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Cloth Diapers & Panties
For the Cloth Diaper Lovers and their Panties of choice.
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Posts
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By astrodiaper · Posted
Slugger. (Keep a ball and glove in your trunk. Attorney's advice.) -
By astrodiaper · Posted
I'm kind of one of those folks, except I'm on the opposite end of things. I am of the belief that not everyone wants eggs at 6 am. Having said that, I will do McDonalds or Carl's Jr. if I need to eat right away. If I wait an hour, I can do Sonic, but Sonic is inconsistent, especially with the buns. There are options for all menus, all day, but they're getting expensive or they just aren't around anymore. (Shari's, IHOP, etc...) I didn't get the sandwiches left behind in the break room, but I did end up going to Carl's Jr. (They got the steak breakfast burrito back! Yay!). I'll try the sandwich thing again this morning, provided I can remember to grab them. (Likely left behind by a guest, still wrapped. If I leave anything in the fridge that I want, I make sure that my name is all over it, so there is no doubt who it belongs to. I know I still risk it disappearing.) That actually sounds pretty good. -
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I found myself living alone this weekend past as my beloved abandoned my company for parties with the girls down in the big city. I don’t mind. I didn’t have to drive her there and back. In the “before” times (so long ago!) having the house to myself for a day or three was a golden opportunity for me to wear nappies continuously. Upon return from dropping her at the airport I’d make a beeline straight for the bedroom to pin myself into a terry nappy and plastic pants (I didn’t own any disposables) and proceed to remain in them (well, I’d change as and when need arose) until the last calculated moment that gave me sufficient time to launder, clean, disinfect and otherwise obliterate all evidence of my in-absentia sartorial choices before her return. Entering the “now” times, I wear nappies all the time anyway and so this modality flipped and so upon her departure, I’d often take OFF my nappy to see what happened. After a few years of deterioration, things flattened out to a fairly predictable stasis on that front. I would remain dry(ish) during the day but be plagued by the need for constant visits to the toilet that seemed to become more frequent and take longer to complete as more years rolled by but I could generally stay dry(ish). For the first night I wouldn’t sleep much. I’d miss the comfortable bulk of my nappy and have to get up at least three times to pee. Each nocturnal pee-break would be prequeled by an uncomfortable 45 minutes in bed trying to pretend I didn’t need to get up and postscripted with a 90 minute sleep exclusion window because after I get out of bed some part of my brain decides it must be morning. During the second night I would fall asleep heavily due to the previous night’s sleep deprivation and quite possibly wet the bed. As a tactile experience this is over-rated. Without a nappy on EVERYTHING under the blankets gets sodden and then it gets cools quickly after you’ve slept through the warm bit. It’s usually the cold that wakes me. More than once I’d wake to find my formerly warm and comfortable bed had become a cold wet swamp that I couldn’t fall back asleep in triggering a 3am start to the day and enormous laundry task. So nappy-free the nights weren’t much fun and neither were the days. It was unsurprising then that this weekend I just couldn’t be bothered. I thought instead that I’d take the opportunity to spend the weekend in cloth nappies. I don’t usually do this. Normally my weekends are close up with beloved and/or socialising and so consequentially are spent wearing disposables. This weekend I would be alone and having a bulky bum didn’t matter. It was a good idea to put some cloth karma back into the bank anyway to compensate for the erosion of the coming week’s cloth nappy days due to tradies being at work on our house. To inject some interest (and wring some further value from depreciated assets) I decided I would exercise some of my “misfit” cloth nappies: the ones that don’t see much action these days; the old ones that have wasted away critical amounts of padding in the tumble dryer, the ones that are too small, the ones where the Velcro has stopped working, the ones whose “whiteness” was nothing more than a dim memory, the ones that were probably just junk I shouldn’t have bought in the first place (looking at YOU Minappi Adult Towel Nappy). I’ll call these nappies my “dud duds”. Their various frailties meant these weren’t built for long haul flight but that didn’t matter. I’d just change as the need arose (so most likely more frequently) and forget about confining myself to a day shift/night shift combo with specific changing times. It wasn’t as though getting up from my chair halfway through a movie to change my nappy was going to attract any comment in my domestic solitude. A wet weekend followed. It turns out that I’ve become spectacularly poor at detecting “change your nappy soon” cues and so I (unintentionally) lingered in every nappy well past its operational limit. I generally knew I was wet. Cloth nappies are like that. The problem seemed to be that I’m by now so accustomed to using nappies that I often don’t truly notice I’m using my nappy and quickly lose track of just HOW wet I am. I operated daily upon the assumption that all was well in my nappy department until I noticed my jeans were wet: usually because they’d been wet long enough for the wet spots to grow past plastic-pant-covered skin and turn cold. I was finding out I needed a nappy change an hour after the furniture had figured it out. On Saturday night this dysfunction hit something of a low point as I was watching whatever I wanted on TV with unlimited red wine. My “drip and dribble” powers by now are truly awesome when seated comfortably. I was dimly aware that I was dripping and leaking more or less continuously down there but it took no effort mnor decision on my part and I was perfectly comfortable. I suspect this is what being catheterised or stented is like. I was impressed with how comfortable my ancient “DPF Velcro Diaper with Extra Padding” (circa AD2010) was and how well it was performing at what must surely be the end of its afternoon shift. It was doing great! It wasn’t as though I was going to take it to bed with me though. It wasn’t that kind of relationship. I planned to change before bed. It was only when I stood up to refill my glass and felt luke-warm pee run out of my plastic pants and down the inside of my legs that my attention was diverted from the screen to my clothes. My shorts were visibly wet. The bottom of my t-shirt was also wet and most ominously, my leather armchair was VERY wet. The DPF Diaper had tapped out long ago and sitting still, warm and comfortable, I simply hadn’t noticed, proceeding to pee into my favourite leather recliner via my shorts. I had to change. Everything. Then I had to wipe down the chair and go over it with leather cleaner. It was super-wet. Then I had to clean it again in the morning: properly, after the alcohol had worn off and after I’d stripped my wet bed. It wasn’t a “waking confused thinking that a rainstorm and an unfortunately positioned roof leak has drenched my bed” event. I made it all the way through until morning. The nappy I was wearing albeit a dud, had been put on fresh relatively late at night and I’d no doubts it would last. Rolling over I sat up to greet the dawn only to be puzzled by the cool wetness of another t-shirt stuck to my lower back. I couldn’t really blame my dud duds though. This nappy fail was really about dud application of dud duds. Hot tip #1: when you’re putting on your night nappy do it BEFORE you’ve drunk a flower vase of red wine. Hot tip #2: when putting on your plastic pants over you night nappy, actually pull them all the way so they cover your soon-to-be-pee-soaked nappy so that pee stays tucked up inside instead of seeping into the sheets beneath you and the t-shirt you are wearing. Hot tip #3: wear your dud duds whilst drunk to bed the night before bedding laundry day. It’s less incremental effort. Ok, I got that one right. So what did I learn from my weekend home alone? Under my default nappy management practice of wearing nappies over-engineered for the time I expect to be in them, my clock-based changing regime works quite well. Relying on detecting the need for ad hoc nappy changes as my dud duds approached their capability limits however didn’t work at all because I’m not remembering how much I have peed nor noticing how wet my nappy is. I can’t see my beloved assisting with periodic nappy checks any time soon so I’ll probably put the dud duds back into Narnia (at the back of my wardrobe) for now. -
Wow, you can tell hear how unreliable a narrator Gabby is in the other story, just by what parts of the dialog are excluded, or deliberately glossed over. Like, Gabby says she asked Tess if there was anywhere else Spike could go. She doesn't say that she says, "You're just inviting some little thug into my house without asking me." And she doesn't even mention (or maybe even register?) that the other option that Tess proposes is that she moves out. It's been great having a new chapter to start my day with here (you seem to release them when it's early- to mid-morning here). Thank you. Only downside is wanting more, and knowing you have to wait.
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