Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers and motherly figures.  Even though the timeline for this story is still back in April around the 18th, today is Will's birthday too.  Warning: I just wanted to let everyone know that Will is going to have a tough time with dealing with all of the changes that happened in the last chapter.  For the next few chapters, there will be times when Will will either say or think mean and ugly things about himself, as he comes to terms with what has happened.               Chapter 12               I woke up and before I could open my eyes, I could feel that someone was lying next to me in the bed.  Opening my eyes and turning my head, I could see that my mom was lying next to me.  My mom looked down at me and with a smile said, “Hey Will.”               “Hey,” was all I could muster in response.  I did notice that I wasn’t drooling and slurring my words anymore.  It was still unnerving to hear my high-pitched voice.  I also noticed that my diaper was dry, so I guess I was changed while I was asleep.  The leads and heart monitor were gone too.               My mom turned on her side and brushed my hair back with her hand. I could tell it was pretty long now.  She then asked, “How do you feel?”               Thinking to myself, ‘How do I even answer that?’  My whole life was turned upside down. What am I supposed to say, ‘I am just peachy despite having a toddler body and probably needing the care of a toddler for the rest of my life.  Oh yeah, and I have a vagina now.’  Not caring to elaborate on my feelings at the moment, I just simply said, “I’m OK.”               My mom looked down with concern and said, “Do you want to talk about what is happening?”               I quickly said, “No.” “Well, I will be here to talk about it when you are ready,” she said.  Looking around, I noticed that my dad wasn’t there, so I asked, “Where is Dad?”  To change the subject.               My mom said, “He went to get himself and me a cup of coffee from Starbucks.”               I nodded my head, looked to my left again, and spotted the teddy bear, I then asked my mom, “What’s with the teddy bear?”               My mom responded, “Stanley and Katie sent it.  Ellis picked it out because she wanted you to have a friend to watch over you while you were asleep.”               I couldn’t help but smile a little at how sweet Ellis was.  I said, “That was nice of Ellis.”               “Yep, she sure is a sweetheart,” my mom said.               Before I could think of another question to distract my mom and myself with, my dad walked in carrying two cups of coffee in his hands.  He handed one of the cups to my mom, then leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. Standing back up, he asked, “How are you feeling, Will?”               I just looked at him and said, “I’m OK.”               I could see it in his eyes that he knew that was a lie, but he just nodded his head to my answer.  I then tried to do something that I had not tried in a while; I tried to sit up.  I first tried lifting my head.  My head felt heavy but I was successful in lifting it off the pillow. I then tried to sit up the rest of the way using both my arms and abdominal muscles.  I was able to get my back off of the bed, but my body was too weak to sit up all the way and I collapsed back down.  My mom looked to see what I was doing and asked, “Will, what are you trying to do?”               Taking in a deep breath from my exertion, I said, “I was trying to see if I could sit upright.”               “Well, I’m glad you are taking the lead on getting your strength back.  One of the things we were going to have to discuss with you tomorrow was working on exercises to build your strength back up after being in a coma for so long,” my mom said.               After setting her coffee down, she took both her hands, placed them under my armpits, and easily lifted me into a sitting position as the covers fell to my lap.  It felt so weird that her hands could wrap around my torso.  She then said, “I’m going to slowly let go, but will keep my hands on you to keep you from falling over.”               I nodded and spread my legs out and brought my feet inward to help form a solid base.  I was surprised by how flexible my hips were.  My mom then slowly let go and placed one hand on my back and the other on my chest.  I was able to stay upright, but it didn’t long for my abdominal muscles to start quaking and I found myself shifting back and forth between my mom’s hands in my fight to stay upright.  A few moments later, I collapsed forward into my mom’s hand.  My mom then shifted me to where I was leaning back into her other hand, then she used the hand that was supporting my front to support my head and gently lowered me back down.               She leaned down and kissed me on my forehead and said, “Good job, honey.”               Out of breath and panting, it took me a few moments, but I was able to say, “That was a lot harder than it should be.”               “Well, you lost a good bit of muscle over the past month, but if you keep at it, you will be sitting up on your own, then standing, and finally walking in no time,” my mom said.               I just nodded my head and thought, ‘this is going to suck.’  Wanting to take my mind off things, I asked, “Mom, can you raise the bed so that I can watch TV?”               My mom said, “Sure.”               She raised the head of the bed to where it was at a 45-degree angle and turned on the TV.  She then handed me the remote and I found myself surprised again by how big everything was.  The remote was huge in my tiny hands.  I started channel surfing for a few minutes then settled on reruns of Law & Order: SVU.  I made it through the rest of the episode and was about 15 minutes into the next episode when a nurse walked in.               She was holding what looked like a smaller bag for my feeding tube than before I was in a coma, along with a syringe in her other hand.  I couldn’t tell for certain, but she looked like the nurse from earlier with brown hair, hazel eyes, and a medium build.  She walked up to my bedside and with a smile said, “Hi Will, my name is Abby and I have been your nurse for the past couple of weeks.”               I looked up at her and just said, “Hi.”               “I'm glad you’re awake again; how are you feeling?” Abby asked.               I said, “I’m OK.”               “That’s good to hear, I’m going to start your last feeding bag of the day,” Abby said.               My mom then chimed in, “He was able to sit up on his own for a few minutes about an hour ago.”               “That is fantastic news, you will be on your feet again in no time,” Abby said in a bubbly voice.               She got my feeding bag started, then injected the syringe into my I.V.  She looked back down at me and said, “All the drugs from when you were in a coma should be almost all out of your system.  If you start to have any pain again, let me know and I can give you something to help.”               “OK, am I going to get sick from the feeding tube like before?” I asked.               Abby responded, “You haven’t spit up in days during your feedings, so it shouldn’t be a problem anymore.”               I just nodded my head, and thought, ‘At least something is going right for me.’               She then said, “I will be back in a little bit to flush your feeding tube,” before walking out.               I turned my attention back to the TV to try and distract me again.  As time passed and the feeding bag emptied, I noticed that I only got a little bit queasy.  Not long after Abby walked back in.  As she was disconnecting my feeding tube from the bag and flushing my feeding tube out, she asked, “Did you have any problems?”               I said, “No, just got a little nauseous.”               She smiled at me and said, “That’s good to hear, Will.”  She then said, “You all have a good night and I will see you in the morning.  Let the night nurse know if you need anything.”               My dad responded, “Good night, Abby,” followed by my mom saying, “Good night, see you tomorrow.”               Once Abby had left, I went back to watching TV.  About 5 minutes in, I was hit with the immediate need to poop.  I turned to my parents and said, “I have to …,” but it was too late.  Poop started filling the back of my diaper, then started working its way up to the front of my diaper.  My bladder decided to join in and pee started filling the front of my diaper and running down to mix with my poop.  All I could do was whimper as I helplessly soiled myself.  My mom rushed to my side and sensing my distress, placed a hand on my cheek and said, “It’s OK, Will.  I will get you changed.”               She pulled the cover back, then picked me up then laid me back down onto the incontinent pad that I was sitting on, with my feet pointing at her.  She then asked, “Are you all done?”               I was able to force out a little more pee, then I bit my lower lip and nodded yes.  I then saw my dad pass a new diaper, a tub of wipes, and a tube of cream to my mom above me.  She moved my arms up to beside my head, pushed up my hospital gown to my chest, and then said, “George, start a bath for Will, he had a little bit of a blowout around his legs.”               She then looked down at me and said, “It has been a couple of days since you had a bath and you will feel a lot better after having one.”               All I could do was nod, then out of embarrassment of getting my diaper changed, I turned my head so I was facing the wall.  I hear the sound of my mom ripping the tapes on my diaper, then air hitting my crotch as the front of my diaper was lower down.  I could then feel my mom start wiping down the front of my diaper area with cold wet wipes.  As she was thoroughly cleaning my new genitals, I had to shut my eyes and ball up my fist at the alien sensations I was feeling.  Thinking that it couldn’t get any worse, I felt my mom grab both of my ankles in one hand then lift my legs and push my knees to my chest.  She used wipe after wipe to clean all of the poop that was caked to my bottom.  Once my bottom was clean, my legs were lowered back down and I turned my head to see that she was balling up the used diaper.               She looked at me and said, “Let’s get you into the tub for a quick bath.”               She then removed my gown, leaving me completely naked.  She walked around to the other side of the bed, then picked me up and held me up close to her body with one hand on my bare bottom and the other on my upper back.  It felt so awkward to have her holding me against her naked.  As we turned to head to the bathroom, I could see over her shoulder that my dad was following behind us with my I.V. poll.               We made it into the bathroom and looking into the tub, I could see what looked like a bath chair for small disabled children.  My mom gently placed me in the bath chair and I noticed that the water only covered my legs and went up to my lower stomach.  Looking at my body, I could see that my legs lacked any muscle just like my arms. I had a small protruding belly, which was weird to look at since I have had a flat stomach for as long as I can remember.  I lifted my head up slightly to see past my belly and immediately regretted it.  It was one thing to be told about the difference or feel the difference down there, it was a whole other thing to see the difference with my own eyes.  It was unnerving to see that my penis was missing.               I snapped my head back and stared at the ceiling as my heart rate began to climb.  My mom sensing my distress, placed a hand on my chest and the other on the side of my face, and said, “Will, I know this is a lot to take in and I can’t imagine how you are feeling right now.  I’m going to give you a quick bath, but I need you to take some deep breaths with me, OK.”               I nodded my head and we began to take deep breaths in, followed by slowly exhaling together.  After a few minutes, my heart rate returned to normal.  My mom leaned down and kissed me on the forehead, then said, “Good job sweety.”               She took a cup that was sitting on the side of the tub, filled it with bath water then used it to wet my hair and upper body, being careful to not get my face wet because of the feeding tube.  I saw her take some baby shampoo then quickly washed and rinsed my hair.  She then took a wet washcloth with baby body wash and started scrubbing my arms, legs, and the front of my body.  She then leaned me forward and with one hand holding me, she used the other to scrub my back and butt.  Laying me back into the chair, she rinsed my body of all the soap.  She then said, “Alright, you are as clean as a whistle, let’s get you dried off and dressed.”               I was lifted out of the bath chair and then gently laid down on a large towel.  She dried all the water off of my body and got my hair as dry as possible.  She then bundled me up in the towel, picked me up, and held me in her arms.  I heard her call out, “George, can you come help me with Will’s I.V. poll.”               I then looked over at the mirror and could not believe what I was seeing.  Being held in my mom’s arms, all I could see was a cute toddler looking back at me.  Albeit, a sickly looking one, with dark circles under their eyes and a feeding tube coming out of their nose.  I also noticed that my hair was about halfway down to my shoulders.  As my dad was coming into the bathroom, I asked my mom, “Why is my hair so long?”               As we were walking out of the bathroom with my dad following, my mom said, “Well, you looked like you needed a haircut before all this happened.  The doctors said that since your hair and nails are made up of dead cells, then they would remain the same.  Between another month of hair growth and your overall size decreasing, it looks like you have a lot longer hair than before.  At one point, I was having to cut your nails every few days to keep you from growing talons.”               I said, “That makes sense.”               As we made it to the bed, I could see that there was a new incontinent pad on the bed, along with a folded-up gown, diaper, cream, and lotion.  My mom laid me down on the bed and I could see my dad plugging in my I.V. pump. She unswaddled me from the towel, took some lotion, and applied from head to toe on me.  At that point, I started to feel my joints ache again.  I watched as she unfolded the diaper and fluffed it up.  She lifted my bottom off of the bed by my ankles, placed the diaper under, and then set me back down onto the thick diaper.   Thinking I was finally going to get dressed now, I see her grab the tube and cream and squeeze some onto one of her fingers, then lift my bottom back up and rub the cream into my butt crack.               My face was flushed as my mom pulled the diaper between my legs and taped it up snugly around my waist.  Seeing my red face, she said, “Sorry Will, should have warned you about that, I don’t want you getting a rash.”               She then took the gown and put the sleeves together around my arms using the snaps.  She then reached around my neck and tied the back of the gown together.  It was then that I realized that there was only one tie and I would be flashing my diaper anytime I was not laying in bed.  My mom then picked me up and then placed me back in bed, laying at a 45-degree angle on top of the new incontinent pad.  I looked up and said, “My joints are starting to hurt again.”               As my mom was picking up the towel off the bed, she said, “I will go get the nurse.”               I saw my mom toss the towel into a bin and then walk out of the room.  My dad then scooped me up into his arms to where my bottom was resting on one of his forearms and he was using his other hand to support my upper body.  As I was looking up at him with a questioning look, he said, “I wanted to say good night to you before the medicine knocks you out.  I am heading back to your apartment tonight, but your mom will be staying the night with you.  I will be back first thing in the morning.”               I asked, “How have the bills and rent been getting paid.”               With a slight chuckle, he said, “I know we were worried about your brain before waking you up, but I think you are still sharp as a tack; don’t worry about the bills and rent, I have been taking care of everything.”  With a serious look in his eyes, he said, “I only wanted you worried about one thing, getting your strength back, OK.”               In a quiet voice, I said, “OK.”               He then brought me in for a hug to where my head was resting on his shoulder and as he was rubbing my back, he said, “I know today was extremely tough and confusing for you.  Just know that your mom and I will be here for you every step of the way.  And know that I love you no matter what.”               With tears in my eyes, I said with a catch in my voice, “I love you too.”               I could then hear my mom coming into the room talking to someone.  I could then hear my mom say, “Sarah is here to give you your pain medicine.”               I lifted my head off my dad’s shoulder and could see a nurse with black hair and green eyes holding a syringe.  I held my left hand out to her, she took it in her hand, and as she was connecting the syringe to the I.V. port, she asked, “Are you OK, Will?”               I just nodded my head, then placed my head back on my dad’s shoulder as I felt the effects of the pain medicine kick in.  My mom then said, “He had a rough day today with everything going on after waking up from the coma.”               Sarah then placed a hand on my shoulder and said, “I'm glad that you’re awake now, I’m sure that tomorrow will be better for you.”               I then felt my dad lay me down in bed, I looked up as he kissed me on the forehead, and then pulled the covers up.  I saw my parents kiss then my dad walked out.  I was starting to get very tired as my mom was lowering the bed back down to nearly flat.  She kissed me on the cheek, then said, “Good night Will, I love you.”               I mumbled out, “I love you too,” as I fell asleep to my mom running her fingers through my hair.

I'm transplanting this over from a thread that @Enthusi started elsewhere, because I meant to mention it here, but forgot. I think it's significant enough to warrant inclusion in this journal of my strange journey. One thing I've been working on is getting over the stigma surrounding wearing diapers as a non-baby. I was changing winter rims over to summers with a buddy of mine who knows I wear diapers, and at one point I was bent over pushing on a torque wrench and I felt a cool breeze on my lower back, and instantly had a slight feeling of panic, because he was standing right there, watching me. I shook it off - reaching back there would only draw attention to it, anyway. Then, he went off to get a tool, giving me a moment to put my hand back there while still in my original position, and sure enough, there was a strip of white plastic above my shorts and below the hem of my shirt. Which shouldn't have been surprising, since his boxers were hanging out when he was likewise bent over.  I had the urge to stand up and tuck everything in, but I stifled it - unless I went inside and put on a onesie, it was just going to happen again - we still had three more wheels to change. I went back to what I was doing, and he came walking back over with the tool we needed, and a beer for me as well, and we carried on. I chose not to be ashamed of my diaper.  Although admittedly, it was a white diaper - had it been something with pink bunnies on it I probably would have been a lot more self-conscious...

Chapter 30: Different My efforts with the pull-ups over the next two days were a complete success.  On Wednesday and Thursday nights, like I first had on Tuesday, I had gotten up after everyone else was asleep and had made my way to the bathroom toilet to safely wet the pull-up with just the right amount of pee. Even though I had been drinking less water, sitting on the toilet still made it easy for me to relax and allow my bladder to empty into the pull-up. The pull-ups Mom had purchased for me were far from perfect, but through these several days of experiments I had at least confirmed that the pull-ups consistently did what they were supposed to do under the right conditions. Three nights in a row of wet pull-ups without wet bedding or pajamas had been enough for Mom to tentatively agree to not call off the sleepover I had pre-planned with my friends for my birthday tomorrow on Saturday, though that meant I would still be needing to follow my strict regimen of not having too much to drink after dinner. That didn’t mean that the sleepover was a go for sure. I still had tonight to pass. Mom made it clear that any leaks would mean that the sleepover portion of my birthday celebration would need to be canceled. I wasn’t worried about the sleepover. There was absolutely no way I was going to be wearing the pull-up around my friends, let alone actually wet it. I would just pretend to my parents that I had been lucky enough to avoid a bedwetting incident that evening. The pull-up wouldn’t be a problem at all. The actual problem might be with following my parents’ rules about how much I could have to drink without letting Angie and Emma catch on to anything being off. Mom would be keen to make sure the pull-up didn’t leak at night when my friends were over, and since she believed that keeping me from being too hydrated was the key to that, I suspected she would be watching what I was drinking like a hawk tomorrow night. <><><>  Tonight, like nearly every Friday night, had been pizza night. Sadly, we had devoured all the pizza without leaving any leftovers for tomorrow. But that didn’t matter much, since tomorrow was my birthday, I was allowed to choose whatever I wanted to eat for dinner when my two friends were over for the party. And yes, I had chosen pizza from my favorite local pizza place. I had hung out with Emma a couple of evenings this week, and we had finalized some of our plans for the sleepover – with help from the occasional test from Angie, who wasn’t getting back home until late Friday evening. There wouldn’t be an all-nighter, but that didn’t mean we weren’t going to be up late. My friends and I usually slept in sleeping bags in the living room when they spent the night. That way we could at least be a little noisy without waking everyone else up. The sleepover was going to be such a relief after this first excruciatingly boring week of summer. I had gotten all the free time that I had coveted and had suddenly discovered how difficult it was to fill all of these hours I now had under my control. But I knew better than to complain to Mom and Dad. If I said I was bored, they would likely take it upon themselves to find other ways for me to fill my time, and it was far from certain that I would be happy with the choices they might make. Even finally succeeding in getting pull-ups for myself wasn’t making matters any better. It wasn’t like I could do anything with them in the day except look at them, and that only made the wait until bedtime feel even more excruciatingly long.  And all that waiting would culminate in spending ten, maybe fifteen seconds of peeing into the pull-ups. That experience was still as enjoyable as the first time I had done so, but it was such a small payoff for how long I had to wait and think about it every day. Like each night before, I had gone back to bed, still wearing the wet pull-up. One of the best parts about peeing in it rather than in the bed was that the warmth from the accident would stick around a lot longer. I often found myself falling asleep before the interior of the pull-up had gone cold. I had attempted to supplement that feeling by wetting myself a few more times while home alone for the day, but the satisfaction from that was always short-lived as I struggled to fight off thoughts about how weird and wrong it was to be doing it. “Maddy, Maddy.” I looked up from where I was sitting on the couch to see Mom trying to get my attention. I had again been lost in thoughts of what it was going to be like to be wearing the pull-up to bed in an hour or so. Mom sent me to the kitchen to put the bowl of ice cream that I had finished in the sink. Luckily for Grace, she had done dishes prior to dessert, so this bowl would be for Mom or Dad to get washed before they went to bed. Grace was upstairs, doing whatever it was that she liked to do on her bedroom computer. Jackson was in his room playing with Legos. He tended to sometimes avoid our parents when he knew it was getting close to bedtime, as if being out of their sight might cause them to forget that it was time to tell him to get ready for bed.  I returned to the living room to come across an unusual sight. Dad had left his recliner which he rarely did in the evening, and had instead taken a seat next to Mom on the couch. However, instead of sitting right next to each other, he had left an empty cushion right between them. “Maddy, why don’t you have a seat?” Dad asked as he patted a spot on the couch between him and Mom. “There is something we need to talk with you about.” My heart sank. This was worse than being in regular trouble. Regular trouble usually meant being referred to by my whole first name rather than Maddy, perhaps with my middle name also getting invoked if it was a little more serious. This was worse. Way worse. It was the conflict that caused the most consternation. I was never called Maddy when I was in trouble. But I was also never asked to sit down for something to talk about between my parents unless it was for a serious conversation about some misbehavior on my part. My first worry was that they had found out about how Grace had helped me cheat on the math homework, but that would have involved a double scolding, and Grace was nowhere to be found. Besides, as I tried to re-assure myself, Grace’s efforts had only gotten me a “C” on the assignment, part of her strategy to make sure the result didn’t look suspicious. No, it had to be something worse. Had they realized that something was off about the bedwetting? Had Dr. Mathorn caught on after the test results showed that nothing was wrong with my body? But surely that wouldn’t be the case. They hadn’t given the slightest inclination at all this week that they harbored any doubts about my bedwetting. “It’s OK, Maddy, you aren’t in any trouble,” Mom said. OK. That did it, then. I was so in trouble.  It didn’t take long to walk from where I was standing at the entrance of the room to the couch, but it felt like an eternity. Nothing else was said until I eased myself down between my parents.  “We got your grades back from school,” Dad said He grabbed his laptop from the table next to his side of the couch. It was already on the website where parents could check their kids’ grades. He set it down on his lap at an angle where I could see what was shown on the screen. I’d heard stories about the old days when kids would be sent home with only a paper copy of their report card to show to their parents. That was a lot better because at least you’d have a warning about what it entailed rather than being surprised by them. I’d also heard stories about kids who had attempted – some successfully, some not – to alter those report cards so the grades didn’t look quite so bad when presented to their parents. How I wished I would have been able to pull that off. I scanned through my grades for my seventh-grade year, dismay building up in me with each additional result. I had never done particularly well in school, much to my parents’ consternation. It didn’t help that I had an older sister who had always maintained pretty much perfect grades all the way through high school. Grace’s level of success wasn’t a bar that I was ever going to meet. A good grade for me was typically a “B.” I usually got one – maybe two – of those in a semester if I was lucky. The rest of my grades usually fell in the range of a “C,” though often closer to a “C-” than a “C+.”  The results this year were far worse than in years past. This second year of middle school had been tough, but I hadn’t realized how poorly it had gone on until now. I still had one “B” on my report card for PE, which didn’t come as much of a surprise. Everywhere else wasn’t looking good. I only managed one “C” in my other subjects, having earned that grade in my American History class.  “D.” That was the letter marking every other line of the report card. Well, almost every other line. There was one letter even worse than that, listed as the grade I had earned for my math class. I looked away from the laptop screen for a second before looking at it again. Nothing had changed. Those grades hadn’t been my imagination. There wasn’t anything I could say to improve the situation, so I sat between both of my parents in silence. I hadn’t really paid all that much attention to the grades I had gotten back on assignments throughout the school year. Had it really been that bad? Had I perhaps performed more poorly than expected during final exams, dragging my low grades even lower? “Maddy,” Dad said, breaking the silence. “Your mother and I are concerned about how you did at school this year. This isn’t what we were expecting to see when we got your grades back. What happened?” I started picking at the skin around my fingernails, wincing as I peeled away at my skin enough to cause it to start bleeding. How was I… how could I explain what he was seeing on the report card? “I… Um… Um…” “We got your grades back from your standardized tests as well,” Mom said. “Those didn’t turn out any better.” I stared down at my lap, unable to think of anything to say.  “And we talked with some of your teachers,” Dad said. “They said you seemed to be having a difficult time behaving and paying attention in class.” It was all too much to take in at once. “I’m not stupid,” I blurted out. “Maddy, no one is saying that you’re stupid,” Dad said. “Some kids learn differently than others, that’s all.” Different. There was one mental image that displayed more prominently than any other. A picture of Hannah popped right into my head. The stupid way she talked by prattling on and on. Her stupid watch, telling her to go potty every time she forgot. How her parents wanted her to go to a special school cause she was too stupid to attend a regular one. I wasn’t stupid like her. I wasn’t. “I’m not, though,” I muttered, almost as if to myself. Despite my best efforts at keeping a straight face, tears began forming in the corners of my eyes. I tried to blink them away, but it was no use. I wasn’t actually sad. It was just something that happened whenever I got flustered or upset or angry. I would start crying, and there wasn’t anything I could do to stop it. I hated it so much. It was hard to argue with my parents or be taken seriously when tears were streaming down my face. I felt Dad’s firm hand begin to rub my back as Mom placed a gentle hand on my lap. Everything my parents were saying felt like it was going in one ear and out of the other as their conversation continued. It was a blur that I couldn’t bring myself to focus on, let alone comprehend. There was something about how they had talked with some of my teachers about how I was doing in class. Then, the dreaded phrase – summer school. What steps might need to be taken to avoid needing to repeat seventh grade. And then there was something about how they were going to have me go see a therapist next week and get tested for some attention disorder thing. This couldn’t be happening. It all felt so wrong. It was summer break. I shouldn’t have had to worry about school for another three months. The tears were getting worse now, and I was starting to sniffle, first a little and then rather loudly. Mom scooted closer to me until she was right up against me on the couch.  “It’s only middle school,” Mom said. “Grades don’t really start counting until you start high school, anyway. There’s plenty of time for you to get back on track next year.” “But…” I said before being interrupted by another loud sniffle. I couldn’t find the right words to express how I was feeling. Mom put her hand around my shoulder, and then pulled me closer to her so that my head was resting against her with my face buried in her shoulder. “Everything is going to be alright,” Mom said. Her hand was now resting on my head with her fingers sifting through my hair. “We’ll get you all the help that you need to make sure you do well in school next year.” That promise sounded more ominous than comforting at the moment. --- Links to all my stories can be found at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com/ 

I definitely haven't attained an "incontinent mindset", as much as I let myself go whenever I need to go. I've experienced an increase in urgency, and urgency occurs earlier, and if I ignore urgency, I can experience "incontinence by neglect", but that's not the same as true, involuntary incidents. Other than when I'm asleep - there, I have managed to break through some kind of psychological barrier, because I can wet when I sleep and not wake up nor recall having done so, although I am an unreliable bedwetter - it might happen once in three weeks or twice in three days.  One aspect that is interesting is this: I have, very infrequently, but not zero times, emitted some #2 while sleeping. I was an accomplished bedwetter as a kid but I never had that issue, ever in my life. A couple of the incidents I can trace back to, for example, an excess of chicken wings or a shawarma that might have been questionable, and I figure that somewhere deep in the gears of my brain, I had the thought that, "Hey, I'm wearing a diaper, and there's an alarm going off in Sector 2, why wake up the executives...?"  BUT, once, I passed a little golf ball that comprised neither an urgent texture nor an urgent amount, and that has me wondering... did I dream about doing that, then do it in reality, then not recall that? Or is my subconscious playing pranks on me? Why'd that happen? So maybe my subconscious has more of an incontinence mindset than I do when I'm awake? One thing I've been working on is getting over the stigma surrounding wearing diapers as a non-baby. I was changing winter rims over to summers with a buddy of mine who knows I wear diapers, and at one point I was bent over pushing on a torque wrench and I felt a cool breeze on my lower back, and instantly had a slight feeling of panic, because he was standing right there, watching me. I shook it off - reaching back there would only draw attention to it, anyway. Then, he went off to get a tool, giving me a moment to put my hand back there while still in my original position, and sure enough, there was a strip of white plastic above my shorts and below the hem of my shirt. Which shouldn't have been surprising, since his boxers were hanging out when he was likewise bent over.  I had the urge to stand up and tuck everything in, but I stifled it - unless I went inside and put on a onesie, it was just going to happen again - we still had three more wheels to change. I went back to what I was doing, and he came walking back over with the tool we needed, and a beer for me as well, and we carried on. I chose not to be ashamed of my diaper.  Although admittedly, it was a white diaper - had it been something with pink bunnies on it I probably would have been a lot more self-conscious...

Katherine cringed at the sight of the canary-yellow bib that now adorned her front. She couldn’t stand anything that messed with her elegant, classy wardrobe.