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Rainbow Diapers
A space where our Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Trans members can discuss related issues.
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It was the kind of car that makes you wonder if parking next to it is a good idea. Askew in its bay, the ancient (well, circa 1997) Ford Falcon, it’s once lustrous ocean blue metallic paint blistered and peeling where decades of harsh Queensland sun had scorched off the clear coat layer that used to make it shine was sporting minor scrapes and dents on every external surface. Clearly its driver used a kind of touch-parking system and wasn’t too good with orthogonal angles. But supermarket parking was scarce at this time of day. I was in a hurry for just one thing with which I could make a dinner when I got back home and the only available empty bay was the one next to it. So I reversed in careful to put my own vehicle as far away as I could from the suspect parker without making it too tough for the person parked on my other side to get in or out of theirs. Getting out and standing beside my driver’s door I noticed the pink and blue disability parking permit on the crookedly-parked Falcon’s windscreen and wondered why its driver had not availed themselves of one of the plentiful (and wider) disability parking bays directly at the supermarket door. Glancing up it became clear that was because those bays were filled entirely by overly-entitled SUV-driving school mummies: it was 3:30pm and school was out. Presumably their disability was not having a chauffeur to pilot their Rangers, Audi Q8 or occasional Range Rover for them to fetch the after-school sushi. Although dilapidated, there was a certain integrity to this beaten up old car. It appeared to be 100% original and in factory form. I got the impression that it and its owner had been ageing-in-place together over the last 30 years or so. Certainly something about it said “one owner”. It also said “Last car” but I try not to dwell upon terminal chronology these days. As I turned to walk between my own car and the crumbling Ford I saw into its cabin through the slightly foggy, purple-and-peeling window tint. It was like a glimpse into somebody’s life and that life didn’t seem to be that great. The car was largely filled with junk. Take-away food containers, medication boxes, a garden hose, numerous scraps of paper and adult nappies. Huh? I looked again. There, on the back seat, spread out and laid carefully as if in waiting was an adult-sized pull-up nappy. Beside it were a couple more, these ones still folded as though taken directly from the bag but yet to be considered for attire. Behind them, an opened packet of Molicare Slip Maxi offered three quarters of a pack of more substantial taped-and-tabbed nappy protection presumably for those times where a pull-up is simply not enough nappy (let’s face it, that’s nearly all the time). There were what looked like more nappies in the rear passenger foot-well. I didn’t dwell to examine them but they appeared to be somewhat scrunched up and I wondered if they were, er, well, used… Eww… I’m aware of the concept of the “territorial bubble”: the psychological device whereby we extend our concept of home with its association of private sanctuary to our vehicles but this did seem to be pushing it. I also accept that the incontinence that some of us inexplicably crave is more frequently, a ghastly and unwelcome co-traveller to physical decline and that people facing this challenge should be fully allowed to go-loud-and-proud, shunning shame and secrecy. Nothing about this gear said “ABDL”. I also accept that I too have adult nappies in my car. I’ve reached the point now in my own long, gentle (albeit self-inflicted) decline in continence to dimly realise that things like road trips might be difficult without nappies and sometimes road trips don’t proceed quite how you plan them to. Accordingly, my car too carries a small quantity of adult nappies and rudimentary nappy change infrastructure. But, these are hidden in a duffel bag in a hidden compartment in the boot. The only people who are going to see them will be myself, my next-of-kin in the event of my demise or maybe, a forensic crash examiner. Also, long habit has made me less concerned about hiding nappies and related infrastructure as though they were Iranian enriched uranium. I haven’t put up a sign in our front yard but anybody who walks into our walk-in-robe at home is going to quickly realise that at least one of the household members wets themselves. Changing your nappy in the back seat of your Ford Falcon at a supermarket carpark did still seem to be a long way north of even adaptive-normal though. I wondered at the gradual erosion of “normal” that must occur for on-display-to-the-world décor decisions such as this to seem ok. Then it occurred to me that the “normal” people around me weren’t even seeing this. People were disinterestedly wandering past some old dude staring vacantly at some even-older-dude’s clunker car. I’d seen through the “Somebody Else’s Problem” field, recognised what I was seeing and then went down the mental rabbit hole of de-constructing it. For all practical purposes this scene didn’t exist. If it wasn’t for my own strange choices I probably wouldn’t have noticed it either. I kept an eye out for an obvious nappy-wearing candidate inside the supermarket but saw nothing. Perhaps they went to the chemist instead. -
By Crinklz Kat · Posted
Bambino Teddy .... and lower tape popped off and even gorilla tape wasn't sticking. -
By mrnobody55 · Posted
I don’t link any of my accounts on my phone -
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If you wake and intentionally wet your diaper, do you still count that as a bedwetting night? I still have few nights of no memory bedwetting. So I still just enjoy the wet diaper in the morning anyway. Whether it happens naturally or otherwise, it's still a wet diaper, so I don't overthink it and stress. Glad I don't have to get out of bed to pee. -
In my sleep i latched on to the pacifier sucking on it as i relaxed laying there in the crib. Time passed when i started to wake up as i move around in the crib as my hair was a bit of a mess. I still sucked my pacifier as i move sitting up and looking around at the room i was in.
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