2011

Part 16 “There are a host of hormones that are crucial to the development and function of the brain. Some are well known for what they do and what they add in the way of mental clarity, synaptic plasticity and general cognitive roles that focuses the mind. There are areas of the brain that perform different tasks and add to the way we behave and the overall experience of each person’s life.” Dr. Thanakom Thongcharoen invested considerable time and effort to clarify that my son possesses cognitive differences from others, with a distinct mental composition. While the cause remains uncertain, he expressed optimism about identifying it through further study of John. “Currently, Mrs Benedict, John is demonstrating characteristics indicative of a unique and as yet undiagnosed condition.” The doctor looked both intense and happy with his analysis. He explained that as John was now, in a regressed state, which he’d apparently been in for over six hours, there was nothing normal about the way his brain, and the hormones that make it perform, were operating. He explained that this mix, this unidentified protein, seemed to be generated at the same time he relapsed because in those earlier studies, when he was his normal teenaged self, there was no indication of it at all. “As yet we don’t know the trigger that makes this happen, nor are we able to identify just exactly what that is,” he said pointing to the white spike on the otherwise colourful graph. # In the late afternoon when I arrived at the hospital to check that John had everything and wasn’t asking for me (yes, I know he’d said he’d be okay but I still worried). I’d been guided to a different ward, which I noticed was called the Dolphin Wing and was obviously set up for infants and toddlers. There, to my surprise, I was met with him happily sitting in a group of tots nursing on a bottle like the rest of them. I left him with that group of toddlers where he seemed happy to be in their company and doing what kids that age do. In the past I remembered that on more than one occasion he’d said that he’s more than content wearing just his nappy and being a kid again. The proof was how he was interacting there right in front of me. He was in the same gleeful state that I’d noticed him and Terry were when they’d both been sucking on those drugged dummies. I wondered if the doctor had administered some more chemicals to get him into that condition. On first appraisal I was surprised to see how much he had regressed, but his joyful squeal once he noticed me and eagerly waddled over for a hug made the moment feel quite intense. After I fussed over him and asked if he'd been behaving himself, he swayed just like young children do when they're being praised or want to share something important. “Yes mummy, Iza goo boy.” The soft, childish tone and his genuine timidity made me smile, which in turn made him happy as he returned it with his own huge grin. “Canna go back to ma fwends?” I nodded, masking my concern with a smile, and gave him a reassuring pat on his thick padding before sending him back to join the small group as they moved toys, stuffed animals, and blocks across a soft carpet clearly intended for play. His larger stature didn’t intimidate the younger children; they seemed equally cheerful, their voices filled with excitement—shouting, giggling, and squealing whenever something was constructed or knocked down. # “We’re just observing him for now because we don’t know when he’ll snap back to being his normal self.” Doctor Thana engaged me. “We’ve taken all the monitoring devises off as we wanted to see just how he manages himself in this state.” The doctor and the assistants were around but didn’t get involved with the play. There were also a couple of nurses keeping an eye on their patients who also only got involved if invited by the kids themselves. Occasionally one would just check when they noticed that a wet or messy nappy might be in need of urgent attention, otherwise they were left to it. This play area of the hospital was part of the Children’s Wing but purposely designed for the very young. I wondered why he’d been put here in particular but the doctor simply said that they were getting no further results from the sensors and he seemed to be getting bored. One of the assistants who’d worked on the Dolphin Wing in the past suggested he might like to join in with the other kids. So, here he was and had found an age group he was happy with, which in itself was, to the doctor at least, quite revealing. It was at this point that Doctor Thana invited me to his office to explain exactly what they knew... and what they had no idea about. # Of course, over the weeks and months since John had been anxious and begun to wet, I’ve worried about him. However, I admitted fairly early on that with mine and Avril’s encouragement we had more or less badgered him into taking part in wearing (and wax lyrical about wearing) nappies. We’d bombarded him with products, and, because he turned out to be very enthusiastic indeed, continued to treat him to a barrage of the latest line of Dreamtime merchandise, which turned out to be rather fetching, if juvenile items of clothing. Although I’d spoken about all this to my psychiatrist friend it was the first time I’d spoken in depth about it to Doctor Thana. “So, Mrs Benedict...” “Susan please...” “So, Susan, your son never objected to wearing a nappy once he started having nocturnal emissions before his exams... is that correct?” “Well, not really. He’s a very intelligent boy and realised it was something that would protect the bedding and help.” “But he didn’t protest?” The doctor queried. “Only half-heartedly and then, once he was wearing them to sleep in didn’t protest at all. In fact, said he slept better because he wasn’t worrying about waking up to a soaked bed, just a wet nappy.” As I spoke, I watched Doctor Thana carefully, noticing how his mind was working through the details I was sharing. He was intent on hearing the entire account, rather than just the portion we had previously provided—those focused solely on John's development after his encounter with the FruitiZucker. Up to that point, we had only briefly touched upon John's life prior to that pivotal event. With a sense of guilt weighing on me, I paused for a moment, took a deep breath, and prepared to continue. I was acutely aware that the doctor might place more than a little responsibility on my shoulders for the role I played in supporting John’s regression to toddler-like behaviour by simply his love of wearing nappies. In my head I’d tried to justify it but the more I researched John’s problem, the more I realised that although his desire to wear nappies and stuff may well have been there all along, by our actions, Avril and I had brought it well and truly to the fore. The Dreamtime promotion had certainly helped, but didn’t cause, his desire for more and more juvenile clothing and, because he looked so damn cute, I fostered its use. This onesie has a soft fluffiness that makes me never want to take it off. The zip up the back means someone else can be in charge of release and when it’s time for a nappy change. The matching-coloured fleecy nappies are thick and comfortable and once pinned on hug in the nicest possible way. There must have been warning signs going off all the time, and although I might have asked for clarification from Avril on one or two points, the fact I didn’t stop aiding what he was doing was down to me. # Eventually, after the entire history was out there, Doctor Thana looked at me and nodded. I wasn’t sure whether that was one of appreciation of coming clean or one acknowledging what a hopeless mother I am. He patted my hand, “I can see it has been a stressful time for you. But now I know everything… we might have a better chance at finding out how all this came to be.” “Really Doctor? You don’t think I’m to blame?” “For some people Mrs Ben... erm, Susan, the comfort and safety of nappies have a very strong pull on their mental state. Some, though not all, relate it to a time of happiness and a stressless existence, for example, when mummy and daddy were their world and everything was done for them.” I knew this already. Avril had hinted that need was real and Laura had been through it at great length but had come to conclusion that John simply loved his nappies and childish clothes. “I’m sure I’m not telling you anything new,” the doctor continued, “but you might not realise that this feeling, this need for a sort of safety blanket, can go back years and only appear at times of immense stress. I’m sure that, although it might not have appeared so, John’s exams, which he knew were very important, had been extremely stressful, more perhaps than he let on, and kicked up a wave of anxiety he wasn’t used to. The wet underwear feasibly the first sign” He was correct, I had heard all this before but it was confirming what Laura had said. However, what she didn’t know about was his slips into total regression. How he immersed himself in action and speech of a toddler. And then there was this graph, this significant spike that even the doctor was unsure of... so what significance was that? # Doctor Thana continued to explain what they did know but, when I asked him to explain that spike, he was less forthcoming because, as he’d already said, it was something he had never seen before. “It’s a white spike simply because it’s unknown. All indicators have come up with nothing to grade it against so... we are at the point of starting from scratch and who knows where this might lead?” I thought we were just going over old ground and not getting anywhere but he said that he needed to keep Johnny in overnight and watch how his sleep patterns fell. When he was unconscious did the spike disappear or was there further movement? I agreed to that but when we returned to the Dolphin Ward, all the little kids were sat having a meal at a small table and Johnny was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside them nursing a bottle. He was wearing just a t-shirt and a different fresh thick nappy from when I’d seen him earlier. Obviously, the nurses had to change him but he didn’t look out of place. I was very surprised that after all this time he hadn’t reverted back to being a teenager but again he beamed when he saw me. Sucking intently, he just carried on slurping back his drink like a happy toddler. “We need to get ahead of that spike,” I said perhaps a little unnecessarily. “My thoughts exactly,” Doctor Thana agreed. # Even knowing that he was surrounded by medical staff and specialists, the fact that he’d been in this regressive state longer now than I’d known was worrying. I had to ask the question had they given him something to induce this but Doctor Thana explained that during the process of being changed by one of his staff he’d simply slipped into his current juvenile state. He supposed that the action of having his nappy changed couldn’t be the trigger because he’d had to have them changed regularly since his arrival – on this one occasion the regression persisted. Later, when his toddler friends were taken back to their ward to sleep, John was steered towards a private room where he was put into his nighttime, extra thick nappy and attached to various pieces of electronic apparatus. The Doctor was very good at explaining to John in terms he might understand just what was happening and though it looked pretty scary to me, he seemed to keep his jolly, if childish, personality throughout. When John spoke it was in this very childish tone, which although coming out of a teenager’s mouth, now I was used to it, didn’t seem inappropriate. We talked for a while and he joyfully explained (in a babyish way) just what he and his ‘fwends’ had gotten up to and the towers he built only for them to fall down. He giggled as he recollected each event. He looked so small and vulnerable with wires coming from the helmet on his head and various other measuring device linked to him. Eventually, I could see he was getting tired and a nurse came in with a baby’s bottle of warm milk, which he sleepily nursed on as he slowly dropped off. Nothing. The barrage of equipment; the bleeps of his heart monitor, the pulsing waves on each screen, nothing changed and that white spike that eluded explanation stayed exactly where it was. The screen that depicted areas of activity in his brain remained in the same colourful pattern as it had for the best part of the day. They checked to be sure everything was working correctly but still no change. Whatever information was being gathered as he drifted off looked like it wasn’t going to help solve the mystery of my son. I stayed the night because I couldn’t possibly sleep at home knowing Johnny was still regressed. I called hubby and told him the situation and he wondered if he should be here as well but I told him I didn’t think it was necessary at the moment but I’d let him know if anything changed. I needed to be near my son and the Doctor agreed and asked me to let him know if there were any variations that I noticed. One of his assistants also hung around making notes on a chart and adjusting various sensors. We chatted a bit but it had been a long day and quickly our conversation, like Johnny, just slipped into silence. Every now and then I’d get up from holding his hand and check the various screens myself. I had no idea what I was looking at except the one that had the white line - it was the focus of everything. Once I’d seen for myself that nothing had changed, I sat back down and held his hand again hoping my presence would make a difference – it didn’t. # A nurse doing her rounds came in to check Johnny was okay and that he wasn’t wet, which guiltily I thought I should have checked, but she noticed he had his thumb in his mouth. I watched as she gently withdrew it and silently slipped a large dummy in place. I looked a little shocked remembering the FruitiZuckers but thankfully I was assured this one was untainted. “It’s simply a little bit more hygienic than his thumb,” she smiled kindly at her patient, “we don’t know where that thumb has been… do we?” I noticed the care and compassion as she watched to make sure he took to it. I was spellbound as he began a gentle sucking rhythm and his pulse rate continued its peaceful beat on the monitor. This was my baby boy, my teenage baby boy, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to change his circumstances. I looked across at the dozing assistant and just wished that they’d find a cure pretty soon as this was no way for a sixteen-year-old, with university prospects, to live the rest of his life. # I’m sure it’s the same for everyone my age but I’m panicking. Mum and dad don’t realise but they are always on at me to study harder as the upcoming exams will affect the rest of my life... or so they say. I’m not sure why they’re determined that I go to university, and land myself with a huge student loan that I will then have to pay off, but they seem to think it will all be worth it. So, here I am, frazzled and constantly tired, struggling to read and absorb the information in front of me. It feels as though I am expected to understand a vast array of things that I’m convinced will never be useful in my life. The pressure from my family is relentless; not only do my parents urge me on, but even my aunts, uncles, and cousins have joined in, offering their encouragement and support. Despite their good intentions, it’s become overwhelming, and truthfully, I am miserable with every moment of it. When not at school, angry, frustrated and annoyed by it all, I’m back in my bedroom, books open, no social life, feeling utterly depressed about everything yet still trying to be upbeat and on-the-ball for my parents – I don’t want to let them down. However, coursing through my body is a range of hormones, again, that I just don’t understand. Whatever they are they make my mind veer off to some abstract thought or some kind of sexual (I think it’s sexual) subject. Is waking up to sticky, messy pyjamas normal? The thing is, the more I worry about it, the worse it gets. I’ve even found myself in the middle of some dream realising that I’m about to wet the bed and have to rush off to the loo, surely that’s something else that can’t be right. A couple of times I’ve not made it and pjs or undies have found their way into an early but secret wash. I’ve been online to see if there’s any sort of resolution to this problem, or indeed if it is a problem for anyone else, and now my browser is inundated with adverts for incontinence products. Whilst I hate the intrusion and assumption, in truth it does seem the most sensible and instant way to protect myself from piss-soaked bedding; something I’m sure my parents wouldn’t be too sympathetic about and it would just be more pressure for me to become the clever son they obviously intend for me to be. It’s all too much pressure. How can something I do at my age now affect the rest of my life? If that’s the case... then why? I’m still in my mid-teens so why does what I do now mean everything for my future? Well, that’s according to my parents, teachers and the only people I seem to meet. I hate all this tension because it’s having a detrimental effect on my mind and body. It’s doing things I can’t control. My head is full of thoughts that I don’t understand and my body is leaking in response. I have no idea why. It was so much simpler when I was a little kid - I really wish I didn’t have this stress. Thank God for Bruce. He’s my only distraction and the only one who asks nothing more of me than a quick petting, a long relieving walk and a bowl full of food. I don’t have to hide my feelings from him because, whether this is stupid or not, I can tell him anything. My worries, my hopes, my absolute fears and how, to me at least, this is an awful age to be which are all met with a wag of the tail, a long lick of my face and eyes that say they trust me completely. Even this morning when I wet the bed and now can’t hide that fact from mum Bruce just nuzzles my crotch as if to say – don’t worry, all is well and I’m here for you. Maybe, once the exams are over, all this will stop and I can live a proper life without anxiety... be more dog. Yes indeed, thank god for Bruce. # I’d gone through a whole host of emotions as I sat through the night watching John with all the wires and devices attached to him. One minute I was concerned and wondered if I should wake up the sleeping assistant, the next relieved that he was so peaceful. Then he’d shuffle around and I worried he’d get tangled up in all the electronics but once he’d settled, I relaxed. I held his hand, wiped his brow, pushed the occasional stray hair from his forehead. I thought how sweet he looked when the nurse came and changed him but then guiltily remembered that wasn’t the aim. Still, I hadn’t detected any movement on the graph but I’m sure something must have happened somewhere. I wonder what is going on in John’s head. I always thought I could read my son like a book but this regression has me at a loss – I simply don’t know how I can help. Ever since he was little, he’s always been a loving and amenable boy. We’ve encouraged him to be his best but don't think we've put any more pressure on him than any other parent, he always seems to want to do his best. If this illness, or whatever it turns out to be, is all down to us I’ll be mortified. I want my boy back. I want him to be who he is not what he’s become but then again, what if what he’s become is who he is? I need to stop thinking in this way and try to stay positive. # Early morning and there was a sudden burst of activity. Another assistant came in, checked the monitors, made notes, chatted with the one who had stayed all night, nodded at me and began to release a sleepy-eyed John from his night’s wiry headgear. She was closely followed by a nurse who checked John over and decided that he’d filled his nappy so shooed us all out so she could change him with some degree of privacy. She looked over at me and gave me one of those looks that said, ‘This is for your own good’ and suggested it was an opportunity to grab something from the café and ‘freshen’ myself up. I took the hint. # “Now then young man.” The nurse was being as gentle as she could be. “Let’s get you out of this messy nappy and into something a lot nicer, shall we?” She’d already shuffled down the sheet and John was laid in bed but his hospital gown had ridden up and his thick, soiled nappy was on display via the slightly see-thru plastic pants. He giggled when she pulled a funny face and led him towards the bathroom. “Is mummy coming back?” He asked in that sweet little voice that weirdly still seemed fitting even from a teenage body. All the nurses and staff who had been in contact with John loved his sweet nature, his constantly happy personality and the fact he was no trouble... a model patient. The nurse reassured him, cooed and baby talked as she cleaned him up and slipped him into a more robust disposable and thicker, shinier plastic pants. “Fank u.” That small voice said as he hugged a stuffed doggie the nurse had passed to him. “Bwucie” he named him and joyfully jogged him up and down on his chest. “We need to keep our special little guy all safe and secure, don’t we?” She smiled as she rearranged his hospital gown back into place. “There we go... all neat and tidy and ready for some lovely brekkie, eh?” # This was such a classy hospital I was able to buy new knickers and t-shirt at the gift shop and for some reason that made me feel infinitely better. I arrived back feeling refreshed having had some breakfast, a couple of very strong coffees, spoke to hubby on the phone and explained that there was no change and finally had been able to take a shower. As I walked through the doorway, he was being fed breakfast by one of the nurses I hadn’t seen before. “Oh, hi, I’m John’s mother.” I introduced myself. “I can take over that if you have something else you need to be doing,” I offered. Thankfully John saw me straight away and threw out his arms as if he wanted to be picked up or hugged. I wanted to do both but another heaped spoonful was being directed towards his still chewing mouth. Some missed and slipped down on to a colourful plastic bib he was wearing, so that was handy. After a quick re-scooping the nurse replied “Well that’s very kind of you but it’s a real pleasure... he’s such a sweetie...” looking fondly at John she shovelled in another spoonful of cereal. He munched and smiled throughout the procedure. I felt a little like a spare cog but noticed that the assistant was no longer around and the machines weren’t registering anything so wondered what was happening. “Do you know where everyone’s gone?” I enquired of the nurse. “I think they’ve taken all the readings down to the Doctor’s office... they seemed excited about something.” She replied still giving her charge a heaped spoonful of what I thought were Corn Flakes, but I could be wrong. “Oh, that spike on the graph I suppose,” I added letting her know I knew what was going on. “Maybe,” she shrugged, “but it might be something else.” “Oh!” Was my confused reply. # I arrived unannounced at the Doctor’s office and the entire group of assistants were gathered around the main man sounding and looking excited about something judging by the enthusiastic chatter. He looked up and saw me and excitedly called over to join him. “There’s been a bit of a breakthrough...” he was pointing to the screen all his team were gathered around. “You know about the hormones and essential proteins we’ve discussed that go to make the brain function?” It was a question but I think he was hoping he wouldn’t have to remind me of them all. “Well, the analysis is back and what we’ve discovered is a new one... it seems to be an off shoot...” I could tell he was trying to keep it in laymen’s terms so as not to swamp me in medical babble. “It acts a little like Estrogen in the hippocampus but has formed a pact with Cortisol and with a little help... or hindrance... from a new enzyme has produced a Super Hormone which we haven’t seen before.” He looked at me hoping I was following but all the assistants were grinning because they were in at such a discovery. Doctor Thana spelt it out. “As we thought at the beginning, John is, as far as we know, unique.” He paused and the happy grin faded when he saw I wasn’t as excited as he was. “However, as this is causing John to regress, we need to find a way of reversing or blocking that hormones development, which unfortunately means we need to keep him here so we can track it for a while.” Despite all the happy faces around me a strange shiver ran up and down my spine and I had to ask the question I’d been dreading since I got back to John’s room. “Could this, this...” I took a deep breath. “Could this be permanent?” The assistant’s faces as well as the Doctor’s became frighteningly serious. “Erm, in truth Susan... we just don’t know yet.” He looked a little guilty, as if because he’d been excited at what had been discovered had overshadowed my concern. “We will try to back engineer as much as we can but at the moment, that enzyme and the way it reacts with all the other hormones... is John’s alone.” # This information left us no better off. However, something else happened that was quite unexpected. Terry came with me on one visit and sat with Johnny whilst I went off to chat to the Doctor. When he returned with me to John’s room Terry nervously admitted that as he’d also had a taste of the FruitiZucker that he was willing, if the doctor could keep it to himself, to undergo some tests. He felt guilty that John was going through all this on his own and hoped being checked out might help with any diagnosis. Bless him, he was a good friend to Johnny, and despite his initial reservations after the doc told him off for not coming forwards earlier sat through a barrage of tests that confirmed one thing... Terry was unaffected by the drugs and that he didn’t have that tell-tail white spike on his graph. Our boy remained unique but now Terry was implicated, but, despite John’s still juvenile status, he spent a great deal of his time being with his friend and for that we were very grateful. John spent a further three weeks in the hospital. In all that time, and despite the many, many tests and treatments they tried, he never recovered from being a toddler. With the assurance from Doctor Thana that they would continue to work on a solution we thought it best to bring him home. Terry visited him in hospital and was very sympathetic to the way John was. In fact, he joined him and many of the other kids playing in the Dolphin Ward... though without wearing a nappy. He had said in confidence that when he visited him at our house, he was more than happy to wear the same as Johnny so he didn’t feel different. To be honest… me, David and Terry had this chat the day before we brought John home and had a huge heart to heart. Terry reaffirmed his liking for wearing nappies, though kept that fact hidden from his family. He confirmed that when he and Johnny had played together after the FruitiZucker... and again after that session without the drugged dummy... how much he enjoyed his lapse into being little. He liked that escape and was pleased that our son had given him the experience and wished it to continue – if that wasn’t too weird. # Once John returned home, he and Terry became inseparable. Despite John's exceptional academic achievements and the bright future that once awaited him, he now spent his days with the mind and behaviours of a two-year-old. He would often be found contentedly sucking on a dummy, his large nappy visible beneath cheerful, colourful plastic pants. Terry was a devoted friend, visiting John as often as possible after school and on weekends, ensuring he was never alone. It was a comfort to know that, although John's well-earned university place was now out of reach, he had someone who truly understood and cared for him. I tried to keep myself positive but sadly the cure wasn’t forthcoming and I found myself with days where I’d spiral down and found it hard to cope. David was more centred and spent a great deal of time and energy making him toys and stuff that any toddler would be happy with. He kept me going, well him and the fact that there was never an unhappy moment from Johnny. Changing his nappy, or outside playing, he was always smiling and giggly and wanting to help. He and Bruce were the best of friends and was back sleeping in his bedroom like before all this began. We couldn’t let Johnny take him out on his own, even though he looked like a teenager, there were obvious problems of letting a two-year-old out alone. Thankfully, uncanny as it may seem, Bruce appeared to know what was happening and acted as defender and guide to his toddler mate. It was quite wonderful to see. We’ve tried to treat him as a teenager but he wets his pants and doesn’t realise it. He doesn’t like wearing certain clothes and takes them off as soon as he’s put in them so, we just put him in what’s comfortable for him... a nappy and a t-shirt when at home and shorts and a jumper if we go out. We have in our home a unique teenaged baby/toddler who has been written up in medical journals, been the subject of medical science and the source of a few new lectures that have made Dr. Thanakom Thongcharoen not only a specialist in his field but quite famous. He now has a new hormone named after him. I have no idea what the future holds for any of us but John is our son, and despite calls from some who think he should be a permanent exhibit for research purposes, we will look after him and keep him safe. We can only hope that Doctor Thana eventually finds a cure but, in the meantime, it’s playtime and Terry’s coming round. It’s such a nice day they can go out in the garden. I’ll get the toy box ready... and changing mat... and a selection of disposables and plastic pants... plus floppy Barney. With Johnny being in his current state I can’t tell you how incredible Terry has been and continues to interact at such a juvenile level. I know he’s also getting something from the situation but Johnny’s eyes light up whenever his best friend is there to play. Despite the circumstances I have loved to watch them both so carefree actually enjoying themselves. So, another day (and we take things day by day) and, with his best friend’s imminent arrival, I get to have two toddlers, who both love their nappies, to look after. It’s more work but there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my little boy and it appears neither would Terry. It may seem strange but, when they are both giggling and being silly, that infantile sound seems to make things not only bearable but actually acceptable. Who wouldn’t want to see their child happy? #### The End ####

Many people who chose to, or were made to stop wearing nappies will know that experience of total relief when finally getting to the toilet and having a much needed, really big poo and wee.... Some of us know that amazing anticipation of feeling the same urge when in a suitable situation, one where we're wearing a nappy or training briefs, in which were expected to wee or poo, in which it  is possible to just relax at the next natural wave of urgency and let a big poo go, we dont need to run to the toilet, the nappy is meant to hold weewee and poopoo so our clothes stay dry and clean until it's convenient to change into ANOTHER nappy! It's so nice, so convenient! This all provides the build-up, and multiple experiences lasting much longer,  several times greater, more comforting than using a toilet where other people have to wee and poo!   So, back to our nappies or training briefs, That first wave begins to release with no effort, we allow the internal pressure to finish forcing it into our safe nappies or training pants, enjoying the warmth and softness work its way along the route of least resistance in that snug space between our nappies and bottoms,  before bearing down to finish that first wave. It slowly caresses areas of sensitive skin, the mass can be felt and it's clear that an outwards bulge has formed and is being pressed more against our bodies by our nappy and PVC pants as the sensation of the next natural internal wave is felt building-up. This one waits for a more intentional release and additional push, I provide some well timed effort to turn that bulky tummy discomfort into even more warm, comforting squishyness in my nappy, where it joins the first poopoo . It feels realy, good, why dont all grown-ups do this? They dont know what theyre missing, it may pong a bit, but it's our own pong which we associate with the relief, warmth, soft, bulky and comfortably squishy poopoo, which our nappies, or full cut briefs are intended to contain!

Act IV 99. My Perfect Moment Weeks passed. For a couple of days I was half expecting to hear from Tess that the boy who kept bothering her had stopped paying so much attention; or that he had said something to make her uncomfortable. Either way would have been fine with me, but whatever happened, I didn’t hear about it. The best guess I had was that he was quietly backing off, but she didn’t think that was worth mentioning. But I knew that there was still something going on. It started to get under my skin that there were things going on in my house that I didn’t know about. I could keep on watching Tess and Ffrances whenever they found time to indulge their little sides, and I knew I only had myself to blame for them not wanting to tell me about that. But I knew there was another secret as well. I started to wonder if I’d done something wrong, that Tess didn’t feel she could confide in me. Or was she so stuck in the mindset of trying to be grown-up that she didn’t feel like she could ask for help? That really hurt. I’d told her pretty soon after she moved in that there would be no secrets here. This was a house where we could all trust each other, and the easiest way to do that was if we knew everything that was going on. Even if she hadn’t meant it as a direct insult, I was sure that Tess should be telling me all about her problems, because she was still my little and I knew she would need my help so that she could actually deal with those problems. And I knew that I had to get her to talk to me before I could punish her for lying; but that was going to be hard anyway, because I couldn’t admit how closely I’d been watching her. I decided that she would feel better after another wet night; just to remind her that she was supposed to let the grown-ups deal with everything. She’d been back over a week by that point, and hadn’t had an accident yet, so I could imagine that was the real cause of her worries. But after that, when I went into the nursery to top up the supply of diapers in the changing table drawers, I found something that I really hadn’t been expecting. There were new diapers in there; not the ones I had bought her. I didn’t understand how that could have happened; was I not giving my baby enough? But again, there was no easy way for me to mention it, without having to explain that I had been tidying up her room while she was out. But the part I really didn’t understand was that these diapers weren’t even cute. There was no childish print, no baby trappings at all. They looked more like something that an elderly patient at a retirement home would be resigned to, with the company name printed in a dozen different places and a thick blue line that had to be a wetness indicator. Why would she wear something like that, when she already had soi many designs to choose from? It wouldn’t make her feel cute at all, and that was a problem because it would make it a lot harder for her to automatically drop into her littlespace when she wore one. I couldn’t understand why she would buy something like that, so much less effective, when she already had such a wide selection. It was a lot later in the day that the answer came to me, and then I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t seen it sooner. She was always trying to do things by herself, that was almost a defining characteristic of Tess. So of course she wouldn’t take it for granted that I would keep on replacing her diapers. She didn’t want to ask, so she’d looked for somewhere she could buy some of her own. Maybe she was even hoping to convince me that she had stopped needing them, if she had a new supply that I didn’t know anything about. I didn’t think that was likely at all, but it certainly wasn’t impossible. I wanted to talk to her about this new problem, but I knew that I couldn’t. There wasn’t anything that I could say without sounding like I was spying on her, and that was the last thing that I wanted. Still, she wasn’t talking about moving into the spare room from the nursery; I knew that she was slowly accepting herself as a little, and I didn’t want to risk that in any way. So I just watched,m and made an effort to keep an eye on what they were doing in my absence. And as far as the medical diapers went, I could only try to discourage her from using them. I formed the plan slowly, a bunch of small steps that wouldn’t make anything too obvious. I just paid a little more attention as we were heading to bed in the evenings. Tess still had the first posthypnotic suggestion, from our adventures taking photos in the garden. She would feel and act a little more childish if she was dressed childishly, which meant that if I learned to recognise when she was happy, when she was sad, or when she was nervous, I could see the subtle nuances that told me whether she was wearing a childish pull-up or one of the ugly adult diapers. And if I saw her on the landing after she had gotten changed for bed, that was the perfect opportunity for me to remind her that she was going to wet the bed tonight. It was always a surprise for her; she could trust me to do what was best for her without telling her the details. Sometimes I would tell her to wet without regressing; sometimes she would wet herself in the night like a baby. Sometimes she would wake up dry and then have an accident before she could get to the bathroom in the morning, and those times I made sure not to make her feel any more childish than she already did. I was hoping that she was at least aware of her own needs, and that she would come to realise by herself that she was waking up wet a lot more often since she had started buying her own diapers. If she started to suspect that they were making her problem worse – perhaps because wetting the bed in those things felt more shameful than still being a child – then she might try to indulge a little less, and to take the precautions she really needed. We occasionally played during the day as well. She would wear a romper or playsuit, and we could veg out in front of the TV to watch cartoons, or classic movies that I remembered from my childhood. Or I might make her something more age-appropriate for dinner, like a big bucket of turkey unicorns, and she wouldn’t protest as I treated her like a child. I always praised her, always reassured her that the relaxation she got on those days would help her to cope with the stresses of school. And maybe she believed me, if she noticed that she would almost never wet the bed if she’d been my little one in the evening. It was just one more reason for her to play along, until that headspace was so natural to her that she wouldn’t think of striving for adulthood any longer. I made small changes. And at the same time, I knew that there were other things I needed to be dealing with. Things I had been putting off for too long, but didn’t really know where to start with. But I didn’t say anything. I was happy to see our little family slowly progressing, Tess following a clear path to who she was supposed to be. It was going to be perfect when we were all together and all content in our different roles. All that changed one night when we were sitting in front of the television watching a movie that dated to the late nineties, starring a German guy whose name I would never be able to pronounce correctly, let alone remember. It was clear that he was trying to be the next Hasselhof, perhaps a decade too late, and he had the right figure even if his attempt to mimic the accent left a lot to be desired. Ffrances and Tess were debating the plot of the movie, able to ignore the apparent cardboard scenery and dialogue that sounded like the writing team didn’t have any languages in common. Ffrances was keen to point out that this wasn’t, in fact, based on the works of genius author MK; but was a half-hearted attempt to cash in on the popularity that some of the movies had recently seen in central Europe. Still, it was interesting for them to discuss where in the Millhouse Underground timeline this story could conceivably have been set. I could follow some of the discussion, but I’d been finding lately that for everything I learned about those comic books, there were a dozen more things that I was completely blind to. “There was a series with Nicholas Tesla and the Metrozzi boys, wasn’t there?” Tess mused. “Incandescent Ring? I’ve not seen that one, only the New Ark versions, but it makes sense if the dragons haven’t returned yet.” “You’ve got a point,” Ffrances nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll have to lend you my copy of the three rings sometime. They’re roughly based on a translation of the Ark series, but adapted to retain continuity with the main canon. Binding Ring is the Bronze Ark storyline, while Incandescent is closer to the events of Silver. Of course, you could probably get the new version. There’s revised editions with new titles about six months ago, but they haven’t been the easiest to get your hands on. We’re not really sure…” I was trying to pay attention, I really was. But when the conversation drifted into an old standalone story, and its reimagining into the main Millhouse Underground universe, and a reboot with all new titles, I knew there would be more different titles than I could keep straight in my head. I would still have tried, but a vibration from my phone at that point told me that somebody might have something I needed to know. It turned out to be a message from TheAuthorsLittleSister. I almost skipped away from it again when I saw that it wasn’t about the next chapter of The Baby Button, delayed again because her tyrannical boss had been putting more and more pressure on her. But although this post didn’t give a date for the story, it was something vastly more interesting. Something so amazing that I couldn’t believe it, and had to double check that I wasn’t being pranked somehow. I tapped out a message as fast as I could, and then glanced up guiltily with the realisation that I hadn’t heard anything Ffrances was saying for the last ten minutes. “That sounds incredible,” Tess said. “Think Isaac likes me enough to let me order a copy?” “I don’t know, he’s an odd bird. But seeing you so excited, I think I can help you lay your hands on a copy. Assuming I can find it myself. I mean, Broken Ring is a real work of genius, and if they’re following the same pattern in the remake…” For a moment my train of thought twitched back onto the track it needed to be on. I’d thought I didn’t know anything, but I was more in touch that I’d ever dared to imagine. Broken Ring was a comic that I’d already heard of; and one of very few that had been recommended to me by someone other than Ffrances. I already knew that its remake, Unterminated Ring, was going to be a big surprise for long standing fans, even if I hadn’t heard that many rumours about why. And that was the perfect moment for me. I had realised how a comic book plot might give me the chance to turn our little family around, and to make sure that it grew into exactly what I wanted most.

Good chapter .

Ocean Spray Ruby Red and Cran-Raspberry