Baby Mommy

This is absolutely the best I've ever read. How far back do they go? They're not going to separate into egg and sperm are they? I mean, this is not just a good AB/DL story. This is a good *story.* I think even mainstream society would be entertained. I am hanging on to every word.

During my childhood (1970's) doctors used to counsel parents of bedwetters not to diaper the child at night. Any child out of diapers during the day, they said, should also be in regular underwear at night. Just protect the bed with a rubber sheet. (Interesting to note how doubtful it was that the doctor would be willing to come over and help with the laundry.) The thinking was that diapers at night would prolong bedwetting by creating a psychological comfort zone and taking away the incentive to be dry. Well, I seem to be adding fuel to that fire. I had always been reluctant to wear disposable diapers, figuring since I don't usually wet every night, it would be a waste of money to throw away a dry diaper just because it's not "fresh" any more, and you can't wash it like you can your underwear. Since I am now living in an apartment without laundry facilities, and doing my washing in the bath tub, a recent UTI prompted me to go ahead and wear disposables at night. Recovering from the UTI, I'm no longer wetting every night, but I'm still at maybe two wet nights to one dry, as compared to my lifelong pattern of one wet night every two or three weeks. Looking back, even with hospital stays, sleeping in hotel rooms or at someone else's house, and other times I have worn a diaper "just in case," I can see that the more often I wear one, the more likely I am to wet. I *am* sleeping more soundly, now that I know I am protected and won't have to go through the tremendous physcial effort of washing my sheets. And instead of waking up cold and wet in the middle of the night, I am sleeping longer, sometimes all the way through to morning. I guess that this is what the doctors were thinking, about the psychological comfort zone. Also, as per my other thread about diabetes, I have scrapped the conventional "wisdumb" of limiting my liquids. If I'm thirsty, I drink something, even if I'm just about to go to bed. I am sure this is also contributing to the increase in wetting. But, is it really such a bad thing? Isn't it better to have a higher quality of sleep, even if it makes it more likely I'll wet, than to sacrifice good sleep in order to stay dry? The tradition that I grew up on says I should protect the bed, not myself, and limit my liquids after supper. Well, personal experience is telling me that if I haven't outgrown bedwetting by now, I never will, so why make myself uncomfortable? And yes, doctors are still giving some of that advice. The one I go to now did OK the diapers, but I'm still occasionally hearing that crap about not having liquids after supper. I'd be interested to hear others' opinions. Does wearing a diaper, versus just protecting your mattress, increase the likelihood of being wet? Or is there a connection at all?

It may be possible to wear a pad inside the diaper, change the pad after small accidents such as you describe, and change the diaper itself after a larger one which floods the pad.

See there? We've got common ground. I'm sure even the most notorious prankster can agree that there are times when pranks just aren't appropriate. I've been trying to think of one that's funny, but I don't have much imagination. The best I can come up with is one that I participated in, years ago. It was one of those television-show pranks-on-celebrities things, and compared to others on this thread, it sounds pretty lame. I was attending an Oak Ridge Boys concert when TV's Charlie Chase of "Crook and Chase" (back when there was a Nashville Network on cable) took the stage and asked the audience to participate in the prank. The opening act was about to come out. They were a local band, and they were asked to be mediocre in their performance. Meanwhile, as the Oaks are being interviewed for "Crook and Chase" back stage, on what it takes to succeed in music and please an audience, we the listeners were supposed to be going absolutely monkey sh....stuff over this performance that's not even all that good. To top it off, for the third song, the opening act would be performing the Oaks' latest hit song. First of all, doing something made famous by the headliner is the cardinal sin for an opening act...and here they were doing a ho-hum job of it at that. While we as the audience are just lapping it up. The song wasn't half over when the Oaks came tromping out onto the stage and joined in performing it... as if to say, "Hey, if this song is going to be done, it's going to be done RIGHT!" Then lead singer Joe Bonsall takes the microphone and says, "OK. We've been had." Like I said, this seems pale in comparison to the other hilarious pranks on this thread. But the Oaks laughed.

When I'm in the hospital and using those "bad blues," as they were called, it doesn't work very well. They absorb nothing and leak badly. I end up wetting the bed anyway. I've often said you might as well just stick a kleenex in your pants for all the protection they give. Unfortunately, this is the only kind that I could get Medicaid to pay for, so other than buying my own, that's what I'm now stuck with at home too. I'm supplementing them with Poise pads inside them, which I wear by themselves during the day. It helps some.

OK, I feel better now. Thanks, Smokey, for the referral to the Pranks thread--it made me laugh. Vic, it *is* the best AB site out there. That's why I'm shaping up to be such a prolific poster. I do belong to others, but I spend more time here.

OK, I read all of them. And since I was "alerted" in another thread before coming here that there was a conflict, I'll comment on it. I don't like the idea of pranks that are deliberately designed to upset people. Usually I don't find "messing with people's heads" funny. Especially when the madder the victim gets, the more the prankster laughs. There's a word for that: it's called abuse. But there are some funny ones in this thread. I thought the funniest posts were Runaway's, Valentine's, and Ye Olde's. Am I offended? No. And I might be wrong, but I didn't think Dolly and Sunshine were *all that* offended either, at least not to the point of calling it "blasting." They simply stated their opinions. Sorry, Smokey, if I come off unsupportive. There's nothing wrong with the thread itself, that I can see.

Huggiewuggles to everyone. I was welcomed after my very first post in the Newbie Nursery, and I'm being welcomed here again. Thank you all very much. It means a lot to me. Can't type much right now--not with these tears in my eyes.

I don't know if it applies to me, since I am a bedwetter, but yes, I have those dreams. Sometimes I wake up dry from them, but usually not.

I hope you won't think I'm being flippant when I say wait a few years.... It might happen, especially as you get older.

More! More! Soon! Good job.

I'm all for that! Thanks, all of you, for the support. I think what got me into this mess in the first place was being so vocal about everyone deserving a clean slate. Thanks for mine.

I hadn't thought of a link between intelligence and AB/DL, but I can guess from the responses to this poll that we are an intelligent bunch. A psychiatrist once told me, "If we could find a valve and drain off a few of your IQ points, you'd be a happier person." Why did he say that? Because it is a documented fact that there is a link between higher intelligence and unhappiness. As one example, my father was Mensa level (IQ of 186) and was miserable as a person. I think part of the reason for that is the social maladjustment that comes from having a higher IQ. Those with average IQ's sometimes think we're being a showoff or something, and reject us. And in some cases, a person with a higher IQ might actually BE showing off. My father, for one, never shut up about his intelligence. He was quick to play that card whenever he was disagreed with: "I've got a 186 IQ, so I know!" Made him real popular, as you can imagine. Could the same unhappiness and social maladjustment possibly tie in with AB/DL? I think I'll create a poll of my own, after considering what questions and options to put in. I'd like to see if there is a connection between unhappiness and AB/DL. Thanks for the inspiration.

Water. The bathtub. A swimming pool or hot tub. The beach. Anything with water. Get me in there with that special someone, and.....

When I was a child, I positively refused to be one, that is to be treated or to act as a child. Now that I am middle-aged, I enjoy nothing more than to regress into childhood. (Not my own--somebody else's!) Even things that are certainly not fun, a painful medical procedure, for example, can be made slightly more pleasant or at least tolerable if I allow myself to cry and be comforted. During a spinal tap, I had to suck my thumb to keep from squalling out loud like a toddler. Afterward, they actually brought me ice cream and told me I was a good girl! It pays to cry--hee, hee. None of this applies in the presence of my mother. Even in the throes of hard labor and childbirth, I emitted not one squeal of pain in front of her. She was there throughout the birth of my third child. Having my first two babies, I had yelled and screamed and hollered, even cried as loudly as if I were a baby myself. Yes, of course it hurt every ounce as much the third time, but with my mother in the room, I bore it in silence and refused to so much as say "ouch." Years later, I discussed this inconsistency with Mom. I "confessed" how much I had yelled before, but still encumbered by a mental hang-up, I left out the part about crying. Mom said she didn't see anything unusual; it seemed to her that most people are conditioned to being "on their best behavior" with their mothers in the room. I waxed a bit philosophical about her association of "stoic refusal to express pain" equals "on my best behavior," but she never got my point. Come to think of it, Mom herself can cry without inhibition in front of anyone, including her own mother, if she feels cause. So why am I unable to show the tiniest molecule of emotion in her presence, even at a funeral, where such "behavior" is expected? I haven't cried in front of my mother for decades. I have an easier time in front of strangers. I'm positive that this quirk goes hand-in-hand with my refusal to be a child when I was one, and my pleasure in acting like one now. Something in me has its roots in early childhood. Physically, I matured faster than usual. I wore a bra to third grade and had thick, dark hair under my arms that I would not be permitted to shave for another two years. Mom and I definitely differ in opinion here. She considers even the hairiest of eight-year-olds too young to shave. I say anyone old enough to grow it is old enough to shave it. After finally convincing her with the selling point that I was ashamed to raise my hand in class because the other kids laughed, I got my first razor. Here I began to associate maturity with painful humiliation. My rapidly changing body, at an age when most children resemble hairless twigs, got me made fun of. Nor was I "babied" much as an infant. An American proverb says, "Baby your baby when he is a baby, and you won't have to baby him the rest of his life." Well, for me this was impossible. First, I was born prematurely and spent my earliest infancy in an incubator. Next, even on release from the hospital I was too fragile to tolerate being held much. Then, less than ten months after I was born, my brother followed, even more premature than I had been. My parents now had to divide their energy between the two of us. (I don't know, even yet, that we have ever overcome the rivalry.) Finally, with my second brother already on the way, and me at a fraction under a year and a half, my overworked mother was desperate to hurry at least one of her children out of diapers! (Mom claims that she herself was fully toilet trained at the age of six months. It will take the notarized testimony of a heavenly angel to get me to believe that. How can you possibly train a baby that can't even walk? All in all, considering the unavoidable insufficiency of the cuddling I got as a baby, early toilet training despite having been a preemie, and living in a completely developed adult body before the age of ten, it adds up to about zero childhood. Before I even began kindergarten, I was playing the role not of a child but of a miniature mommy, feeding and changing my newborn sister. Rules were sometimes overly rigid in our home. My parents were idealists. They mentally painted pictures of how things "should" be, then tried to force reality to conform. Their "ideal" image of a child never answered back except to say "yes ma'am" and "yes sir," so Heaven help us if we dared to venture an opinion that differed from theirs. "Ideal" home life called for perfect order and discipline; read that "inflexible rules," no matter how far out of step it put us with our classmates and neighbor kids. One of the most persistent sources of embarrassment involved bedtime. A certified John Denver maniac, I was ten the year his "Rocky Mountain Christmas" television special aired for the first time. No matter that I loved him. I was out of luck; my 8:30 bedtime stood unyieldingly. (This was before VCR's were in common use.) Imagine how doubly bad I felt the next day at school, where so many children my own age and even younger chattered excitedly about how cool the show had been. They, but not I, had been allowed to stay up and see it! ("Rocky Mountain Christmas" aired again a few years later, and I saw it, thank God. Also, I know that if my mother had that night to live over again, she would have made a different decision.) In another embarrassing bedtime-related episode, I was playing basketball in our driveway with my brother and two neighbor kids. I was twelve, my brother was eleven, the other kids were in the same range. It was still broad daylight outside, summertime, and certainly not a school night. None of that amounted to a lick. As 8:30 approached, out marched my mother, loudly announcing, "You two have to come inside now. It's bedtime." I wanted to fall through a hole in the ground and disappear. Of course, the neighbor kids made all the remarks I expected and dreaded: "Bedtime?! What time is it? Y'all have to go to bed this early? Wow, you must be babies," etc. It made no difference to Mom. She couldn't help it if, as she saw it, all of the other kids in the neighborhood were undisciplined. Hers had to follow RULES! I know Mom was only trying to be a good mother. What caused so deep a resentment, I think, was a few careless phrases about "I need a break from the kids," or "I don't want to have to deal with them," or even jokes such as, "The kids are asleep. Now is when they're really good!" (I wasn't asleep, and I heard that.) Such comments made me feel as if the real reason I was being sent to bed was to get rid of me. Now, while I still associated maturity with painful humiliation--being ridiculed for my early development--I began to associate childhood with both oppression and painful humiliation. I wanted none of it. I couldn't wait to grow up, break loose, and be done with having to obey someone else's rules. Even today, I have authority issues. Yet, in the midst of my non-childhood, did I really, truly, want to grow up? Exactly how much more (or less) mature was I, compared to my age group? I had stopped trick-or-treating around age ten, when most others were still doing it. I considered myself too old for such things. On the other hand.... The early toilet training backfired. Some experts say it's a normal reaction to having been sexually assaulted at age five. No matter how it happened, the, um, end result...bottom line...I can't find a figure of speech that doesn't sound like a bad pun...is that I was around seven years old before I was reliably bowel trained, and I still don't trust my bladder, which is subject to sudden muscle spasms. I'm glad, at least, that one of our strict rules was that we had to make our own beds in the morning. This helped me hide my sheets. I never told anyone, just slept in it all week until our linens were routinely washed on Saturday. It's still a mystery to me how the smell went undetected, but for the handful of times I was caught, there were many dozens of times I wasn't. This continued all through high school. I wear diapers at night now. If they leak, the difference between then and now is that I no longer sleep in it the second night without changing the sheets. Given that my younger brother was ridiculed to the point of his Christmas presents being addressed to Pee-Pot from Santa Claus, was scolded and sometimes even spanked until he outgrew his own problem, it's clear why I never told anyone. I wasn't about to open myself up to the same treatment. Then there were the fantasies. As much as I resented, even hated being a child, I secretly longed to be one--only under a different parenting style. I wished to be sent to a foster family where I would be nurtured and coddled (not that this actually happens in many foster homes!) and I could be a baby. I wanted to be able to say, "Mommy, I wet the bed," and hear in reply, "OK, honey, let's get you changed," as opposed to, "Oh, (obscenity)! You make so much work for me!" I wanted to be able to cry when I fell down and be consoled, not lectured sternly about how I needed to be tougher than that, or "I'm going to REALLY give you something to cry about." In my deepest fantasies, rather than being a child with an adult's body, I made myself an adult, or nearly an adult, with a child's body. No underarm or pubic hair. No breasts. Shorter, instead of taller, than most of my age group. I even coveted the speech impediment that plagues one of my aunts, who is mentally retarded. I would imagine going someplace where nobody knew me, and talking to everyone as if I couldn't correctly pronounce the letter R. Sometimes I would project my infantile images onto someone else--a teacher who terrorized me, a popular jock-type classmate who snubbed me. I would picture them wearing a wet diaper and crying. This helped me to feel less threatened and intimidated by them. So far, it all makes understandable sense. My infantile fantasies can be explained easily in light of my non-childhood. It's as simple as wanting what I didn't have. Now I'd like to examine what does, and does not, turn me on. I'm not sure when sexual enjoyment began to fit into this, but it does, and I want to look at it. I think there is more involved than having been sexually abused. Reason I think this: such a fine line between "turn-on" and "turn-off," plus the fact that whether or not something happened to me is not the deciding factor in "turn-on" or "turn-off." I want to stress that anyone who sexually approaches a child, or an incapacitated person of any age, should be castrated via burning certain body parts off. No degree of punishment is too severe for such a crime. Nor does childish behavior in an actual child, or in a person with diminished capacity, do anything for me. There has to be that certain incongruity, the appeal of the unexpected. Also, I no longer cope with feeling intimidated by imagining the other person in diapers. Such images have now taken on a sexual connotation for me, and I don't get off on sexual fantasies involving people I resent, just plain don't like, etc. Spankings and other forms of pain and punishment turn me absolutely off. My siblings and I were spanked too often, too severely, and for too little reason, in my opinion. While my parents were not deliberately cruel, whack-first-and-discuss-it-later (if at all) was the general policy in our house. It wasn't discipline I lacked. It was being nurtured, and this is what I crave now. Enemas, also often associated with infantilism, likewise do zilch for me. When my bowel training lagged, my mother used enemas and prune juice in an effort to get me to go when she wanted me to go, as I wavered back and forth between constipation and incontinence. Some people with similar experiences find enemas sexually stimulating. Not me. And I also thoroughly despise prune juice. For me, there is a huge difference between my preferred brand of infantilism and so-called "golden showers," which don't appeal to me. I prefer that wet diapers be played off as an accident. Not "I'm peeing in my diaper right now--hee, hee," but a forlorn-sounding, "Mommy, I wet my dipey." It has to look uncontrollable. If he makes it obvious that he's doing it on purpose, it kills the whole illusion. The same goes for messy diapers, though messing doesn't grab me to nearly the same degree as wetting. I, for one, don't do that unless I'm medically ill, in which case I'm too sick to get any kind of enjoyment out of it anyway. Terminology needs to be juvenile. Three of my four past husbands continued to call their mothers Mommy well into their adult years. By contrast, I was very sensitive to peer pressure and scrapped the use of "Mommy" in first grade, as soon as I heard the least little twitter about it. (I have, however, referred to my mother as "Mommy" when speaking to people who don't know me, pretending I still call her that.) The fine-line elements are these: One, when a woman (think of Loretta Lynn, or the Jane Fonda character in "On Golden Pond") calls her mother Mommy, it doesn't generate the same "zing" as when a man does it. Two, since the use of "Daddy" by adults is much more frequent than an older person's use of "Mommy," it doesn't get much of a "zing" out of me either. Three, none of this means I prefer a total wimp. I want the childlike traits to be only a tiny part of the whole package. So he calls his mother (or me) Mommy, he wets the bed, he sucks his thumb, he sleeps with a stuffed animal, he cries easily and/or out loud.... I tremendously enjoy all of these. But I want him also to be a competent, rational adult of normal intelligence, able make sane decisions, carry on a coherent and reasonable conversation, hold a steady and honest job, meet his various responsibilities, etc. I've read infantilism-related fiction about grown men who are forced into full-time infancy by dominant women. While pieces of such stories do appeal to me, it is not what I want. I still want a partner, a friend, a mate, a companion, not merely a six-foot-tall baby. More on terminology: I'd much rather hear baby talk than gutter talk during sex. If a man makes reference to his wee-wee or his dingy, there is a "zing" response, whereas certain other words for the same body part leave me, if anything, disgusted. Profanity does not thrill me. I greatly enjoy hairlessness, but I would not ask a man to shave his body. One, many men are just plain nervous about having anything sharp anywhere near there. Two, to make the shaved look effective, a man would have to remove all body hair from the neck down. Bare private parts floating in a sea of hair would fail to achieve the desired childlike appearance. Three, since men tend to have thicker, more generous body hair than women, and it needs to be shaved more often, the whole idea is impractical. Unless a man invested a ridiculous amount of time constantly shaving everything, or obscene amounts of money to get it done permanently, he would end up looking not like a sweet child but like a scarecrow with the straw poking out. I satisfy my wishes for baby-like smoothness by shaving myself. It's easier for me. Furthermore, I have actually surveyed men via the internet. Of those who responded, the overwhelming majority said they prefer, even outside the realm of infantilism, a woman with shaved or trimmed pubic hair. Seeing other grown women with no pubic hair is also a major yes for me, but without the stiletto heels and the black lace lingerie and the horny facial expressions, please. Those things undermine the whole concept. Again stressing that this is a competent, normally healthy and consenting adult woman, either keep the accessories and background minimal, or put her on a large-scale baby blanket, hand her a doll, and stick her thumb in her mouth. THEN let her flash her bald self. Bottles, pacifiers, bibs...kind of neutral. I have an adult-sized pacifier, but unfortunately, I had forgotten that I am allergic to latex and had quite an uncomfortable reaction to it. I'll have to stick to sucking my thumb. I enjoy playing with toys. Legos, dolls, coloring books and blocks are among my favorites. This is not necessarily sexual. I just like to play with them. On clothing, accessories, and appearance: Using the excuse that I have long hair and need to keep it from tangling at night, I sleep with it in two pigtail braids. Of course, one of the reasons I deliberately keep it long is that I happen to like wearing pigtail braids. I also sometimes wear pigtails, braided or not, during the day. To anyone who would say I'm too old for that hair style, I respond phooey. Protests have become fewer, actually. Heck, I've even got my mother wearing pigtails now. The only thing that keeps me from wearing the little-girl bows, ribbons, and plastic barrettes is that my hair is too thick to hold them. I'll probably make myself some larger scale ribbons and bows. I'm quite good at that. Also, I would like to acquire an adult sized sleeper suit, complete with attached feet, zipper down one leg, and a nursery print. Excuse: I get very cold at night, which I do. Real reason: you know. I haven't really thought of an excuse to wear those ruffly, frilly Shirley Temple type dresses, the lacy anklet socks, and the Mary Jane shoes, but I'll come up with something. Halloween, maybe? I do own a pair of pink ruffled rubber pants, a gift for which I am grateful. Fortunately they do not seem to be made of latex; they have never broken me out. Underpants with little-girl prints on them don't seem to be available in my size; at least I haven't been able to find any by regular shopping. I can be a baby or a mommy; in fact I discovered the fun of playing Mommy through the fact that two of my four ex-husbands were incontinent for medical reasons and also needed to wear diapers at night. I have already mentioned that three of them still called their mothers Mommy. Two also called me Mommy. One sucked his thumb. All four cried a lot, sometimes out loud. And these were men of normal intelligence. I chose them as husbands. This is not a coincidence. But there are times when I, too, need the cuddles and coos and nurturing. I want to be loved by a man who will baby me now and then, himself want to be babied now and then, and will always be partner and friend even when nobody is "the baby."

Add my happy thoughts for Sunshine. Hope you get everything you want.

Couldn't agree more. Excellent post. I've been in the same position before, having to tell a nurse that I'm perfectly capable of diapering myself. Why is it that even health professionals tend to think that a weak bladder equals a weak brain as well?

I'm taking this off the Turtlepins posts because I'm talking about me, not him. Since defending the aforementioned poster, I've taken what I'm not going to call flaming, because it was polite. I'm new to this board, but not new the the web, and believe me I *know* flaming when I see it. I have no problem with simply being disagreed with. I do have a concern, though, as it reflects on me. Someone (can't recall specifically who, or the exact wording) had responded to a "Turtlepins Mommy" post with an issue of too many posts in a short period of time. It apparently lowered credibility and looked like board spamming. I've put in over 70 in two weeks, because I'm enthusiastic about having found the site. Are the same concerns being felt about me? I've been the new kid on the block so many times. A victim of a highly unstable childhood, we moved around so many times I went to 20 different schools before I finally graduated--sometimes as many as 7 schools in a single year. I was always the "new kid." Always being tested. I got so sick and tired of being new all the time, and learned to just jump right in. I had to, if I was going to interact at all. If I waited to be accepted or invited, the chance would be lost and I'd move again to another school, another town, another set of kids. Nor was I ever very popular. Kids pounce on anything that makes you stand out. I had a funny last name, horribly bucked teeth before I finally got them straightened, and shabby Goodwill clothes. I developed physically much faster than my age-mates, so that was "different" about me too. I was intellectual but far from athletic, and my klutziness on the playground opened up the door to still more teasing. Always being new, always being from somewhere else, I had trouble fitting in, and I see the same pattern playing out here as the "new kid" on this site. I am being tested, watched to see if I will be part of the "cool crowd" or an outcast nerd. Combine my tendency to just jump in, with not being able to stand to see an outcast, and you get the situation that developed here. Come to think of it, even as that perpetual "new kid," I often made myself even more unpopular by jumping in to defend kids that were being picked on. The friends I made were usually the other pariahs. I try not to define myself any more as that fat, over developed, bucktoothed kid with the funny name, standing on the edge of the playground in the same clothes your great aunt Mathilda might wear, but those patterns still turn up. I have no wish to offend anyone and do not intend to "pick up my ball and bat and go home." What I want is to earn trust and make friends. I understand that this lifestyle has been infiltrated before by mockers. That's unfortunate, and I hate it as much as anyone else does, although being gullible I may be taken in by fakes.

Dill_Pickle, thank you for your kind support. I very much appreciate it. I *think* I understand the Virginia Tech reference.... people who feel excluded may "snap" and do something tragic. Is that what you're saying? I could go on a tanget about how we still have choices, no matter what life gives us, and we don't *have* to respond that way. But that's a little off topic. I did not feel accused by what Sunshine said. She only raised a question, which I think I answered sufficiently. I understand Diaperphantom's response as well. To basically say that I'm too new to be entitled to an opinion does sting a little, but I understand it. I've been the new kid on the block before. I hate to see anyone hurt, which is why I jumped in to "protect," but admittedly I don't have all the facts and of course couldn't see the deleted posts that have been mentioned. My own wish is that Turtlepins would come back, and play nice. As for me, I will keep my nose clean, also play nice, and remain polite, hoping I can eventually earn the trust of those who have been here far longer than I have. No hard feelings anywhere. An edit after re-reading Diaperphantom's post: I'm trying to understand what's going on. There seems to be a sentiment of "If you support Turtlepins, you must really BE Turtlepins, because nobody else would." As stated earlier, that doesn't upset me, just confuses me. And, also as stated earlier, I've already addressed that question. I've read some of the "mommy" posts but haven't seen any "therapist" posts yet. To have his therapist post here would DEFINITELY be unusual. Am I to understand that the deeper issue is not so much what Turtlepins posts, but that there is a question whether he is actually who he says he is? That he's a board fake who is only making up a persona to fit in? If so, this isn't the first time in my life I've backed the wrong candidate. I voted for Ross Perot.... Yes, Mr. Diaperphantom, it was a coincidence that I defended Turtlepins and appeared to be another alter of his. I really don't know how to show my ID card, so to speak, and prove my honesty. I guess only time will do that.

Coming up 43 biologically. My inner child is a slow 4. Why slow? I think it has a lot to do with being an early-developing child who was thought mature for my age....now I'm an IMMATURE child.

I'm poking my head out the closet door too. Told a brother and a few friends. That's strictly about the incontinence, though. Still very much in the closet about the AB thing, but I have broached the topic of the "inner child" with a couple of friends and have gotten good feedback.

One of the best I've ever seen. Please, keep it coming.

How many doctors have told bedwetters to limit liquids after supper? Don't they realize that thirst is one of the symptoms of diabetes? Add to this the dry-mouth sensation I've gotten from incontinence medications I've tried in the past, such as Detrol. I have to have something to drink! Everyone in the world tells me, for every other reason, to INCREASE my fluid intake. It rinses out UTI's when they happen, it helps me manage my weight, it keeps migraines and IBS at bay.... And following the rule "Don't drink anything after X o'clock" doesn't stop me from wetting. It just makes things more concentrated. Your experience?

I'm EXACTLY with Crys_138.

I relate to having it thrown in your face during a totally unrelated argument. It's happened to me too. Who I've told about the AB lifestyle: Very few people, if any, outside the world of AB itself. Just ex-husbands. It was ex #1 who would play along and then toss in, "What you wanted to do last night was SICK!" during an argument the next day. Who I've told about my incontinence: Interesting story there. I am exploring the possibility of dating relationships with three men now. Two of them I've met through AB sites. The third is nowhere near AB (that I know of). Last night on the phone I told the non-AB about my incontinence problems. The words I used, "It's not that I don't know when to go to the bathroom. I just don't always make it." He got rrrrrrreeeeaaaaaaallllllll quiet, which of course made me very nervous. I came right out and asked him, "Did I scare you off?" "No," he answered. "I've been having similar problems of that nature myself." And he mentioned something about needing to have his prostate examined...poor guy. I can't relate, but I can sympathize. We'll see what develops.