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- Pansy
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Baby Suzy the Super Soaker Now At 35/36/37/38 - Big Kids Having Kids, or Is It The Littlest Little In The World? Congratulations… its both! (or from Teen Baby to Adult Baby to Mother of a Baby) 1 2 3 4
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By astrodiaper · Posted
That's all we can do. One day at a time. If that doesn't work, one hour at a time, one minute at a time, whatever it takes. My dad reminded me this morning, "today is today, tomorrow is tomorrow." I hate this because I have to plan out things in advance, so surprises and hiccups are limited, but it is SO true. -
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This is really part I of a 2-part chapter. It's where the excrement hits the rotary oscillator, and this update stops at the moment that it hits fans. I promise to get the next update up as soon as possible. Chapter 4: January 7, 2026 I didn't sleep much that night. I was anxious about both the flight and the upcoming battle with my mom. She was going to be furious with me. I knew I would face some kind of punishment, but I didn’t know what it would be. It was freezing that morning, and everyone on the train kept to themselves. The trip was smooth, and I didn’t have any problems with airport security. TSA sometimes assumes the person next to me is my guardian, which can cause issues. This time, the agent didn’t even bother to look up, I doubt he even noticed what I looked like. After a smooth train ride and hassle-free security, I was confident my trip would go smoothly. But my confidence wavered after I saw the dispatcher staring at me. I knew that look; she thought I was an unaccompanied minor. She crouched down next to me and asked, “Little boy, where are your parents?” In retrospect, I should have acted differently. I was tired, anxious, and weary from repeatedly fighting the same battle. I tried to respond maturely, despite my high voice, and said, “They’re in Sacramento, but why are you asking?” She quickly followed up, “Is somebody with you?” She didn't use 'guardian,' likely because she thought I was too young to understand what that meant. “No, but—” I tried to explain myself, but she didn’t even give me enough time to show my ID. The dispatcher ignored me and immediately called for assistance on her radio, “We have an unaccompanied minor at gate C110, and he’s not on our manifest. He must be at the wrong gate; I need somebody to get this child on the right plane.” After her message, she reassured me, “This isn’t your plane, but we’ll get you on the right one.” I tried to explain, but she wouldn’t listen. Every time I attempted to speak, she simply repeated, “Don’t worry, somebody is coming to get you, just stay here. I don’t want you running off.” I tried to tell her that I was at the right gate, but she was too busy and thought I was just a kid. Eventually, someone else arrived at the gate, but he was even less friendly than the dispatcher. In fact, he seemed downright annoyed, and to be honest, he was an absolute moron. The first thing he asked was, “Do you know where you are going?” It was such a ridiculous question. Why wouldn’t I know where I was going? I did my best to sound mature, but I was already frustrated. “Of course I do. I’m going to Denver, and then to Sacramento.” As I spoke, I reached into my pocket, pulled out my ID, and handed it to him. “I'm twenty-four. I can take care of myself; you don't need to look after me.” He studied my ID, shook his head, and said flatly, “This can’t be right, it’s fake.” I gritted my teeth, let out a loud sigh, and insisted, “It’s not fake. Why would a little kid have a fake ID?” He glanced over, briefly, before scolding me, “Son, stop with the attitude. Let's go. We need to sort this out.” Throughout the entire ordeal, nobody asked for my boarding pass. My anger and frustration was so overwhelming that I wet my pants. Unfortunately, I forgot to put on a Pull-up before I left, so he noticed. Rather than being compassionate, he mocked me, laughing and saying, “You call yourself an adult, but you just peed your pants.” His comment was inappropriate, yet many adults treat me the same way. When I talk to people, their reactions are usually either rude or patronizing. Adults frequently forget basic manners when they interact with children. His remark, which was inappropriate for anyone, was casually aimed at me. I considered reporting him, but I doubted it would make a difference. Since people don’t take me seriously, I focused on staying calm and catching my flight. Thankfully, after a manager reviewed my ID and passport, they finally cleared things up and let me return to the gate. As I walked away, I couldn’t help myself: “That’s what I was trying to tell you, and you didn’t listen. I’m sick and tired of this bullshit!” The manager shot me a stern look and replied, “There is no need for that kind of language, son. We have to be safe. You look like a child, and quite frankly, you act like one as well.” People struggle to see me as an adult, even when they know. I’ve realized that it’s easier to apologize than it is to argue with their perceptions. After everything that happened, I meekly apologized, just to avoid further conflict: “Sorry, I was frustrated and I took it out on you. I know you’re just doing your job.” Once things were settled, I quickly went to the bathroom, changed my pants, and put on a Pull-up. Even though the flight attendants knew I was an adult, they still gave me a lot more attention than other passengers. Surprisingly, it wasn’t nearly as patronizing as it normally is. One attendant paused beside me and asked, “Is it a growth defect? Is that why you look so small?” I couldn’t tell if she was genuinely curious, or if she was simply trying to reassure the passenger next to me. I replied, “Yes, I’ve been this way all my life.” She responded with empathy, gently tapping me on the shoulder and saying, “I’m sure that’s been really difficult for you.” I nodded back, “It has.” Fortunately, the flight attendant left me alone for most of the trip. She stopped by once to serve drinks and only returned right before we landed to check that my seatbelt was properly fastened. For once, I experienced what it felt like to be out in public and treated as just another passenger, without being singled out or patronized. I chose to use my Pull-up during the flight. The flight was long, and I needed to pee before we landed. Since I avoid airplane bathrooms, I used my Pull-up. I don’t call that an accident, even if my mom does. As soon as I switched off airplane mode, I saw that I had seven missed calls; four from my mom, two from Charlotte, and one from my dad. There were also numerous text messages waiting for me, including a simple check-in from Chris that read, “You good?” I decided to respond to Chris first, since I knew he wouldn’t have reached out unless he was genuinely concerned. I don’t know what triggered his concern, but I quickly replied, “Yep, good.” Next, I considered whether to respond to my mom or my sister. I wasn’t eager to deal with Charlotte, but calling my mom was out of the question. I decided to send Charlotte a text: “What’s up? Why are you guys blowing up my phone?” Charlotte immediately replied back, “Mom is worried, you didn’t answer when she called.” “I was on airplane mode.” “Why?” “I was on an airplane, don’t tell mom.” I barely took a couple of steps before my phone rang. It was Charlotte. “What? Mom told me that you were coming back next week. Why are you on a plane? Where are you?” I replied, “I’m in Denver. I didn’t want to stay in New York all week.” Charlotte was quick to remind me, “You know mom doesn’t want you to fly by yourself. You should have waited for her.” “I didn’t want to.” She warned me, “Well, she’s going to be mad at you.” “I know, but what’s the worst she can do?” Charlotte replied, “I don’t know, but trust me, you don’t want to make her mad.” I wanted to change the subject, but I also wanted to see if she could pick me up from the airport. I asked, “Can you pick me up? I should land about two o’clock.” “No. I’ve got appointments, and that’s when Kristy takes her nap. You should call mom.” There were two reasons I didn’t want to tell my mom. For one thing, although she would certainly show up at the airport, she’d start scolding me immediately; right there, in front of everyone, even before we reached the car. The other reason is that she insists that I ride in a car seat, even though California law says that children who are 8 years or older, or anyone taller than 4'9", are permitted to use a regular seat belt. However, because I’m shorter than 4'9", my mom interprets it to read that anyone under 4’9” has to use a car seat. To make sure she’s in compliance, she owns a specialized car seat specifically for me, and I have to use it every time I ride in her car. It’s not just a booster seat; it’s a full car seat. Not wanting to deal with my mom, I told Charlotte, “I don’t want to call her; I’ll take the bus. Just don’t tell Mom.” Charlotte hesitated, “I’ll get in trouble if mom finds out that I knew and didn’t tell her.” The thought struck me as funny; Charlotte is thirty years old, yet she’s still worried about getting in trouble with our mom. I pleaded, “Just don’t tell her.” Finally, Charlotte relented, “Okay, but if mom asks, you lied.” “Alright; I should get to your place about four.” As luck would have it, my layover in Denver was long enough for me to grab some lunch. This turned out to be a relief, since I skipped breakfast. One benefit of being small is that I don’t need a lot of food. I had a burger and a Coke, which was plenty for me. On my next flight, the crew ignored my size and treated me like any other passenger. The journey was calm and uneventful. It was also a lot easier to get from the airport to Charlotte’s apartment than I expected. It was an easy bus ride to downtown, and then I took the lite rail to her apartment. I was stunned at how much Kristy had changed in just four months. The last time I saw her was in September, when Charlotte visited me in New York. It was just after her divorce, and Kristy still looked like a toddler. It was only a few weeks after her third birthday; she was still wearing diapers and had a pacifier in her mouth most of the time. At that time, Kristy didn’t know me, and she was shy. She eventually warmed up, and by the end of the week, she accepted me as her uncle. She called me 'Uncle Reggie' with a smile. Whether she saw me as an adult or peer didn’t matter; I was simply her uncle. Kristy grew so much in those four months. She didn’t look or act like a toddler anymore, and most significantly, she was potty trained. It was the first time she wore panties during her nap, and she was absolutely thrilled that she stayed dry. She couldn’t wait to show off her Frozen panties. She ran up and hugged me, and then lifted up her skirt to show off her dry panties. “Uncle Reggie! Look at my big girl panties! I no pee-pee at nap. I’m a big girl now!” Charlotte responded with an awkward smile. “She’s super excited, it’s the first time she got to wear them during her nap.” I praised Kristy appropriately, but it was awkward because I was wearing a wet Pull-up. In hindsight, I probably should have changed before going to my mom’s house, but I didn’t want Kristy to know about my Pull-ups. After I praised Kristy, I asked, “Potty trained?” Charlotte smiled. “It’s only been a month. It started after Thanksgiving. Part of it was peer pressure, since she was the only girl in her pre-school still in diapers. Additionally, Dennis told her that Santa wouldn’t bring her big kid toys unless she was potty trained. After that, she was motivated, and by the end of the week, she was mostly potty trained. We’ve only had a few accidents since then, and none in the last two weeks. She’s been staying dry during her nap, and she’s been dry the last few mornings.” I asked, “How did mom take it?” “Honestly, better than I hoped. She didn’t interfere that much, but I kept Kristy away until she stopped having accidents.” Hearing that gave me hope. Maybe mom had mellowed with age, and perhaps things would go smoother. I felt like a football player before a big game. I was eager, but also nervous. As my anticipation grew, Charlotte helped Kristy into her car seat and then opened the door on the other side. She said, “Get in.” I didn’t want to sit in the backseat; that’s where kids sit. I needed to feel like a grown-up. I replied, “I want to sit up front.” Charlotte answered, “You can’t, mom won’t let you.” “But you’re not mom. I’m not sitting in the back.” Charlotte countered, “Mom will be mad if you sit in front.” Charlotte is easily influenced, and often gives in to me. I used to think it was an advantage, but now, I’m not so sure. I replied, “That’s because mom thinks I’m a little kid.” Charlotte scoffed, “And; you think I don’t know what that’s like? I swear that woman thinks I’m ten years old.” This has been an ongoing argument between the two of us. Each of us believe that we had it worse than the other one. While I didn’t have a babysitter when I was in 11th grade, Charlotte didn’t have to sit in a stroller when she was fourteen. Charlotte rarely had to wear diapers during the day, but I spent almost my entire 5th and 6th grade in diapers. “Yeah, but she thinks I’m five.” With that, Charlotte gave in, and let me sit up front. When we pulled into the driveway, my mom was in the front yard and saw me sitting in the front seat. Both Charlotte and I could sense her anger. Kristy, on the other hand, was oblivious. Overflowing with excitement, she couldn’t wait to share her news with her grandmother. The moment Charlotte unbuckled her; Kristy leapt out of the car and ran toward my mom. “Gamma! Guess what? I didn’t pee the bed today, I’m a big girl!” My mom, as calculated as ever, managed to conceal her anger, allowing Kristy to enjoy her moment of pride. With a gentle smile, Mom congratulated Kristy, saying, “Oh, that’s wonderful, sweetheart. You’re mommy didn’t do that until she was much older than you.” Charlotte glared, “Mom!”. My mom met Charlotte’s glare with equal intensity Once we were inside the house, my mom gave me a hug. Although her gesture was warm, her words revealed her true feelings: “First of all, I’m glad you’re safe. But you disobeyed me?” Her tone was calm, but beneath the surface, I could sense she was seething. Without waiting for my response, my mom turned her attention to Charlotte. “As for you, young lady, why was Reggie in the front seat?” Charlotte, caught off guard and knowing she was about to face mom’s wrath, stammered, “Mom, he wouldn’t sit in the back?” My mom pressed further, “And you let him sit up front, despite knowing how dangerous that is?” As Charlotte struggled to explain, mom continued, “Did you know he was coming?” Charlotte hesitated, finally admitting, “Well, he called me from Denver.” Mom’s anger intensified. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me! Reggie, how did you get to Charlotte’s place?” I tried to sound mature. “I took the SacRT; it stops right by her apartment.” To my mom, taking public transportation is like entering a warzone. She was incredulous: “You did what? Reggie! You know how dangerous that is for someone like you.” She turned back to Charlotte, her voice sharp, “You knew, you didn’t tell me, and you didn’t pick him up.” Without hesitation, she pointed to the corner and demanded, “Go!” Charlotte protested, “Mom, you can’t be serious. I’m an adult, you can’t put me in timeout.” My mom turned to Kristy. “Kristy, what happens when you don’t do what grandma says?” Kristy answered simply, “You go timeout.” My mom looked back at Charlotte, her tone cold. “Do you need your daughter to show you where the corner is?” Charlotte stammered, but mom was insistent: “Go!” Charlotte reluctantly shuffled over to the corner. My mom turned her attention to me. “I told you to wait for me! You deliberately disobeyed me.” After a brief pause, she added, “I need time to figure this out.” Without further discussion, she pointed to the opposite corner and demanded, “In the meantime, go!” This wasn’t the first time I’d been sent to timeout as an adult, and I knew the drill. I shuffled off to the designated corner, hoping that my compliance might earn me some leniency. After some time had passed, my dad entered the room and noticed both Charlotte and me facing opposite corners. He looked around in confusion and asked, “What happened, why are Charlotte and Reggie in timeout?” My mom replied matter-of-factly, as if it were a routine punishment for misbehaving children, “They are in time out.” I never really knew my dad's feelings about this; he rarely got involved in parenting. My mom was always in charge, and he let her do whatever she wanted. He didn’t object when I was put in a stroller at fourteen, nor when Charlotte was babysat by her friend at sixteen. It wasn’t just his silence; there were subtle actions that showed he condoned what my mom was doing. When my parents left us with a babysitter, he would simply kiss us goodnight and remind us to behave. On the other hand, Dad was the only one who could change Mom's mind; he helped me get into the charter school and persuaded her to let me go to Dartmouth. Charlotte told me that Dad convinced Mom to let her leave the nursery, but I was too young to remember. He responded with a loud sigh, “Linda, you can’t keep doing this, they aren’t children anymore?” It was unusual for my parents to disagree around us. They were both lawyers, and usually resolved disagreements calmly and privately. They maintained unity on family issues and discipline, keeping disagreements private. Whenever there was a conflict, it was handled behind closed doors. My mom’s response was terse and sharp. “Chuck! We will talk about this later, once the kids are in bed.” Her words referred to Charlotte and me. Even though I’m twenty-four, and Charlotte is thirty, she still saw us as children. My mom defended her actions by explaining, “What am I supposed to do? Both of them still act like children, so I have to treat them that way.” My dad, clearly frustrated, said, “Just tell me what they did.” Mom pointed to Charlotte and said, “This one didn’t tell me that Reggie was coming, even though she knew. Because she didn’t tell me, Reggie had to take a public bus to get to her apartment. And then, she let him sit in the front seat on the ride here.” She took a deep breath, and then pointed at me. “This one is supposed to be in New York, but he left, without my permission. On top of that, he’s peed himself, and he should’ve changed his Pull-up hours ago.” -
By randominterestedperson · Posted
@Little Sherri You are quite right that the ISO capacity is not "correct". It's still a good relative indicator though, where a diaper with a 7000 ml capacity will hold up better and longer than one with a 5000 ml capacity. I've noticed this with Bunny Hopps versus Big Ears Babies. A day at the office in a Big Ears Baby is less likely to go wrong than a hypothetical day in the office in a Bunny Hopps. And yes, I expect the 10k-12k diapers could hold me over a full 24 hours (two Bunny Hopps will do that as well). I wouldn't want to do that on a normal day, but when you have a day off and are just staying at home? It's a nice to have the option.
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