Trading Post

"Oh honey you don't have to feel guilty your sisters were just overly excited and they're not used to sharing, it's going to be something that they're going to have to learn as well as you even though you're great at sharing, Also when me and Alice move in well Alice is going to have to get used to sharing a lot, not just the crib but boobs and you, and don't worry I'll teach you all of the secret techniques I've used on Alice." Ana pulled Madison closer to her chest and bounced the little one on her knee a little bit making Madison feel more relaxed, "Now then I better help your mommy Camilla bathe both Emily and Alice after their bath and their nursing, maybe you could give them a bedtime spanking, or maybe when me and your mommy go out for dinner a few days your babysitter will teach you how to be a proper big girl and big sibling."

There might be travel on the horizon. With the COVID-accelerated sunset of my career back in late 2020 I went from a corporate jetsetter who encountered the business end of an airport at 5am at least usually every other week to something of a home-body literally overnight.  Firstly with lock downs and compulsory work from home and then, about 8 months into the pandemic, COVID lay-off.  Qantas probably think I’m dead but they email me regularly anyway: large corporations are like that.  In my post-career twilight work I swapped my BMW for a light truck and my leather office chair before an array of screens worthy of the USS Enterprise for a small workshop.  I still travelled for work but nobody served me drinks and I had to manage my own piloting and navigation.  I crossed our state line at best 2 or 3 times.  State borders were closed for most of the pandemic anyway. The cessation of long haul travel was convenient from the “wears nappies all the time” perspective.  Instead of half a suitcase full, I carried a spare nappy and a pants change in a tiny rucksack for my “travel” just in case. I was actually happy to be out of the travel game.  To be honest, I never really enjoyed it.  It was just something I did that let me earn good dollars to provide for a family and also to save and invest for the day (I knew would come) when I was beyond making good dollars.  The phone calls from my brother interstate: from a city 1900km/1200 miles to my south have been becoming more consistent lately.  If I want to see my father on the outside of a coffin I might wish to do so imminently.  As you might expect considering my own age, the fact that he is still even alive is remarkable. Whilst there is no immediate crisis, it’s been reported that he is rapidly losing weight (that he didn’t really have to lose), that his frailty is now to the point of leaving the house only for medical appointments (of which there are many) and he crashed his car the other week: for the first time in his life to my knowledge.  It was his fault. Although not a doctor, my brother believes our father is only one decent chest cold away from the grave: an adult in Australia can statistically expect 2 – 4 colds per year. Any decent son would rush down. It isn’t that simple. My childhood sucked.  It wasn’t a great family.  I left home because I was told to go by him.  I just want to forget about it.  Relations today are cordial, but you wouldn’t call them “close”.  And yet I’m sitting here thinking how I might go back there anyway.  Thanks to the giant orange baby-man, jet fuel prices are flying higher than the aircraft that burn them and accordingly, so are airfares. The intrusive Kabuki theatre of the increasingly-common airport body-scanners and their nappy-revealing and subsequent embarrassing-personal-search-inducing outcomes became pervasive in my former jet-world whilst I was gone.   As my grip on choosing between remaining wet and dry continued to fade this would have become increasingly awkward.  Every air trip now promises the excruciating-but-guaranteed embarrassment of being hauled out of line and crotch groped because of my nappy.  I’m not sure I could choose NOT to be in one for the trip.  If I couldn’t get to a bathroom within the hour (which assuming that I’m not dehydrated is what happens now) I would probably wet myself.  That means on a bad day at a busy airport I might not make it through the security line.  Once on board what if the flight was turbulent?  It’s storm season.  It’s a 2.5 hour flight down south and I’ve done it before strapped in with the cabin crew for the entire duration due to relentless turbulence. And once I’d landed I’d then need to navigate out to a distant, sprawling semi-rural area that is excruciatingly difficult to get to without a car.  A rental car.  Another big expense on top of my nappy-filled checked luggage. Then I’d have to organise accommodation.  There are few options in their area. I can’t stay with my parents.  There’s no room in the house and that’s assuming that they’d want me to stay (far from assured).  Also, another failed sibling (who has lived at home with them all her life) has reputedly hoarded the house full to the ceilings so there are no spare rooms anymore. My brother has said I could stay with him but there’s another issue. It’s not my bedwetting.  I can manage that.  I can’t guarantee I’d be dry at night but my terry-lined plastic pants are pretty bullet proof and his mansion-like house large enough that I could hide an entire change table in there and nobody would find for days. I could sneak dead soldiers out to my car.  Hopefully.  It’s more the fact that his wife doesn’t like “our” side of the family at all.  It is as though we are contaminated with the same defective genes through which her husband was parented.  It’s at best an alloyed degree of welcome.  Stack that on top of my night time nappy dependency and I’d rather sleep in a dumpster.  Or, maybe one of those dubiously hygienic, cheap(well, relatively) outer suburban motels: the ones where love-struck trailer-trash newly-weds bonk each other’s brains out in the fibreglass spa-bath after a KFC-powered wedding breakfast.  Or where recently-ejected marital partners embarrassedly check themselves pending their enraged soon-to-be-ex spouse calming down enough to let them in back home. I’ll still probably keep the bed dry in my cheap suburban hotel but I won’t spend every minute there feeling as though I am massively inconveniencing somebody by being there. I wouldn’t be able to see Father for long.  He gets tired quickly and my parent’s capacity to entertain is nil.   They don’t like to go out.  I don’t know what else I’d do down there to be honest.  I haven’t lived there in 40 years.  It’s an alien place to me.  It could also be that it might be a half hour visit and we’re done. I’m honestly not worried about being in nappies for that.  They haven’t seen me “in the flesh” for years and I’d probably just be in one of those dreadful safety-Molicare-elastics: undetectable even if they were that interested. I have more time than cash and I have an EV that is immune to fuel prices.  I could road-trip it.  I actually like road tripping.  I wouldn’t wear a Molicare for THAT bit: that calls for a proper nappy. It’s a 20 hour drive.  That’s like Miami to Washington DC: a drive I suspect people do all the time. Realistically at my age that should be driven over 2 days so I must factor in mid-trip hotel accommodation.  I’m not 25 years old anymore and if it isn’t fatigue, it’s the dusk-and-dawn peril of road-sense-free kangaroos that menace Australian rural roads.  Kangaroos are surprisingly solid units when you hit them at 60mph. Still, it would be dead easy to have a week or two’s worth of nappies and related supplies stashed in the car.  I’d also have all the logistical freedom and portability I needed once down there.   With my own car I could call it as I saw it and flex my departure to suit the situation.  I could manage my nappy dependency: perhaps even avoiding using them from time to time as logistics permitted but having them on me just in case. And then came the unexpected complication.  My beloved objected to me travelling down without her.   She however due to leave limitations and work commitments has no travel availability until January.  Her solution therefore is that I should NOT go until she is ready. It’s one of the asymmetries in our relationship.  If she wants a weekend away with girlfriends, I drive her to the airport.  If I consider a week away (that isn’t for work), it’s a sure sign I don’t love her anymore and proceeding with these plans could only evidence abandonment.   I only tried it once in all our years of marriage.  I never tried it again.  It’s not reasonable.  It’s not fair.  But neither is her husband adopting permanent nappies.  Marriages don’t run on “reasonable” and “fair”. It’s a complicated enough situation even before self-inflicted nappy dependency is overlaid on top of it.  She’s since come to a degree of remorse over her original tantrum at my intent but I’m not convinced that this remorse might fade as I got further down the highway.  I know her and I’ve told her as much. I’ll probably still be thinking about how I might do this when I receive the last phone call of this series but there’s an outside chance that me and my nappied backside might hit the road again.

The subject of convenience wearing was once again brought up on TV. They even polled the audience and over 40% said that they would wear a diaper to a concert to keep a good spot. The subject of adult pacifier use was recently discussed on The Drew Barrymore Show. In this new episode she says she's open-minded but is still unsure if she is ready for diapers. At the end of the clip there is (what appears to be) an ABDL diaper. Still seems like a rare occurrence to show and actual adult baby diaper on anything mainstream so I was pretty surprised. She doesn't put the diaper on over her regular clothes in this clip. That is only on the thumbnail image. I'm not sure what episode this is or if she actually wore it on the episode.    

I've heard of that drink. Never had one. What's in it? Cherry syrup, club soda, lemonade?

I think I am losing hair like legs etc as I age? but it grows down there...