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Restlessfox's Depression Discussion
A place for when your feeling a bit low.
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More disturbing evidence arrived this week confirming that whilst not in any way a lifestyle objective for me, #2 control has gotten caught up in the general laissez-faire zeitgeist that prevails south of my waist elastics these days. It may possibly even be ahead of the curve. It was the usual conspiracy of events: something I’d eaten that whilst light years from making me in any way ill, nevertheless didn’t quite agree with me running up against my natural disinclination to deal with the logistical challenges of removing and replacing nappies whilst out of the house. There’d been a couple of mysterious gurgles from the belly zone that afternoon at work but nothing serious. A very minor cramp or two suggested that I’d need to take care of things at my evening change. Back in the olden times, my bowels operated with the precision of an atomic clock and even after going back into nappies, things were well synchronised enough with my morning nappy change. Those days are long gone now. Things happen at either end of the day as the mood takes them but usually I can hang on: for a while. Anyway, I drove home without incident or undue urgency. Leaving the car underneath my carport, a more substantial cramp appeared and this sudden but far-from-catastrophic elevation in requirement had me thinking that I might have to “take care of business” before my evening nappy change. It was all of a 12 meter walk from my carport to the front door but by the time I’d gotten the key in the lock, I’d decided that not only was I going to “take care of business” immediately, but also, I was going to use the downstairs facilities to do so in order to minimise my travel time. With the front door open and kicking off my shoes, I envisioned the gleaming white porcelain facility that was meters away and dreamed of warm water and lemon-scented towels. A second or three later I’d bargained myself to penguin-waddling carefully and hoping that the minor-but-uncontrollable seepage that I could feel would be minimal enough. Before I’d made it halfway up the stairs that seepage had escalated into a full-on nappy-filling experience that I was powerless to either prevent or pause. Despite what I felt to be Herculean effort, the only thing my sphincter-squeezing was doing was to make the process of loading my nappy painful. All that was left to me was to pause walking (god forbid a leak!) and wait for the unstoppable process of enshitification to reach its satanic peanut-butter conclusion. I was then left with an immediate local reduction in atmospheric quality, a ghastly nappy change, most likely a shower and a very limited time window before my beloved returned from her work. I’d previously wondered after prior “incidents” if in fact at some point my “losing control” was actually just me mentally throwing in the towel and allowing events to proceed, trading comfort for convenience. After all, clearly I was dressed for just such an eventuality. There was no doubt with this one. It was a complete failure of control that I‘d fought all the way down to the physiological basement. I had just experienced a major episode of “urge incontinence” but from totally the wrong department. I suppose, if my poop had a certain minty freshness, perhaps of the type whereby people would hang cardboard pine trees coated in it from their car rear vision mirrors, if it had a neutral PH and didn’t attack my skin like a starving Alsatian would devour the slowest of the available pool of fleeing Jehovah’s witnesses, if clean-up could be automatically accomplished by a fleet of nano-bots in twenty seconds and if my beloved wouldn’t be waiting to swoop down upon me from the sky at me like a giant bat then I wouldn’t care about maintaining bowel control. But I do care. I’m just not very good at doing anything about it (although I suppose I could try giving up microwaved chicken dishes for office lunches). I guess I’m the United Nations of me and I’ve just issued another strongly-worded statement advocating my aspirations that are clearly being undermined by my own inactions. -
By Little BabyDoll Christine · Posted
Why dies she ask and not do what every self-respecting mommy/caregiver would do? A diaper check. That is what puts the "baby" in "babydoll" and motivates toword potty training of an over-age wetter and for any 4 o 5 year old Little Girl, learning to keep her skirts down -
The best way to be more accustomed to the paci is to just relax. That usually helps.
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