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By Bel George · Posted
Day 7 - Jeudi (Thursday) - No more trust The moment the door creaked open, Thomas knew something was wrong. “Bonjour, mon petit…” Maman’s voice was soft, but there was no smile in it this time. He stirred under the covers. The hospital bed’s side rails framed his view of the room, unfamiliar and confining. He stretched slightly, and felt it. The diaper was swollen. Heavy. Sagging between his legs with the unmistakable weight of a full night’s accident. His heart sank. Maman stepped closer, her eyes already on the blanket. “Laisse-moi voir.” (Let me see.) She drew the blanket back without asking. The sight was undeniable: the padding yellowed and bloated, the tapes visibly uneven, one barely holding, the other slanted off-center. It looked tampered with. It looked like he’d tampered with it. She inhaled through her nose. “Qu’est-ce que c’est que ça ?” (What’s this, then?) Thomas sat up suddenly, panic rising in his throat. “I didn’t touch it! I swear, I didn’t—” Claire tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “Tu n’as rien fait ?” (You didn’t do anything?) “It wasn’t me… I mean—last night, Chloé came in, and—” Her eyes narrowed just slightly. “Chloé t’a changé la couche ?” (Chloé changed your diaper?) “No! She didn’t… she just… I was drinking milk, and she—” Claire’s lips pressed into a firm line. “Assez.” (Enough.) She didn’t yell. She didn’t scold. But her tone was colder than it had ever been. “Tu as eu une chance. Tu savais les règles.” (You had a chance. You knew the rules.) Thomas looked down, ashamed and completely unable to explain himself. It had happened in front of him, and he still hadn’t stopped her. He’d let it happen. Claire turned toward the dresser and picked up the folded pink fleece. “Ce soir, tu porteras la grenouillère.” (Tonight, you’ll wear the sleeper.) Breakfast - Quiet Glances By the time Thomas came down, freshly showered and dressed, the morning incident already felt carved in stone, no argument, no defense, no second chance. Claire greeted him with a nod, not unkind, but more formal than usual. She poured him tea without comment, placing the mug gently in front of him. Thomas mumbled a quiet merci and slid into his seat. Across the table, Chloé stirred her yogurt with slow, deliberate circles. Her thumb swiped across her phone once, then paused. She looked up, not quite at him, not quite away. Her lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. He stared at his toast. He could feel her gaze. Feel her waiting. Then, when Maman turned to the sink, Chloé leaned forward slightly and whispered low, too soft for anyone else to hear. “T’as bien dormi, bébé ?” (Did you sleep well, baby?) Her voice dripped with sugar. But her smile was all sharp corners. “La grenouillère ce soir? Rose bonbon ! Trop chou.” (The sleeper tonight? Bubblegum pink! So cute.) Thomas’s ears burned. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The words stuck in his throat like dry toast. But his face gave him away. Chloé sat back, satisfied. He couldn’t tell which was worse, the silence from Claire or the smile from Chloé. Claire returned a moment later and handed him his packed lunch, her hand lingered on his shoulder. Just briefly. Just long enough to remind him that she still cared. 💻 Emails – Quiet Agreements From: Claire Lefevre To: Helen Wright Subject: Update on Thomas – 4th Night Dear Helen, I just wanted to keep you informed. Last night, Thomas woke up completely soaked again. That alone wouldn’t surprise me anymore, but this time, I found the tapes misaligned and not fully sealed. When I asked him about it, his response was hesitant. He claimed he hadn’t touched anything, but mentioned Chloé. The story was confused, and I believe it may have been an attempt to avoid responsibility. I didn’t push. I’ve simply decided to use a zippered fleece sleeper from now on, the kind we used for my mother, back when she was ill. It’s soft, warm, and will prevent further tampering. He didn’t resist, though I can tell he’s embarrassed. Still, I hope this will help him feel more secure, not less. Warm regards, Claire From: Helen Wright To: Claire Lefevre Subject: RE: Update on Thomas Dear Claire, Thank you for keeping me in the loop. You’ve been so patient, I truly appreciate your kindness and calmness with him. I realize I should have been more direct earlier. Yes, he did have accidents into his teens. But we never pushed diapers or even proper nighttime protection because he always hated the idea. We just washed bedding and pretended not to notice. Looking back, that may have done more harm than good. If the sleeper helps you manage, and helps him feel protected (even if he doesn’t know it yet), I absolutely support you. Please don’t hesitate to do what feels right. Helen WhatsApp: A Ping from Home As Thomas stood outside the school gates, waiting for Lena and the others to arrive, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Mum: Hey love, how’s France? Everything okay? You’ve been quiet. Hope school is fun! x He swallowed hard. He stared at the message for a long time before tapping out a reply. Thomas: Yeah, it’s good! Host family is nice. Classes are weird but fine lol. We went to a castle the other day. He hit send before he could overthink it. He had no idea she already knew everything. Développement de l’enfant – Day 4 The last class of the day brought an uncomfortable shift in tone. Topic of the day : “La régression chez l’enfant” (Regression in children) The final class of the day settled into its rhythm with the quiet clatter of pencil cases and paper shuffling. Thomas took his usual seat near the back, Lena beside him, Chloé just ahead. The board already bore the heading in looping chalk letters: The teacher launched into the day’s theme with gentle energy. She spoke slowly, enunciating each word carefully, aware that some students were still struggling to keep up. “Certains enfants, même après l’apprentissage du pot, peuvent avoir des rechutes…” (Some children, even after potty training, can relapse…) Thomas caught the words pot, rechutes, and enfants. His stomach tightened. The teacher continued, using hand gestures to act out a bedtime routine, tucking in, a goodnight kiss, and then mimed surprise: eyes wide, hands out. “…et parfois, on trouve le lit mouillé au petit matin.” (…and sometimes, the bed is wet in the morning.) A few quiet chuckles echoed in the room. She smiled. “Dans ces cas-là, il faut rester patient… mais aussi ferme.” (In those cases, you must stay patient… but firm.) Thomas looked down at his desk. Chloé raised her hand. Her tone was syrupy. Innocent. “Et les enfants qui font semblant de rien, mais qui se réveillent trempés tous les matins ?” (And what about children who pretend everything’s fine but wake up soaked every morning?) A few chuckles drifted through the classroom. Thomas kept his eyes down, but he could feel it, the weight of her gaze pressing sideways against his cheek. She wasn’t looking at the teacher. She was looking at him. The teacher answered cheerfully, unaware of the undercurrent. “Ça peut arriver, oui, surtout dans des périodes de stress, ou lors de grands changements, comme un déménagement, un nouvel environnement, ou l’arrivée d’un bébé à la maison.” (That can happen, yes, especially during stressful times, big changes, like moving, a new environment, or a newborn in the family.) Thomas stared at the little cartoon bed he was coloring on his worksheet. His hand didn’t move. Chloé raised her hand again, eyes never leaving him. “Et… est-ce que les couches sont une bonne solution, même pour les plus grands ?” (And… are diapers a good solution, even for older children?) The teacher nodded. “Bien sûr. Si les accidents sont fréquents, les couches peuvent aider. C’est une solution simple, sans honte. C’est souvent la solution la plus simple et la moins stressante.”” (Of course. If accidents are frequent, diapers can help. It’s a simple, shame-free solution. It's often the simplest and least stressful solution.) A boy at the back mimed fastening a diaper with exaggerated tapes. The teacher ignored it. Chloé pressed on, her tone still sweet, too sweet. “Et si l’enfant mouille souvent la nuit… est-ce que ça veut dire qu’il pourrait aussi avoir des… oublis le jour ?” (And if the child wets at night often… does that mean they might start having accidents during the day too?) The teacher paused, choosing her words carefully. “Pas nécessairement. Mais parfois, oui. Dans ces cas-là, il faut un peu plus de surveillance, pas de punition, juste de la sécurité, de la structure.” (Not necessarily. But sometimes, yes. In those cases, the child may need a bit more supervision . No punishment, just safety, structure.) Chloé gave a slow nod, biting the end of her pencil. Thomas didn’t dare move. His face was hot. His hands were cold. The words weren't just close to home, they were home. Lena, seated beside him, glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. She said nothing, but her concern was starting to grow. Evening - Sleeper That night, there was no discussion. No hopeful glance toward the unicorn sheets. No second options. When Thomas stepped into his room after brushing his teeth, Maman was already there, waiting. The hospital bed’s rail was lowered. On top of the blanket, neatly folded, lay the soft pink fleece sleeper, the one with the zipper up the back, the enclosed feet, and little flaps where his hands would disappear. Beside it: a thick, night-weight diaper, opened and fluffed. Claire looked up from where she was smoothing the blanket and gave him a quiet, steady smile. “Viens ici, mon chéri. C’est l’heure.” (Come here, sweetheart. It’s time.) Her voice was warm. Not angry. But final. Thomas hesitated only a second, not long enough to resist, just long enough to blush. He stepped toward her, eyes down. She guided him gently to lie back, and he obeyed, silent. She diapered him with care, cream, powder, snug tapes pressed flat with sure fingers. Her movements were efficient, but not rushed. Gentle. She didn’t speak again until she picked up the sleeper. “Les bras.” (Arms.) He slipped them in. The fleece whispered softly as she zipped it up, all the way to the nape of his neck. She checked the zipper’s lock, ran a hand gently down his back, and tucked the edges of the garment into place with smooth, practiced movements. Then came the blanket, folded over his chest, and finally, the click of the bedrail rising into position. Click. Her voice remained warm, but the firmness underneath never wavered. She paused for a moment, resting her hand lightly on his chest. “Je sais que tu n’aimes pas ça,” she said softly. (I know you don’t like this.) “Mais c’est mieux comme ça. Tu seras en sécurité. Ce soir, tu restes tranquille. Et tu dors bien.” (But it’s better this way. You’ll be safe. Tonight, you stay still. And you sleep well.) The light clicked off. Her footsteps faded. A Familiar Visit It was later, just as the edges of sleep began to settle, that the door opened again. Soft light from the hallway spilled in. Chloé stepped inside, moving silently, one hand wrapped around the handle of a small ceramic mug. Steam rose faintly from the surface. She approached the bed slowly, her voice a whisper. “Deuxième round.” (Second round.) Thomas blinked, startled. His arms were zipped inside the sleeper, there was no way to reach for the mug. Chloé smiled at his hesitation. She held the cup just close enough to his lips. “Tu veux ou non ?” (Do you want it or not?) He sipped. It was warm. Sweet. Familiar. The same drink from before, honeyed milk, soft and comforting. She tilted her head, eyes sweeping over his zipped-up sleeper. “Tu as été sage aujourd’hui. On continue, d’accord ?” (You were good today. Let’s keep it that way, alright?) He nodded faintly. She leaned in, close enough to feel her breath. “Bonne nuit, p’tit ange. Fais de beaux rêves… bien mouillés.” (Good night, little angel. Sweet dreams… and wet ones.) Then she kissed the air beside his cheek, turned, and left. The door closed with a faint click. Thomas lay back in silence, arms sealed inside soft fleece, warmth filling his stomach, and something colder stirring in his chest. He stared into the dark, unsure if the milk’s comfort was worth the cost. -
I can't sleep, but maybe you can? How do you sleep at night? Just a diaper? Diaper ans sorts? PJs? I'm a diaper, lounge pant and comfy tee guy. -
Can't sleep. Per usual. Wearing a cloth diaper tonight. Was going to play Warcraft but my server is down for maintenance so I have to kill an hour or two some other way in the middle of the night.
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By Ellie Jean · Posted
I don't differentiate between the two. 🤭 -
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As a European reader, thank you for that. Usually your early posting means I can read it between 12 and 2pm German time. (or later depending on what my work says)
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