Latest News and Updates

I also use Tena.  I found Super Proskin to be pretty cheap and actually last a long time.  They are cloth.  Showing about $1.21 for 14. I tried ATN sometime before covid and kind of didn't like them.  Ahh, I see they were the cloth backed ones, look like plastic also available.  

The other day I was very bad and used a toilet to go pee. I needed to go to the movies soon and decided I needed some form of a punishment. I don’t like pooping in my diaper because it’s too stinky so I decided to try a huge bowl of oatmeal and plop that in my diaper. I let it cool down a tiny a bit but still left it a little warm and plopped it in my diaper. It felt so nice and like a really mushy poo. I got dressed with a onesie and really baggy pants. I put a belt on but put the buckle at the back so I couldn’t undo it. Finally it was movie time! I ordered 2 large pops and chugged them both. When I sat down for the first time I felt the oatmeal squish all over my diaper area which was glorious. Midway through the movie and the oatmeal had hardened a lot. Luckily the 2 pops kicked in and I flooded my diaper and I felt the oatmeal mush back up again and the diaper swell so tightly. By the time the movie ended I was a full boy and need to go home for a change. 

"ooh I can't wait to meet him mommy he sounds so cool" ry said in excitement as he ran up to nanny lyn "so mommy do I get to meet him later" ry asked. "Thank you so much mommy this is really nice and I can't wait to meet ace truly" Lucas said wiggling his padded robot soon.

This how I got started in my love of soiling myself. I was walking home from high school one day and the sudden urge to poo came on. As I got closer there was no holding it back and the poo piled up into my tighty whities. I spent the next kilometer walking with a huge load in my pants. I never looked back after that. 

This is a big chapter. I want the conflict between Reggie wanting to be treated like an adult and his need for comfort to build in this chapter. Chapter 9: Dr. Olson Dr. Olson’s name still tightened something in my chest. She almost always sided with my mother, even when she dressed it up as medical advice. Going to her didn’t feel like help. It felt like the next step in something that was already going wrong. I knew this would be bad. I just couldn’t imagine what worse would look like. Mom led me to the car, opened the back door, and said, “Get in, honey. I need to buckle you into your seat.” I hated that seat. Being strapped into a child’s car seat was humiliating. I whined, “Do I have to? Can’t I just sit in the regular back seat?” “No. You know the rules. I’m tired of you whining about it. You’re too small, and the law says you need a car seat.” “That law is for kids under eight.” “So what? You’re not big enough for a regular seat.” “But I’m not eight.” Mom sighed. “Enough. Stop being fussy. The car doesn’t know how old you are, and I’m not arguing about this. Mommy says you’re riding in the car seat, so get in.” I wasn’t going to win, and the longer I dragged it out, the worse this would get. I climbed in and let Mom buckle me into the car seat. Then she slipped a pacifier into my mouth and said, “Since you’re fussy, suck on this until we get to Dr. Olson’s office. Mommy expects you to behave when we get there.” Dr. Olson’s practice was one suite in a larger medical complex, the kind of low-rise building with a row of offices and specialties under one roof. The whole complex was always busy, with people constantly coming and going. It was a long walk to Dr. Olson’s office, and I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. It got even worse when Mom unfolded the stroller. She let me out of the car seat, steered me toward it, and said in a sing-song voice, “Sit down. Mommy needs to take you to the doctor.” “Mom, I’m not a baby. I’m not sitting in that stroller.” Mom didn’t hesitate. “I’ll stop treating you like a baby when you stop acting like one. Mommy let you walk yesterday, and you went straight into the road. Get in the stroller.” I was losing, and I knew it. No matter what, nobody would see me as an adult. All they would see was a little boy in diapers throwing a tantrum on the way to the doctor. My mom would explain it away, and everyone would believe her. I reluctantly climbed into the stroller and whined, “People will see me.” “I don’t care. You can’t run into traffic from a stroller.” The closer we got to the building, the more I felt like I was on display. Some people noticed. We had to take the elevator to the second floor, and an older woman joined us. She looked at the stroller, then at me, and said, “He looks a little big for that, doesn’t he?” Mom barely reacted. “It’s for safety. He tends to run off, and this keeps him safe.” The woman nodded as if that proved her point. “Well, you do what you have to, I suppose. Young mothers today make everything so complicated. When my children acted up, they got one swat and learned not to do it again.” She looked at me again, then added, “Though I suppose grandmothers have to work with whatever rules the parents give them.” Mom gave her a polite little smile. “Something like that.” The woman glanced at the diaper bag hanging from the handles. “Honestly, I think half the problem these days is that people baby children too long. Big strollers, special snacks, diapers till kindergarten. Then everyone wonders why they don’t listen.” I stared at the elevator doors and said nothing. She went on, “My grandson tried running off exactly once. After that, he knew better. Children need firmness, not all this gentle-parenting nonsense.” Mom just smiled politely until the doors opened and let us out. Dr. Olson’s office was part of a large pediatric practice, with several other pediatricians working under her. The waiting room was bright and child-friendly, with little tables and toys for kids to play with. Since it was such a large practice, there were always lots of kids waiting to see a doctor. Most of them were preschoolers, or even younger, but some were elementary-school age. Even though the waiting room was busy, the stroller made me stand out. The little kids didn’t care, but a few mothers glanced over, and the bigger kids just kept staring at me. Stacy told me that some of her friends had been jealous when they saw me in my stroller. I couldn’t understand it, but maybe that was why they were staring. Mom checked us in. The receptionist glanced at the screen, then at me, and did a quick double take before handing my mother the paperwork. She said, “Dr. Olson will see you in a few minutes, just have a seat.” Mom found a seat and asked, “Do you want to stay where you are, or go play at the table?” I wasn’t about to sit at a children’s table, and I wasn’t in the mood to move. “I’ll stay here.” I stayed put and sucked on my pacifier until Dr. Olson called for us. When they finally called us back, Dr. Olson came out to the waiting room, which never happened before. Usually, a medical assistant took me back first. Mom stood up with me, but Dr. Olson stopped her. “Linda, I need to see Reggie privately. You’ll have to wait out here.” Mom looked startled. “What? I’d like to know what’s going on.” Dr. Olson explained, “I understand, but Reggie is technically an adult, and I need to see him alone, especially given the situation we’re dealing with.” My mom hesitated. “Okay, Debbie. Just let me know what you find.” Dr. Olson sighed. “Linda, you know I can’t do that. Just trust me.” Mom pressed her lips together, then looked at me. “All right. Reggie, be good for Dr. Olson. Don’t give her any trouble.” Dr. Olson led me through the doors and into the hall herself. For the first time since I got home, I felt a flicker of relief. She had sent my mother away. She was speaking to me, not over me. Maybe it would be different this time. She brought me into an exam room and shut the door behind us. She said, “Sit down, Reggie,” and for once it sounded like she meant me. Not my mother. Not the chart. Me. I sat on the paper-covered table and waited for her to say something reassuring, or at least ask what had happened in my own words. Then she pressed a hand against my diaper, frowned slightly, and asked, “Reggie, why didn’t you tell me you were wet?” Just like that, I felt like the same little boy my mother thought I was. I shrugged. “I didn’t think it mattered.” Dr. Olson sighed and turned to her assistant. “Let’s get him changed before we weigh him. I want an accurate weight.” Her assistant looked close to my age, maybe even younger. But she was 5’9”, which in my family might as well have been gigantic. I liked looking at her, though I wasn’t really sure why. A moment later, she came over and introduced herself. “Hi, Reggie. My name is Rachel. Let’s get you changed, and then we can get your weight.” She looked at me and added, “It’s hard to believe you’re really twenty-four. That’s older than me.” I blushed. “I know. I’ve dealt with it all my life.” Rachel winced. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that.” I asked, “And none of this seemed strange to you? The diapers, all of it?” Rachel hesitated. “Dr. Olson warned me ahead of time.” “What did she tell you?” Rachel shifted her weight. “She said your mom has a... specific way of handling things. I’m not sure I understand all of it, but if Dr. Olson thinks it’s necessary, I guess there’s a reason.” I cried, “It’s not! I don’t need diapers.” Rachel didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know, maybe Dr. Olson will agree with you.” I pulled back as she continued. “Please don’t, I don’t need this.” Rachel hesitated, looking uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Reggie, but this is how we’re supposed to handle it. If you come in wearing one, I have to put a clean one on you.” She paused, then added more quietly, “I’m not trying to embarrass you.” She changed my diaper, and then I stepped onto the scale and watched it settle at sixty-five pounds. Rachel said, “Sixty-five pounds.” I remarked, “My mom weighed me last week, and I was sixty-two.” Rachel frowned slightly. “Home scales aren’t as accurate as this one, but either way, that’s still underweight.” Then she led me to a small waiting area and said, “Let’s wait here for Dr. Olson.” That part was strange. Usually, they left patients alone in the exam room, but Rachel stayed nearby, not exactly hovering, just lingering like she didn’t quite feel right walking away. A few minutes later, Dr. Olson came in, and Rachel gave me a small smile. “Okay, I’ll leave you with Dr. Olson, and thank you for being such a sweetie.” The door had barely closed behind her before I said, “She talks to me like I’m five.” Dr. Olson gave a small shrug. “I’m sorry, but I’m not surprised. Between your size and the diapers, it’s hard for people not to see you as a child.” I wanted to push back, but this wasn’t the moment. I needed Dr. Olson to understand that none of this was necessary. Rachel was only trying to be nice, and even though the maternal tone got on my nerves,  I was grateful that she stayed. Dr. Olson asked, “All right, Reggie. Tell me what’s been going on. What made you come in today?” I replied, “I’m only here because my mom brought me. What did she tell you?” “She said you lost your job, came home in a pretty vulnerable state, and that she put you back in diapers because you weren’t using the toilet independently.” I protested, “That’s not true! She never gave me a chance. She started treating me like a baby the minute I got home.” Dr. Olson gave me a measured look. “Reggie, there’s no need to get upset.” She let that sit for a moment, then said, “Let’s start with the basics. Before you came home, were you still wetting yourself at all?” I hemmed, “Not really.” Dr. Olson gave me a steady look. “Reggie, don’t hedge with me. Your mother told me you arrived at her house wearing a wet Pull-up. Is that true?” I couldn’t make myself say it, but I nodded. Dr. Olson held my gaze. “All right. Then you were already wet before you got to your mother’s house. She also said your Pull-up was leaking when you got there. Is that true?” “No!” “Then someone is lying. Is it you or your mother?” I knew Dr. Olson would repeat anything I said to my mom, so I backed down. “It didn’t happen until she put me in timeout.” She frowned. “Why would that happen?” “I was mad, and I wet my pants.” “So, you still have accidents when you’re stressed.” I admitted, “Kind of, but I was doing better. Before last week, I’d gone almost six months without an accident.” It felt dumb saying it like that. Six months without an accident wasn’t much of an accomplishment for a twenty-four-year-old. Dr. Olson paused, studying me as if she’d already decided what mattered and was only sorting out the order. Then she said, “How many times this week?” I replied, “Three, I think. But that was on the plane. We were landing, and I didn’t want to use the bathroom.” I expected her to ask why. Instead, she said, “I see. Then why were you wearing one in the first place?” Heat rushed into my face. “Because I had an accident at the airport.” “Why?” “They weren’t going to let me on the plane, and no one believed me when I told them I was an adult.” I meant to sound calm, but it sounded like I was whining about it. “Okay, so you had an accident because you were upset. You said you were doing better. Were there any others last week?” I didn’t want to tell her the truth, but she pressed, “Reggie, I need the truth.” I looked down. “I had one after they laid me off.” “Was that because you were afraid of what came next?” I nodded. “Was that the only one?” I shook my head. “There were a couple more that night.” Dr. Olson’s expression softened. “I’m sorry, Reggie. That must have felt overwhelming.” Relief flickered through me, brief and foolish, before she added, “But why didn’t you change your Pull-up before you left for your mother’s house?” I just shrugged. I’m not sure I knew then, and I’m still not sure. I ask myself that question all the time. Maybe none of this would have happened if I had changed my Pull-up at Charlotte’s house. Maybe that was the moment Mom saw me as a helpless baby. But deep down, I don’t know if it would’ve changed anything. Personally, I think she planned this all along.  She was going to do this, no matter what I did. Dr. Olson didn’t push. She just wrote something on her pad and asked, “Why do you think you wet your pants when you’re under stress?” I couldn’t stop the bitterness and snapped, “I don’t know, you’re the doctor. You tell me.” If she heard the edge in my voice, she didn’t react. She just kept going like I hadn’t said anything. “I’ve always thought there was a psychosomatic piece to this. Stress gets into the body. Sometimes it comes out in ways you can’t stop, no matter how hard you try.” She went on in the same matter-of-fact tone. “You’re sixty-five pounds. That’s about ten pounds below where I’d want you. I’m concerned about your eating habits. What were you eating in New York?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. Mostly pizza, sometimes hot dogs.” She let out a quiet sigh. “So basically junk. What were you drinking?” “Soda.” “How much?” I was ashamed of how much soda I drank. I knew it was bad for me, but I liked it. “I don’t know, like two or three a day.” She gave me a look. “That’s too much for anyone, especially you. Any alcohol?” I shook my head. “No. I tried it a couple of times, but I don’t like it.” She nodded once. “That’s good. In your condition, alcohol is very dangerous.” I asked, “So, do you think my mom’s right? That I’m just supposed to let her do this? That this is what I’m supposed to be now, or something?” Dr. Olson didn’t answer right away. She just sat with it for a second. “No. I think your mother needs to remember that you’re an adult. And I think you need to remember that too.” She looked at me for a moment, like she was trying to see past what was right in front of her. “Why did you go back home?” I gave a small shrug. “Because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I lost my job, and nobody takes me seriously. How am I supposed to get another one when everyone who sees me thinks I’m just a kid?” Dr. Olson nodded slowly. “That makes sense. I’ll admit, I hadn’t really thought that part through. From the outside, going back to your Mom felt like a strange choice, especially knowing the history there. I felt the same way when Charlotte moved back after Covid. But no; your mother should not be treating you like this.” I swallowed. “Can you tell her that? She’ll never believe me.” Saying it out loud made me feel small. Dr. Olson nodded. “Well, if it’s all right with you, I’ll have your mom come in and we can tell her.” I nodded, “Yeah, please do.” Dr. Olson left, and for the first time since any of this had happened, I was alone without being confined in my crib or highchair. I could have just gotten up and left. My mom might have tried to stop me, but that would have created a scene, which I knew she wanted to avoid. Part of me wanted to run, but I was afraid to make things worse. And underneath that, I felt a twinge of hope. I wasn’t sure my mom would listen to Dr. Olson, but it was the first real hope I’d had, and I couldn’t quite let go of it. A few minutes later, my mom returned with Dr. Olson. Dr. Olson told her, “Please, have a seat.” My mother sat beside me, close enough to make me uneasy. Dr. Olson folded her hands and spoke in a calm, measured voice. “I understand why you’ve been handling things this way, but I think it’s time to give Reggie more autonomy. Reggie is an adult, and he needs to be more independent. I don’t believe that will happen if you keep treating him like a child.” My mother’s expression barely changed. “Debbie, I gave him a shot. He was out there in New York on his own, and look what happened. He came home underweight, wet, and not taking care of himself. I’m sorry, but I’m not just going to hand him more freedom and hope for the best.” Dr. Olson sighed. “Linda, I understand why you’re worried. And to be frank, I’ve had concerns about Reggie’s maturity for a long time. I wish he’d stayed closer to home, because it would have been easier to keep track of him while he was in college. Fortunately, most of his doctors kept me informed, so I’ve been aware of some of the difficulties he’s had since he left. Some of what you’re seeing may be stress related. When people, especially children, get overwhelmed, they often regress to an earlier stage that makes them feel safe.” My mother frowned. “Are you saying Reggie wants this?” I blurted out, “I don’t want this. I’m not a baby!” My mother turned sharply toward me. “Reggie, hush!” Dr. Olson met my mother’s eyes. “I don’t think this is deliberate on Reggie’s part. It’s not that different from what we see in young children after a major change, such as a divorce, a move, or a new sibling. They may start wetting the bed, or lose ground in other areas. For Reggie, losing his job and coming home were major disruptions. Given his history, I can understand why he regressed, but the severity of it is extremely concerning.” Dr. Olson was comparing me to a child, and it felt like she agreed that I should be treated like one. Before I could stop myself, I shouted loud enough for the whole office to hear, “I’m not a baby!” Mom snapped back, “Then stop acting like one.” She turned to Dr. Olson. “Debbie, I’m so sorry about that.” Dr. Olson sighed. “It’s all right. In some ways, that proves my point. This kind of reaction is understandable in a child, but Reggie is not a child. He’s an adult, and he needs to start acting like one.” My mother drew a slow breath. “Debbie, I’m just trying to keep him safe. If I step back too fast, who do you think will end up dealing with it? Look at him. He’s a rail, and he can’t even make it to the bathroom by himself.” Dr. Olson nodded. “I know. And I understand that this has always been your approach.” Mom nodded. “Yep. In my house, if you act like a baby, I’ll treat you like one.” Dr. Olson gave a small, restrained smile. “And under different circumstances, that might eventually work. But we don’t have that kind of time. Keeping him safe is not the same as keeping him small. The more you treat him like a child, the harder it is for him to become an adult.” “So, what should I do?” Dr. Olson replied, “Ideally, he would already be living on his own, completely independent of you and Chuck. But I don’t think that’s realistic.” My mom chuckled and nodded in agreement. “What is realistic is a different kind of relationship. If you can shift away from a parent-child dynamic and toward something more like landlord and tenant, Reggie can start living more independently, with you and Chuck close enough to keep an eye on things if they start to go off the rails.” My mother sighed. “That’s what Chuck says too, but I’m just not comfortable pushing him out of the nest.” Dr. Olson nodded. “Linda, I hate to say it, but Chuck is right. He’s been right about this for a while. It’s time for Reggie to leave the nest.” My mom sighed. “I guess I’ll give it a try.” She turned to me, and her tone went flat. “Come on, Reggie. Let’s go.” The shift in my mother’s tone was so abrupt it took me a second to process. She was sharper, colder, and more distant. She folded up the stroller and headed for the car without even looking back. I had to jog to catch up. At the car, I headed for the front seat, thinking maybe she really was going to treat me like an adult. She said coldly, “Get in the back.” “But Mom, Dr. Olson said I should be treated like an adult.” “I know, but it’s my car. You’re too small for the front seat. Get in the car seat.” “But—” She cut me off. “But what? I’m not having this argument. You can sit in the car seat or walk home. I don’t care which one you choose, but you’ve got one minute to decide.” There wasn’t really a choice. I couldn’t take a bus or an Uber, and it was too far to walk. I climbed into the car seat, and Mom said flatly, “Buckle up.” Mom didn’t say anything on the way home. The silence was deafening. After we got home, she parked the car and went inside without even waiting for me. Unsure what to do, I unbuckled myself and went in after her. A few minutes later, Mom came downstairs, handed back my wallet and phone, and said, “Sit down. We need to talk about the rules for our new arrangement.” The word rules put me on edge. Rules were never good in our house; they were always cold and unforgiving. I sat at the table, and my mom stood nearby, towering over me. “Sit down. We need to be clear about how this is going to work. Dr. Olson wants me to treat you like an adult, so that’s exactly what I’m going to do. From now on, you are living here as a tenant, not as my child.” She said it calmly, like she was explaining office policy. “I’m giving you two months without rent so you can get yourself situated. After that, it’s five hundred dollars a month. You’ll stay in the guest room, and I expect you to keep it clean. If you use the kitchen, you clean up after yourself. If you use the washer and dryer, you do your own laundry. After eleven o’clock, I expect the house to be quiet.” She folded her arms. “You’ll have space in the refrigerator and pantry for your own food. I will not be shopping for you, cooking for you, or reminding you to do basic things. You are too old for that. As long as you follow the rules, I won’t interfere in your life.” I looked at her. “You’re really not going to cook for me?” She shook her head. “No. Tenants buy their own groceries and cook for themselves. But you can still have dinner with us on Sunday, when Charlotte and Kristy come over.” I realized Mom wasn’t going to feed me anymore, and I had mixed feelings about that. It meant she wasn’t going to treat me like a baby, but it made me nervous. I didn’t know how to cook, and I liked my mom’s cooking. I also didn’t have any way to get to the store. I don’t drive, and I can’t take an Uber. I pleaded, “Can’t you just take me to the store so I can get groceries?” Mom replied coldly, “I’m not a chauffeur. If you need groceries, you’ll have to figure out how to get there yourself.”