs, that would be consistent with the slightly puffy derriere. Of course, as others have said, if she WAS diapered, I'd expect sustainable hemp cloth under canvas pants, something like that 🤣

After more than 5 years of 24/7, I suffer from intermittent bed-wetting making night diapers mandatory and sufficient daytime frequency/urgency to make daytime diapers a practical necessity outside of the house. Here's a distillation of what I've learned: Your loved ones will most likely never understand, approve and, if you are unlucky enough, never tolerate your diapers, even after years You will be amazed (and likely horrified) at how much landfill you create Your diapers have a chilling effect (albeit reducable) on virtually every aspect of your life and will annoy you accordingly from time to time Diaper dependency takes a LOT longer than fan fiction tells you but hides in plain sight when it arrives (I'll get back to you later on "incontinence" if and when it ever arrives). Despite 1 – 4, You never want to come out of them I've used the second person pronoun "you" but that's not to say this will be your experience. It was just my experience. To continue with second person pronoun constructs, your mileage may vary 😆

So this weekend past I again dropped my beloved at the airport on Friday morning for a long weekend with her girlfriends interstate. Three days alone afforded me the strange kind of inverted opportunity that presents to those of us who chose to live their entire lives in nappies: the chance of sneakily spending a weekend NOT wearing nappies. Just to see what still works and what doesn’t. Not Friday though. There was a road trip involved and I know enough already to know that such an event would NOT end well, especially since I was to be driving my beloved’s car. Definitely nappies for THAT trip. After the early morning drop-and-kiss at the airport (you have 30 seconds before a parking storm-trooper strides purposely towards you with a clipboard), I needed to head about 1.5 hours drive up the coast to supervise some works at our other house in a Rearz Inspire+ Mega. The Rearz saw abundant, full use of the course of the day. I never even made it from the airport to the city limits without needing to wet it a little. When I came home early evening that day however took it off, had a shower and replaced it with a thin, close-to-useless, underwear-styled pull-up that I had laying about. I used a pull up because: (a) I couldn’t find my last known remaining pair of underpants (b) It was yet another rain-soaked weekend and I was trying to minimise washing, just in case accidents happened I then proceeded to pee in the toilet by sharp necessity every 60 minutes until bedtime. It wasn’t much pee but the urges went from “none” to “toilet NOW” in as little as 10 minutes. I then went to bed in that same (dry) pull-up. It was unlikely that this pull-up would handle a full-on bedwetting but I punted that it had enough to let me get away with at least one “leak” and I could just change it out for any further nocturnal emissions. I needed to avoid having to wash pee-soaked bedding as it was yet another rain-addled La Nina weather weekend. A full on wet bed would be a logistical problem. I woke suddenly at 2:24am and realised I was about to pee. I leapt out of bed and made a beeline for the toilet where ensued, a very slow and weak pee in the socially conventional location. It looked like however under the harsh glare of the bathroom light that I was possibly a little late to the game. I’d found my “equipment” was a little wet already upon extraction and there was a small wet spot at the inside front of my pull-up. I think it must have been a pee squirt that woke me whereupon I remembered that I wasn’t supposed to be doing that. I had to get up and pee again at 4:30 and again at 7am which sucked. I thought my pull-up was basically dry next morning but pulling it for a rather novel “upon arising” pee, I found the crotch to be suspiciously yellow at the front and that the wetness markers had disappeared there. It certainly wasn’t VERY wet but it had seen *some* action. I’m not sure if that was the fugitive squirt that happened at 2:30 before I’d actually realised what was about to happen (which would have to have been much bigger than I’d thought) or if there’d been some minor leakage later, or both. The next day was more of the same: I had to pee hourly with urgency. Each pee episode was weak, small and preceded by a veritable Mariachi band of urges. I didn’t bother trying to hold on to see if I would wet myself. I knew I would before long, that the process would be painful and trigger yet more washing. It was a pretty annoying day really, not helped by the fact that I was painting a garage. At some point during the day however, Queensland’s autumnal pollen-dump arrived bringing on my usual allergic reaction. After enduring a slightly sniffy and red-eyed hour or so, I sneezed violently, and unexpectedly. I also unexpectedly-and-simultanously squirted into my pull-up. I felt it plain as day and the perfunctory check for a wet spot in my pull up (there was one) was a mere formality. The weird thing was that I didn’t even need to pee! THAT’S new. I don’t have a post-partum body. I’ve leaked whilst coughing before but that’s always been in the context of being in, or close to, my “drip and dribble” zone whereby I’ve relaxed my pelvic floor and allowed myself to use my nappies near-reflexively. This was NOT the case here. I was concentrating on being continent and was (up until the sneeze), perfectly dry and wet myself a tiny bit uncontrollably anyway. I then went to bed that evening and proceeded to keep my pull-up dry all night be dint of being awoken by my bladder to get up and pee every two to three hours. As far as I could tell, I did not sleep wet at all overnight. Then Sunday arrived: another day of hourly peeing. How very, VERY tiresome. Mercifully, Sunday night rolled around and I taped myself into a BetterDry, fell into bed, woke up needing to pee at 2am and did so this time without getting up. I don’t remember any further pee events until Monday so presumably (on night 3), bedwetting returned. So that’s what things look like. That’s after 5 non-stop years of nappies and avoiding any bladder control. It’s not much of a result really: unreliable bedwetting and some frequency/urgency during the day. I guess you’d call it “dependency”. Perhaps instead of the “12 Month Guide” they should call it the “12 Year Guide” because that’s what the glide slope here looks like. This, after no less than 5 years of uninterrupted nappies. On that slight pee-whiff of failure, I’ll defer commenting further on the 5 year anniversary until another time…

There is absolutely no doubt that many ABDL are indeed fetishists: just not all of them. ABDL in general is pretty obscure so the 1% of us probably don't get a lot of mind-share. Yep, I think that's the "1%" club 🤣 I think it would be nigh on impossible to indulge a "fetish" 24 hours per day, 7 days per week for years, like trying to live on chocolate. Overtly, you’re question seems to be “why do so many refuse to accept the legitimacy of my incontinence?” but to me the flip side of that question-coin might be “why is it so important that others recognise my incontinence as legitimate?” I don’t have an answer for that question either by the way… I’m guessing the same minefield of Freudian taboos and powerful societal mores that put us where we are, put the other 99.99% of the population where THEY are. Down here, most states have recently introduced voluntary dying laws allowing selected (usually terminally ill) people the chance to pull the plug on their own terms (a right that in principle I fully support). I’ve been slightly stunned though, by the number of people who’ve cited their emergent need for nappies as a reason to pull that trigger. It runs that deep. I’d imagine it would be quite a polarising conversation to raise at a barbecue too.

I can 100% attest that night diapers are a highly effective therapy for nocturia. I have nocturia but I don't notice it. Some nights now, I even sleep through it 🤣 To be honest, the whole "loss of control" thing seemed fairly unimportant to me when it eventually arrived.

My first thought was AI generated content but that doesn't really stack up for analysis. I struggle to see how "rough" could be computationally confused with "rouge" (although I could see a path via optical character recognition and a dodgy piece of paper but I don't think that's how DailyMail steal their content). Even with text to speech translation, that seems like an unlikely error to make. I would posit that being the "Main Science Reporter" at the Daily Mail could be compared to being the Sous Chef at your local McDonalds however. It also raises the question, who is the NON-main science reporter? IR-Baboon? What is non-main science? So many questions 🤣

Yep. This kind of stuff is happening more frequently. The optimistic take is that after 5 years, contempt has overtaken familiarity. The pessimistic take is that this is cognitive decline and before long, we'll all be incontinent anyway although ironically sentenced to dysfunctional institutional bags of tissue paper. The "daily driver" selection is currently 100% Mega Inspire+ and I've gone numb to the expense. The "BeDry" is even MORE expensive (and has very limited availability). I don't know why Rearz are so prone to leaks at the rear thighs but it is something of a brand hallmark. The Inspire Mega will do it to but it takes much more provocation. With the Barry, it was routine.

I'm very fond of my folded and pinned terry square nappies but I'm a bit cautious with them during the day. If I'm just out shopping or whatever, I don't mind so much. I just make sure I'm in loose, dark clothing and always have compression pants over them (to help keep them up as well as provide a bit of visual stealth). I've never even considered attempting changing them outside the house. As you say, you really need to be laying down and there's a substantial real-estate requirement (not to mention the logistical challenges of dealing with the wet ones out in the wild). If I was going out with friends or colleagues however, I just don't dare use them. I don't think people would look at me and shriek "Oh my god, he's wearing a nappy!" but I definitely have a certain thickness in the relevant area, much more than usual. I use 60" x 60" and often use a 24" x 24" baby's terry as a stuffer if the terries in play are older/thinner ones. Regrettably, I am polar bear shaped and sized. The upside to this is I can get away with a fairly thick nappy but the terry ones would be pushing my luck. The few times I've been out in them I've had surprisingly few chafing issues. I've found plastic-head pins to be rubbish though.