spark

Mountain meet molehill

I used Copilot to help me set up a family timeline. Fortunately, there are really only a few characters, but I've already fell into a trap with the timeline because I've set Charlotte's age at 30, but for all of the events to fit, she needs to 31 in January 2026. That's going to be blamed on a narrator error (Reggie forgot how old Charlotte was). ·• Coming Home- Family Timeline before the main story begins • 1994  Late summer 1994 — Charlotte is born. • 1997  Late summer 1997 — Chris is born. • 2001  February 2001 — Reggie is born. • 2006  Summer 2006 — family vacation incident.  Reggie is 5  Chris is 8  Charlotte is 11  All three are kept in diapers during the trip.  Potty training is restarted afterward. • Around 2006–2011  Reggie continues elementary school while struggling socially and developmentally.  Charlotte grows into adolescence under Linda’s control.  Chris becomes more openly resistant. • Around 2011  Reggie is about 10.  Charlotte is about 16.  This fits the babysitter anecdote where Charlotte is still being controlled as a teenager. • Around 2011–2012  Charlotte leaves the nursery in 11th grade.  She would be 16 turning 17 • Around 2014–2015  Reggie leaves the nursery at 14, just before high school.  summer 2015, right before starting high school.  August 2015- Chris leaves home • 2019  Reggie graduates high school and leaves for Dartmouth.  Since he was born in 2001, he would likely graduate in spring 2019 at age 18. • 2020  Covid lockdown begins.  Reggie remains at Dartmouth instead of returning home.  Charlotte moves back home during Covid.  June-July: Charlotte is put in nursery for driving home after drinking • 2021  Charlotte is still living under Linda’s control after moving home during the pandemic.  Charlotte and Dennis get serious  I have this happening in May/June  Fall  Charlotte and Dennis get married • 2022 • September  Kristy is born • 2023–2025  Linda becomes heavily involved in Kristy’s life.  Charlotte’s and Dennis’s marriage detoriates • 2024  Reggie is living in New York, working as a data analyst. • Summer 2025  Charlotte and Dennis divorce • January 2026  Reggie loses his job and returns home. • Birthdays  Charlotte — September 1994  Chris — August 1997  Reggie — February 2001  Kristy — September 2022

That's clearly a factor, but it's more complicated than just pure laziness. There are ADHD tendencies, avoidance, and being completely unprepared for what his mother expected. He spent most of the first 14+ years of his life with his mom doing everything for him, because he wasn't allowed to do anything for himself. After that, she monitored for such an extent that he never learned to do it for himself. That's not to excuse his behavior, but even if he functioned normally, he would not been able to succeed with his physical limitations. One of the keys is that he fell into a depression cycle, which is why he lacked the motivation to do the basics. FTR- not to over criticize myself, but some of that imagery comes from firsthand experience, including diaper disposal😉 But, I'll also take the blame that I'm lazy. Why should I clean when I wait until tomorrow? I'm a little surprised that messiness was an issue, but not the toileting. I realize that a 24-year-old who seemingly has no other health issues wouldn't suddenly lose elimination control as he has. But I'm justifying it because of the complicated emotional issues that Reggie is going through. With Reggie, there is no middle ground. When he isn't potty-trained, he wears diapers and is treated like a baby. When he is potty-trained, he's expected to be a full adult, with no help. For him, that also means virtual complete isolation, since he can't have a functional social life as an adult. His experience in New York was pretty bleak, and what he just went through was even worse. For him, at least where he is right now, that nursery might be a necessary evil. FTR- that plays a big role in how this ends for Reggie.

Chapter 11: Adulthood? Charlotte and I kept talking, but not about that. I didn’t know what to ask, and I don’t think she wanted to say anything else about it. Even before I came home, I was afraid that Mom would do this again to me, but I never thought she would do it to Charlotte as well. Once I knew, a lot of things made more sense. Charlotte had always known what could set Mom off, but ever since she moved out, she’d become hyper-aware of it. Suddenly, the way she went along with the timeout on Wednesday made sense. Charlotte was always the good one, Chris was the rebellious one, and I was the rambunctious one. It wasn’t just our behavior; Charlotte was better with people. In a lot of ways, Charlotte knew how to be that perfect little girl, and she used it to her advantage. I was always smaller than my classmates, and the difference only became more obvious as I got older. In kindergarten and first grade, it was manageable. Even though I was the smallest kid in my class, the gap wasn’t so wide that it stood out. Unfortunately, I grew at about half the rate of a normal kid, and by fourth grade, I was more than a foot shorter than the biggest kids. I was still the smallest one, even though I was older than most of them. After that, the gap just kept getting bigger and bigger. By high school, I looked like I belonged in third grade, while some of the other boys were fully grown and had facial hair. I still didn’t have any body hair at all. Even though that wasn’t exactly public knowledge, I was painfully aware of it. My size didn’t make people treat me like I was cute or younger in some harmless way. It just made me feel out of place. I felt uncomfortable around other kids, and over time, I learned to keep to myself. Charlotte’s size was always much closer to that of the other kids in her grade, so she was able to fit in a lot better than I was. When she was little, she did tumbling and gymnastics, but once competition became serious, she gave it up. My dad wanted her to stick with it, but she was too petite to really compete, and she didn’t care much about winning anyway; she just wanted to make everyone happy. Instead, Charlotte threw herself into dance, theater, and school. She was a straight-A student, became a cheerleader, and acted in every school play. She was at the top of the pyramid on the cheer team and got leading roles in all the plays. By 11th grade, the drama teacher was even choosing plays with child leads just because he knew Charlotte could pull them off. Mind you, she still had some of the same issues I did. She didn’t have her first period until she finished high school. I only know that because I overheard her mention it to my mom when she was nineteen. The only time that she ever had much of a chest was after Kristy was born, and it’s gone back to it’s smaller size since she stopped nursing. Charlotte can do things with her clothes, hair, and makeup that make her seem more adult. I can’t. Changing my hairstyle doesn’t work. I tried a mullet once, but it looked stupid. Clothes don’t help either. Even in a suit, I look like a little kid dressed up for a wedding. At the same time, she can still look like a little girl when she wants to. A few years ago, just before her wedding, one of Charlotte’s friends got married. Charlotte couldn’t fit into any of the bridesmaid dresses, so on a whim, they made her the flower girl. I saw the pictures, and they really went all out. They put ribbons in her hair and made her look like a real flower girl. Charlotte joked that she was the flower girl who could drink at the party. Come to think of it, that was after Mom did what she did. It’s interesting that, despite being well-behaved and, on the face of it, very mature, my mom never thought Charlotte was mature enough to babysit. In a lot of families, when there’s that big a gap between the oldest and youngest, the oldest becomes the default babysitter. But because Charlotte still wet the bed, she had a babysitter until she was seventeen. In fact, I can only remember Charlotte babysitting me once, when I was thirteen. It was out of desperation. My regular babysitter, who was younger than Charlotte, got sick, and my parents had to go to a dinner with the governor. Charlotte let me stay up until 9:30, which was way past my bedtime, and that made my mom really mad. Even then, Charlotte wasn’t really allowed to grow up on her own timeline. My mom made every major decision for her, and Charlotte was slow to build a life or identity that was her own. She became kind of a professional student. She was good at school, and staying there put off any true adulthood. When Covid hit, she was still in school, working toward a master’s degree in psychiatric nursing. She met Dennis when they were undergrads, and I think they might have dated back then, but they didn’t get serious again until 2021. At the time, I was shocked when she got engaged and moved in with him so quickly, but it makes more sense now. Dennis was an offensive lineman on the UC Davis football team. He wasn’t just big by our family’s standards; he is legitimately huge. He’s almost 6’5”, and when he was playing, he weighed about 300 pounds. He’s slimmed down since then, but he’s still a very big man. I liked him, and I was disappointed when they got divorced. He loved sports just as much as I do, and that’s what we mostly talked about. More importantly, he understood that I wasn’t just some little kid, and he treated me like an adult. At the same time, when things got chaotic, he could take control without making me feel small. We went to a Yankee game when Kristy was just a baby, and when we left the stadium, it was so crowded that I kept losing them. After it happened twice, Dennis didn’t even ask. He just lifted me onto his shoulders and kept me there until we reached the subway. My dad absolutely loved him. I think the sports connection meant a lot, and part of him wished he was built like that. But Dennis and my mom never got along. There was always tension between them, and they didn’t see things the same way. You could see it even at their wedding. Mom was already upset because it wasn’t exactly the big fairytale wedding she wanted for her daughter. Toward the end of the night, Charlotte and her friends got loud and a little drunk. It was the last in a long run of weddings, and I think they all knew they weren’t college kids anymore, so they wanted one last hurrah. That embarrassed my mom, and she was about to humiliate Charlotte in front of everyone. But before she could, Dennis quietly guided Charlotte back to their hotel room. That conflict grew as their marriage progressed, especially after Kristy came into the picture. Dennis knew what my mom did to us, and he didn’t trust her. At the same time, my mom is really good with babies, so Charlotte let her do what she does. I think there might have been other issues too, but my mother’s interference played a big role in their eventual divorce. Looking back, Dennis gave Charlotte confidence, and when he was around, she seemed more like herself. Charlotte has a way of sliding backward when things get stressful, and he helped keep her grounded. At some point during our conversation, Charlotte asked, “Didn’t you like New York?” I shrugged. “Not really. It was lonely, and I couldn’t do very much.” She looked confused. “But we had so much fun in September. We took the ferry, went to the zoo, Coney Island, and all those museums. Kristy loved it, and it looked like you did too.” I replied, “That’s because you were there, and I wasn’t doing it all alone.” Charlotte blushed. “Oh, that’s so sweet.” I’m not sure she really understood what I meant, but I let her think that. It wasn’t just that she was there. When I was with her, nobody thought I was some little kid who’d gotten separated from his parents. They saw that I was with an adult, and that changed everything. Charlotte and I kept talking as long as she could, but eventually it got late and she had to go to bed. After she hung up, I thought about going to bed as well, but it was only about ten o’clock, and I wasn’t tired. Then it occurred to me that I hadn’t even touched my PlayStation. That surprised me, because I’d been so sure it would be the first thing I did after getting it back. In New York, that was pretty much my whole life outside of work. A lot of people like shoot-em-up games like Call of Duty, but I never really cared about those. I’ve always preferred sports games, because when I play them, I can pretend I’m some kind of superstar athlete. FIFA is my favorite, even though soccer isn’t my favorite sport. I started playing and quickly lost track of time. I kept going until I finally fell asleep, and I didn’t wake up until about eleven o’clock the next morning. By then, I’d forgotten to order food from Amazon, and it was too late for it to arrive that day. That meant one more day of ordering takeout, but I didn’t care. For the first time since I got home, I felt free from my mother’s eyes. Charlotte warned me that Mom was watching, but it didn’t feel that way. I hadn’t seen her since I went into the kitchen, and it felt like she’d stopped paying attention. My Pull-up was squishy, which meant I’d peed in it. That surprised me, since I didn’t normally wet the bed. I think I’d just gotten used to using my diaper, so that’s what I did. Honestly, I wasn’t as worried about it as I should have been, since I didn’t think anybody cared. I knew I had to start looking for a job, but there wasn’t much I could do. Mostly, I just had to update my LinkedIn and hope something came back. Before I left Dartmouth, I’d worked hard on my resume, so there wasn’t much to fix. I added my experience in New York, sent out a few inquiries, and after about thirty minutes, I drifted away from it. It was easier to tell myself I’d done enough than to sit there and think about everything that still wasn’t happening. After that, there was nothing else to do. We have a pool, but it was January. The weather was fine, and I could have gone for a walk, but I didn’t feel like it. I mostly just drifted. Eventually, I got on my PlayStation and played some Madden. I still had some cold pizza and a little more soda, so that was lunch, and then I played video games for the rest of the afternoon. By that night, around eight o’clock, I was hungry enough to order dinner. I got Chicken McNuggets, fries, and an extra-large Coke from McDonald’s. It was easy, but it’s also what I’d order if no one was watching. Once again, I played until late at night. I think it was close to two in the morning, but I’m not all that sure. I woke up after eleven, so that was another morning lost. Even I could see there was something pathetic about sleeping half the day away, living off delivery food, and pretending that was normal. But there wasn’t anything for me to do, so it was easy to tell myself it didn’t matter. At least my Amazon order arrived, which meant I finally had something to eat besides cold fries. I guess Mom knew what I ordered, because it was sitting right outside my door. After I made some lunch, I checked my email to see if there were any responses on LinkedIn, but there was nothing there. After that, I played video games for a while longer, even though by then it was starting to feel less like passing the time and more like hiding from it. The whole day had that same dead, airless feeling, like I was letting it go on purpose. Charlotte finally broke up the monotony with a simple text: “Are you ready?” I fired back, “Yes!” as soon as I got it. I was just so eager to get out of the house and be with another person. Before I left, I debated whether to put on a Pull-up or wear underwear. I didn’t want to rely on a Pull-up, but I’d gotten lazy and wasn’t using the bathroom like I should. In the end, I decided to wear underwear, because that’s what adults do, and I hoped it would force me to use the bathroom The second issue came when Charlotte pulled up to get me. I wanted to sit in the front seat, but she told me I had to get in the back. “Reggie, just get in the back.” I whined, “I hate the back.” “I know, but you got me in trouble for that last time. I’m not taking you unless you go in the back.” I pleaded, “Please.” Her voice turned firm, almost like she was talking to Kristy. “No. Get in the back, or I’m leaving.” I reluctantly got in the backseat, right next to Kristy’s car seat. Charlotte caught my expression and smirked. “You’re lucky I’m not making you sit in the car seat.” I knew she had a point, and to be honest, I was just happy to get out of the house. I replied, “Haha.” I smiled back, just to let Charlotte know I wasn’t actually mad at her. To ease the tension, I asked, “Where is Kristy?” “Oh, she’s at Pre-school. I’ll pick her up before I drop you back at Mom’s house.” We went to a Safeway, which was huge. It was much bigger than the grocery stores in Manhattan. My mom avoided taking me shopping when I was younger because I would wander off, and she’d end up wasting time trying to find me. She could put me in the cart when I was small enough, but eventually I got too big for that. I rode in a stroller when I wore diapers, but Mom didn’t use the stroller when I wore underwear, which made my wandering a bigger problem. That was exactly what happened that afternoon. To be honest, I don’t like shopping. Even now, I just put what I need in the cart and get out. Charlotte browses, looks at everything, and takes forever. I knew she was trying to help me, but I got bored and lost track of where she was. I wandered into a different aisle, and by the time I turned back, she wasn’t where I thought she’d be. The first time it happened, she sighed, “Reggie, I’m doing this for you. I can’t help you if you wander off.” The second time, she sounded more frustrated. “Stay with me, please!” When it happened again, she gave me a look and asked, “Do I need to put you in the cart?” “No, sorry about that.” She finally handed me the cart. “Here, push this. That way you can’t wander off.” That seemed to work, because then I had a reason to stay with her. For the most part, we were still getting the things she’d already told me to buy, like frozen meals and other easy stuff. She also made me get things I didn’t think about like toilet paper, soap, and shampoo. Then I remembered Mom didn’t want me using her dishes. “Oh yeah, I need a glass and a plate.” “Why?” “Mom doesn’t want me using her dishes.” Charlotte shook her head. “Really? Okay.” A few seconds later, I felt a little pee come out and was about to wet my pants. I stopped myself before it turned into a full-on accident, and said, “I need to go to the bathroom.” At first, Charlotte looked annoyed. “Okay, it’s just right over there.” I was about to walk off when she seemed to think better of it. “No, wait. I’m coming with you. I don’t want you wandering off again.” I ended up going to the bathroom while Charlotte stood just outside, which made me feel like I was five years old. That was embarrassing, but it made sense. It wasn’t the first time I’d wandered off, so in a strange way, I understood why she didn’t trust me. We were pretty much done after that, so we headed to the checkout, but first we stopped in the wine section. She put a few bottles in the cart, and I said, “I don’t drink.” “I know. It’s for me.” I asked, “How am I supposed to pay for that?” “What do you mean? You have the money, don’t you?” “No, I have enough money, but cashiers freak out when I pay with a card. There’s no way she’ll let me buy wine.” Charlotte thought about it for a second, then said, “I’ve got an idea. Give me your card, and tell me your PIN.” I guess that was the most practical thing to do, because the cashier didn’t seem to think anything was out of the ordinary. She did give Charlotte’s license a pretty good look, but Charlotte told me that was normal. After we finished, we picked up Kristy from preschool. She was wearing a different set of clothes, and her teacher handed Charlotte a bag. I knew what that meant. She had an accident. That’s when I noticed how naturally Charlotte slipped into being a mother with Kristy, in a way she never did with me. Even though she was disappointed, she was patient. She asked, “Oh dear, you were doing so well. What happened?” Kristy was crying. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I didn’t mean to. It just happened. Please don’t be mad.” Charlotte smiled. “It’s okay, accidents happen. Just remember, big girls use the potty.” With Kristy, Charlotte knew exactly who she was supposed to be. With me, she never did. She could take care of me when she had to, but it didn’t come naturally. Kristy seemed to calm down soon after getting settled in her car seat, and once again, I was on my own after they dropped me off. Strangely, putting some food in the fridge and some basics on the shelf gave me a little confidence. Even though it still didn’t feel like home, I felt less like an intruder. That night, I got bored with video games and watched YouTube instead. It felt a little more adult, even if I still ended up losing track of time and had no idea when I finally went to sleep. I was now on my third day of being an adult, and it felt like I had done nothing right. My body clock was completely off. I kept going to bed really late and waking up later and later each morning. My job search wasn’t going anywhere, and I was no closer to finding work than I’d been on Monday. The only concrete thing I managed to do was get groceries, and that only happened because Charlotte helped me. The waste basket was full of used Pull-ups, and that made it obvious I wasn’t doing a very good job with that either. They were supposed to be just in case, but it was obvious they weren’t. For some reason, I kept getting sidetracked, especially when I got lost in video games, and would pee without even thinking about it. What struck me most was how differently Kristy took it when she had an accident. She was absolutely devastated, but I didn’t seem to care, which didn’t feel right to me. That was the part that really bothered me. At the very least, I needed to care whether I made it to the bathroom or not, even if no one else did. I went back to what I knew from all the times my mom started potty training me. I set a timer on my phone, and when it went off, I made myself stop whatever I was doing. I stayed on the toilet as long as I could, and even if it was only a few drops, I counted it. It was just like when I was little, except I sat on the toilet instead of some little potty chair. I even gave myself a little cheer when I did it right. It felt ridiculous, but it gave the day some structure. I was finally doing something with my time. I’d like to say I was perfect, but I wasn’t. I came close. But I still had an accident after I forgot to set the timer and got lost in a video game. By Friday, I didn’t wake up until nearly one o’clock, which was about the same as my naptime when I was in the nursery. When I looked around the room, I could see just how badly I was doing. Clothes were scattered across the floor. The empty pizza box was still sitting there, along with a couple of dirty dishes, an extra-large McDonald’s cup, and a flat bottle of Coke. I still hadn’t done any laundry, and the waste basket was full of rolled-up Pull-ups I hadn’t even bothered to throw out. My toothbrush was still dry on the counter. The room smelled stale, and to be honest, I felt grimy and disgusting. Mom gave me a bath on Saturday, but that was the last time I really bathed. My mom told me to keep my room clean, and I couldn’t even manage that. I knew I had to deal with the mess, but instead of starting right away, I took a walk. That seemed like an adult thing to do, and I wanted to build up some motivation before taking on the chore. I walked through the greenbelt in the complex and let myself enjoy the serenity for a few minutes, because I knew I’d have to go back and deal with my room. When I opened the door, my mom was already sitting on the bed. In a hauntingly calm voice, she said, “We have to talk.”

There was a story that I read on WattPad that got into that a little bit. I think it was My Sister's Problem. Essentially, the older sister feels get comfort in regression, while the younger sister has true issues with bedwetting. It was a really convoluted story, but they listen to hypnosis, which causes them to regress. Younger sister is absolutely terrible to big sister, but then gets caught, and because she was listening to it in the background, she was prone to the same thing.

Thank you; I have a little more time to myself for the next few months, so I think I'll write more chapters. Maybe even get through more than one a week, although that pace is still hard for me to keep up. While I don't have a full outline of the whole story, I know where I want to take it. I know how I want it to end, which I've hinted at throughout the chapter. Obviously, there is a lot more to this story than: Reggie moves home, his mom puts him in diapers because he wet himself, and then their doctor tells her to stop treating him like a baby. I've got two more chapters/updates before I get to a scene that I promised at the very beginning

I used to tape the top first, thinking I would get a snugger fit. I watched a video that said to do the bottom first, and that works better for me. Now, if I leak, it's either because I'm on my side (I move around a lot while sleeping) or because I just over-saturate my diaper.

I'm pretty American in that. In all three it's: diapers, strollers, and pacifiers. If I want to infalize it, I might use paci, or binky, but diapers and stroller is always used it.

It's funny that you say that, because I think we started 24/7 nearly the same time, and I've had almost the opposite experience. If I poop, I'm almost ceraintly, but not right away. I stand up, and my bladder decides it just time to go. AFAIK, I'm usually still dry the first time I wake up, and at some point I pee in my my diaper. I know that do, but I also I'm wearing a diaper, so I do. What would happen if I didn't? i don't know, because I don't trust myself to find out.

I love this comment because that's exactly what I intend. But it's not just simple narcissism. Charlotte admitting that it was kind of her fault (and we can all admit that she shouldn't have driven home after drinking) is telling. Mom has this ultimate power in their mind, like she was some kind of puppet master. The interesting thing to me is how much I've combined what I've read about your experiences, along with others, and my personal experience, which was literally the exact opposite. Other than her mother (my grandma), my mom might have been the most selfless person I've ever known (PS- ask anybody who knew both of them). However, I'm literally drawing from the same experience of being abandoned by her when I was sixteen, which wasn't her fault, because she died. Ultimately, the relationships within this family are complicated, but their relationships with each other, along with all three of their relationships with their mom, are easiest to explain. PS- despite reports to the contrary. I didn't throw a pacifier during the 49er-Eagles game this year. All those reports that I was overstimulated while watching that game are lies. Just don't talk about what happened the next week.

Chapter 10: Just Between Us At first, I was relieved. I wasn’t a baby anymore. I’d finally be treated like a real adult, and I wouldn’t have to ask my mom’s permission for every little thing. This was the first time I ever had that much independence, and in theory, it’s what I’d always wanted. But the reality hit almost immediately: I was completely on my own. It wasn’t like New York, where I could catch a bus on the corner. The nearest stop was a mile away, and the bus only came every forty minutes. It didn’t feel like my parents would help me find a job, and I didn’t think I could find one on my own. Even if I did, what if they wanted to interview me in person? How was I supposed to get there? What was I supposed to do about food? Uber wasn’t an option, and I couldn’t exactly walk to the store. My mom hadn’t just stepped back; she’d left me stranded with no real way to get anywhere. As much as I hated that stupid car seat, it was still the only practical way for me to get anywhere. I didn’t have any idea what I was supposed to do. Mom made it clear that she wasn’t going to feed me anymore, and that scared me more than anything. I had a meal plan in college. My mom wasn’t going to let me move to New York unless we found a place that included meals. At home, she had always handled all of it. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner just showed up. I never had to think about where any of it came from, or how it ended up in front of me. I’d never cooked. I only knew how to put stuff in the microwave. I never had to buy groceries. I bought snacks, but that was mostly junk food. I didn’t really know what I needed. I’d never used Instacart, and I didn’t even realize grocery stores delivered. On paper, New York should have prepared me for this. I lived alone, held down a job, paid rent, and made it through six years without my mother in the next room. But my life there only worked because everything important was already set up for me. It wasn’t really a life; it was survival. Dartmouth fed me. The boarding house fed me. Public transit took me where I needed to go. Work gave me structure, and once I learned the route, I just repeated it. I didn’t build a life from scratch; I survived inside one that had already been built for me. What my mother expected now was something completely different. She expected me to know how to run a household, buy food, plan ahead, solve problems, and do it all without asking for help. New York taught me how to endure isolation and routine. It didn’t teach me how to be the adult she suddenly expected me to be. My parents’ house was big, but it never felt open. Our rooms were upstairs, along with the nursery, the playroom, and my mom’s office. We were never allowed inside my parents room. The door was always closed, and to this day, I still don’t know what it looks like. My mom’s office sat right next to the nursery and playroom, so it always felt like she was just outside the door. For most of my childhood, Chris had his own room. I have a vague memory of him being in the nursery, but I was very young. Charlotte and I each had our own crib in the nursery until she was seventeen. Then Mom converted the playroom into Charlotte’s room. When I got out of diapers, Chris was still living at home, so I had to stay in the nursery. Mom removed the rails, but that was the only thing that changed. It was still a crib, in a room meant for a baby. A few months later, Chris moved out, and I moved into his room. I slept there, kept my things there, and lived there, but to my mom, it was never really my room; it was still Chris’s room. After I moved out of the nursery, she restored it to what it had been, like she planned on using it again. We may have slept upstairs, but we lived downstairs. That’s where the kitchen was, where the TV was, and where we spent most of our time. Off to the side was a part of the house we never went into. My dad’s den was over there, along with the guest room. Since the den was off-limits and the guest room wasn’t for us, we were never allowed in that part of the house. To be honest, it felt awkward breaking through that barrier. I didn’t understand why she put me in the guest room. Going back to my old room would have made more sense. That’s where I slept, and where most of my stuff was. But in my mom’s mind, it was still Chris’s room, and one day he’d come back. That was never going to happen. She’d chased him off years ago, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit it. When I finally stepped into the guest room, it felt strange. I wasn’t supposed to be in that part of the house, and now that’s where I lived? In a lot of ways, the room was nice, but it felt like a hotel room. The queen-sized bed took up most of the space. There was a small desk, a TV, and closets hidden behind sliding doors. A window looked out over the backyard, and there was even an ensuite bathroom. It was the first time I had ever had a bathroom to myself. But that part of the house felt cut off from everything else. Dad was the only one ever there, and he stayed shut away in his den. At first, the distance felt like relief. I was finally free from my mother’s control. But the longer I stood there, the more that feeling changed. This wasn’t freedom, it was exile. I was in an abandoned corner of the house with no one to help me. I tried to make the room feel like mine, but it didn’t. Nothing about it did. A few minutes later, my mother came in, dropped the box I’d shipped from New York at my feet, and left it there like a delivery. She didn’t ask any questions or offer any advice. She just said, “Here’s the stuff you brought from New York. Bring down anything you left in Chris’s room. I’m throwing out whatever is still there.” I didn’t know what to make of my mother’s new approach. A few hours earlier, I was still her baby. The constant nurturing and attention might have seemed loving, if I were a baby. Since I wasn’t, it felt sinister. But the second she agreed to treat me like an adult, all of that disappeared. I wasn’t her child anymore; I was just someone she had to deal with. What scared me most was that my mother didn’t take half measures. In our family, diapers meant we were babies. That was the rule. The second we were back in them, she treated us like babies and did everything for us, right down to the smallest detail. Then, the moment she decided we were ready, all of that stopped. From that point on, she expected total competence. No help. No patience. No allowance for failure. That was the rule. If we didn’t do it right, immediately and without complaint, we failed. This was just the next version. She gave me what I wanted, but without her structure, and I was terrified! I wanted freedom, but I didn’t want to be dropped without any help. It felt like she would watch me fail and never lift a finger. For as long as I can remember, I wanted my mother to be like everyone else: a normal mom who let her children grow up. But she was never like that. Even after I stopped wearing diapers, she never stopped being my mom. In college, she called almost every day. When she visited in New York, she always walked me back to my boarding house before returning to her hotel. I told her it wasn’t necessary, but she always gave the same answer: “The world is never going to see you as an adult, so I have to make sure you get home safely.” That was what made this feel so wrong. However twisted her version of love, it was still the only kind of mothering I knew. This was the first time she had ever stopped mothering me, and she had done it all at once. The woman standing in front of me was still my mom, but I hardly recognized her. Then I realized I was still wearing the diaper Rachel put on me. I went through my bag for underwear, but it wasn’t there. Without thinking, I called out, “Mom, what happened to my underwear?” Mom answered, already annoyed. “What?” “Where’s my underwear?” “Why are you asking me?” I replied, “There were some in my bag, but they’re gone.” “Those? They were rags. I threw them out.” I looked at her. “What am I supposed to do?” She shrugged. “Figure it out yourself.” After that, I was furious, but mostly at myself. I had barely started, and I was already failing. I was still in the diaper, and it was wet enough that my mother might have changed it if she had bothered to check. I asked myself why I hadn’t used the bathroom. Maybe it was stress. Maybe it was habit. Whatever the reason, I couldn’t ignore what it suggested: I wasn’t even potty trained. That doubt left me frozen. If I put on underwear, I could tell myself that I was trying to be an adult. But I was scared I’d have an accident, and maybe Mom would seize on that as proof I was never ready for any of this. On the other hand, wearing protection felt like I was giving up before I even started. This was the first time I had ever gone straight from diapers to underwear without being potty trained again. Every other time, Mom made me start over, like it was my very first time. She sat me on a little potty chair and watched while I did it. I got a star when I did it right, and when I earned enough stars, I could wear Pull-ups. If I stayed dry in my Pull-ups, I got to wear underwear. Now, it didn’t seem to matter whether I was wet, or dry. I was completely on my own. In the end, I chose the safer option. I hated what it implied, but I told myself it was only temporary, just a precaution until I got used to using the toilet again. I ordered some underwear from Amazon and, after a moment’s hesitation, another package of Pull-ups, just in case. My next immediate issue was food. I didn’t have any food, and even if I did, I didn’t know how to cook. Ordering a pizza was the obvious choice, and on paper, probably the right one. But it still felt like one more way I was failing. When I got overwhelmed, I always went for the easy option. So, I ordered a pizza. It wasn’t as good as what I got in New York, but even bad pizza is good. I also ordered a two-liter bottle of Coke. There was an NFL playoff game on that night, and for a second, this didn’t feel so bad. With pizza, Coke, and a game on TV, I was set for the evening. But even that thought made me feel childish. Those weren’t adult decisions; they were the choices a kid would make if no one was watching. I could watch the game without worrying about my mom’s reaction, drink as much soda as I wanted, and stay up as late as I could. When the pizza came, I carried it into the kitchen to get a plate and a glass for my Coke. Mom looked up and snapped, “What are you doing?” “I need a glass for my Coke.” She sighed. “I suppose that’s fine, but you really should get your own dishes. Just clean up after you’re done.” My dad got home midway through the game and disappeared into his den to watch it. Normally, none of us went in there unless he called for us. We weren’t even supposed to ask. I stood there for a second, wondering if that rule still applied. Everything else had changed so fast that it was hard to tell what still applied and what didn’t. Finally, I made myself speak. “Dad, can I watch the game with you?” He mumbled, “Why not.” I sat with him through the rest of the game, holding onto this stupid little hope that maybe, now that we were alone, he’d finally say something about what was happening. I didn’t need him to fix it. I just wanted him to acknowledge it. Maybe ask if I needed anything. But he never did. We only talked about football. I called Charlotte after the game ended, because I didn’t know what else to do. I was overwhelmed and desperately wanted to talk to someone. Her face appeared on the screen a second later, already surprised. “Reggie?” “Yeah.” “Wait, how? I thought Mom had your phone. Why are you still up? I thought you had an early bedtime.” I hesitated. I didn’t know how much to tell her, but she was probably the only person who’d understand. I stumbled over the words, trying to figure out how to explain it. “Mom put me back in the nursery, but we went to Dr. Olson today.” “You did? Why?” I looked away from the screen. “Mom said she wanted to find out what was wrong with me.” I swallowed. “She told Dr. Olson I’d regressed so much she had to put me back in diapers.” I paused. “Which isn’t fair. Mom didn’t even give me a chance.” Charlotte’s face tightened, but she didn’t interrupt. That’s the nice thing about FaceTime—I could tell she understood without saying anything. After a second, she asked, “What happened?” “Well, Dr. Olson told Mom to stop treating me like a baby. She said I’m never going to grow up if Mom keeps doing this.” Charlotte looked genuinely surprised. As far as either of us knew, Dr. Olson and Mom had always been on the same side. She asked, “She did? I never thought Dr. Olson would go against Mom.” “Me too.” Charlotte looked stunned. “Wait—did she actually say you were an adult?” I shrugged. “Not really. She said losing my job and coming back home messed me up, and that Mom needed to back off and let me be more independent. She made it sound like I did this on purpose.” Charlotte gave a small, knowing nod, but she didn’t say anything. For a second, I had the uneasy feeling she thought Dr. Olson might be right, but neither of us said it. Then she asked, “So how did Mom take it?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. It was weird. One second she was being Mom, and the next she just... wasn’t.” Nobody bore the brunt of Mom’s sudden changes more than Charlotte. She nodded. “That’s what Mom always does. Whenever I got out of diapers, she went psycho on me. It was like the second I wasn’t a baby anymore—she expected me to be perfect.” I shook my head. “No, this is different. Mom’s ignoring me. She’s barely said two words to me since I got home.” Charlotte hesitated. For a second, she looked like she wanted to believe me, but something in her face said she didn’t. Then she asked, “Really? Did Mom make you sit in the car seat?” I blushed. “Yeah, but she said the car doesn’t know how old I am.” Charlotte nodded, like that answer told her everything she needed to know. “Sounds like Mom to me.” I shook my head. “No, it’s more than that. She’s treating me like a tenant, and she wants me to pay rent.” “Seriously? That’s what I wanted when I moved back, but she wouldn’t take my money. I hoped she’d treat me like an adult, but she didn’t.” I let out a short laugh, but there wasn’t anything funny about it. I said, “She won’t even cook for me. I have to cook for myself.” “What? Do you know how to cook?” “No.” Her expression tightened. “But Mom loves feeding people!” I replied, “I know. That’s not the worst part. I have to get my own groceries.” Charlotte frowned. “Well… yeah. Adults get their own groceries.” I shook my head. “No, that’s not it. She won’t take me to the store.” Charlotte gasped. “What?” “She says I have to figure it out myself.” “Reggie, you don’t drive. How are you supposed to get food?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t even take an Uber.” “Why not?” “Drivers won’t take me. They think I need to be with an adult.” Charlotte stared at me for a second. She hadn’t thought about that, but most people don’t until I tell them. Then she nodded. “I guess you’ll have to do Amazon or Instacart.” I honestly didn’t know they did that. “They deliver groceries?” Charlotte’s face went blank. “What do you mean? Of course they do.” I think that was the first time she realized how little I actually knew about taking care of myself. I couldn’t hide it after that. “I’ve never bought groceries.” “Are you serious?” “Yeah. I’ve never needed to. I’ve always had meal plans, so I only went to the store to buy snacks. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to get.” Charlotte leaned into the screen. “Reggie! Mom’s setting you up to fail. I can’t take you to the store tomorrow, but I can take you Wednesday. Until then, order enough to get you through one day. Get some frozen meals and cereal—just the easy stuff. Then on Wednesday, I’ll help you get what you actually need.” She paused, then said more quietly, “And Reggie, even if it doesn’t seem like it, trust me, Mom is watching. Don’t make it easy for her.” I heard what Charlotte was saying, but it didn’t feel true. Mom hadn’t just stopped treating me like a child; she was completely ignoring me. And I didn’t think Charlotte fully understood what it was like for me. We’d both spent years in the nursery, but it wasn’t the same. Charlotte didn’t spend as much time in diapers during the day, and as far as I knew, she hadn’t worn them in over ten years. As overbearing as Mom could be, I would’ve taken that over being completely abandoned. I gritted my teeth, but I didn’t say anything. Charlotte looked at me and asked, “Okay, so tell me what happened?” I looked down and said, “She put me in diapers and treated me like a baby.” Charlotte gave me a look. “Reggie, I know that part. I want to know what she actually did.” I hesitated. Deep down, I knew she was right, but I wasn’t ready to talk about it. I mumbled, “It’s embarrassing.” Charlotte held my gaze. “Reggie, I know it’s embarrassing, but you can’t keep this to yourself. I’m the only person who really knows what this is like, and I should’ve told you what Mom did to me.” That threw me. Even though we were close, we had never talked about any of this. To be honest, I didn’t really know what it was like for her either. She was still in the nursery, still wearing diapers, when she was seventeen. I was only eleven, and I knew I was too old for them. But that was all I really knew about her experience, and I thought that was what she meant. I still didn’t think she understood what it was like for me. I sighed. “Okay, I’ll give you the highlights.” I told her about the playpen, Mom making me do tummy time, and then having Stacy come over to babysit. Charlotte looked startled. “Stacy? Isn’t she in high school?” I shook my head. “No, not anymore. She goes to UC Santa Barbara.” Charlotte nodded slowly. “Wow! Good for her. I still think of her as a kid.” She then added, almost as if she was talking to herself, “It’s weird having a babysitter that’s younger than you.” For a little while, Saturday actually felt better. I said, “Mom even let me stay up late to watch the end of the football game,” as if that was supposed to prove something. Charlotte looked at me. “What happened last night? We came over, but Mom said you were tired and had gone to bed.” I looked back at the screen. “Did she say bed?” “No, but I know you don’t like hearing about your nursery and crib. So, what happened?” “I was watching the Niner game, and the Eagles took the lead. I got mad and threw my pacifier.” I blushed. “I thought they were going to lose.” Charlotte shrugged. “Didn’t they win?” I nodded. “Yeah, but I thought they were done. I didn’t find out they won until tonight’s game.” I paused. “Anyway, Mom said I was overstimulated. She took me into the nursery and wrapped me in a blanket so tight that I couldn’t move my arms or legs.” Charlotte’s face changed. “She did that to you?” She shook her head. “I hated it when she did that to me.” I was confused. “Wait. Mom did that to you too? When did that happen?” Charlotte looked away. For a second, I thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then she said, very quietly, “It was during Covid. Right after things opened up.” I asked, “What happened?” Charlotte’s mouth tightened. “I mean... it’s kinda my fault.” She didn’t look at me when she said it. Mom had this way of making us feel like whatever happened was always our fault. I didn’t want her to shut down, but just like when she asked me, I wanted to know what really happened. I replied, “I knew about the bedtime, and some of the other stuff, but I didn’t know she did… that to you.” Charlotte let out a breath. “At first, Mom was good. I told her I wasn’t moving back unless she treated me like an adult. I wanted to pay rent, but she wouldn’t take my money. And for a little while, it almost felt normal. Then she started picking at everything. Little stuff at first. Then more and more. Before I knew it, she was just... Mom again.” She took another breath. “Once things opened up, I wanted to go out with friends. Mom didn’t think it was safe and wanted me to stay home.” It still didn’t make any sense. As far as I knew, Mom only put us in diapers when we had accidents or wet the bed, and she didn’t treat us like babies unless we were wearing them. This sounded different. It sounded like she got mad and put her back in the nursery as punishment. I asked, “Wait, so Mom put you back in diapers because you went out?” Charlotte gritted her teeth. “Not exactly. We live so far from everything, so I drove to the bar. I’d had a couple of drinks, but I wasn’t drunk, and Mom lost her mind when she found out I drove myself home. She said I was clearly not responsible enough to be an adult, and when I tried to argue, she pulled out the same line she used on you. She said I was overstimulated, and the next thing I knew, I was wrapped in a blanket and lying in a crib.” I stared at her. “I didn’t know.” Charlotte’s eyes filled. “Reggie, it was humiliating. She had Becca’s little sister babysit me.” Her mouth twisted. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to have some teenager change your diaper?” I shrugged, “Stacy?” Charlotte nodded. “Yeah. Then Mom had me start over from the beginning. She even dragged out the same little chair I used with Kristy.” “How long did she keep it up?” Charlotte let out a short, humorless breath. “A couple of weeks, I think. I wasn’t working, so the days all blurred together.” Her mouth tightened. “But some of it didn’t stop when the rest of it did.” “What do you mean?” She went pink and looked away. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a mumble. “Reggie, I still wet the bed. I never stopped.” “Wait. But Mom let you out of the nursery when you were in high school. How did that happen?” “Back then?” she asked, and I nodded. “After I started high school, I told her I wasn’t a baby anymore, and that it wasn’t fair for her to keep treating me like one. I begged her to give me a chance, and I promised I’d take care of everything myself. She wouldn’t even know if I had an accident. It took us almost three years, but with Daddy’s help, we convinced her to give me a chance.” She blushed. “But this time, she didn’t trust me. She made me sleep in the nursery until I moved in with Dennis.”

My situation is very different, but it's oddly similar (excuse the oxymoron). I started going 24/7 sometime between 2019 and 2020, and we all know what happened in 2020. It's hard to say exactly when it happened, because there wasn't a definitive moment that decided to go 24/7. In September of 2021, I started working outside my home, after going more than a year of wearing diapers basically all the time. While I didn't have to deal with a significant other (wife, husband, partner), a lot of issues were going in my brain. I worked from home for more than 9 years, and that much public exposure was scary. At the same token, I didn't think I could handle not wearing one. Long story, short, I did the same thing that I've done every single day since then. I wear a good quality ABDL diaper (it's Crinklz, and I think I was wearing that day as well), a booster, and a waterproof cover. As for now, I've had a total of---- wait for it--0 comments on my diaper. PS- I work with teenagers, so they aren't exactly known for their subtleness, especially the type that I teach. The last time that I went more than a day without wearing a diaper was in 2024, when I went to Japan. I went only a few days without one, but I was constantly aware of that fact. When I found a store that had some (harder than you think), I bought a package as soon as I could.

It's 18 years old.

I'm currently writing a story where the protagonist is 24-years old, 4'5", weighs 65 pounds, and hasn't gone through puberty. My excuse for this is that he has some unknown growth defect that prevented him from growing. How realistic is that? Not very, but I researched enough to find that there are some genetic syndromes that cause delayed puberty. There are cases that we've seen in jockeys and gymnasts, who appear to be much younger than they really are. It's the question that you have to wrestle with when you write AB/DL fiction, especially when protagonist is regressed to a much younger age. You can limit their public exposure, but that limits what you can do with character, or the plot. Nobody wants to read endless paragraphs about sleeping in cribs, and being isolated in a nursery. I also much of the audience wants to read a story where the main character ends up being isolated in a nursery either. If you include some elements of the regression happening in a public setting. you need to explain how that can happen. The problem is: actual little kids who young enough for diapers, strollers, and preschool are so much smaller upper elementary (9-12 years old), and it's not believable that an adult could pass for a preschool child. In my case, Reggie looks like a 9-year-old (I did the research), and outsiders think he's too old to be sit in a stroller, but his Mom doesn't care what other people think.

I don't know if anybody is still reading this story (no posts and 6 likes on my last chapter- it's a critical part of this story), but if you are, I don't think I'll get an update out this weekend. I might get it out on Monday, but not likely Good news is: after next week, I get a big break from that huge time sink that is my job😁 (sucks, but a man's got to eat). I think I'm about halfway through the full narrative, and I might be able to get through two chapters a week during my summer vacation. PS- I'll have a big break right in the middle of that when I do something stupid like travel to Europe and visit 9 countries (I'm kind of excited about that),