Prudie

"Ticket to Ride"

^ Is George W. Bush

B. Bash his head in.

Not really the correct way to say this at all, but Y are we torturing him?

The last time I went clubbing was a whopping eleven years ago. Oh well. I can't think of a reason why not to go again one of these days. It was usually fun! The last time I was in a bar was earlier this year, but it wasn't for what I consider fun.

"Walk On" - Reba McEntire

None of these things are things I speak of unless I have to, with the exception of what is merely physical. Status: I do not consider myself an AB, but I do regress to a quiet infancy during intercourse and wish to be "babied" in said time. Physical: I wear glasses for driving and reading, though I can manage without them while reading. Glasses are fun. I think of them as fashion accessories, and currently have five pairs. At times, I buy contacts that I occasionally wear to drive. Usually, however, I do not wear glasses. I have a mild case of adult-onset asthma. I have two allergies, a food allergy and an allergy to bee stings. On extremely rare occasions, only a scare few times in my entire life, I have had what are classified as psuedo-seizures. Said psuedo-seizures are, in the cases of myself and the majority of my adult family, products of bipolar disorder. I have low blood pressure, contrasting my genetics, and a poor immune system. The latter was caused by eating disorders, as well as what could technically qualify as genetic factors. For quite a bit of time, I had a serious lack of vitamin D in my system, but that is no longer an issue. Mental: My entire family is bipolar. I'm one of the luckier ones. I have the most mild form of the condition, Bipolar NOS (Not Otherwise Specified). I am a former anorexic and bulimic. Those who say there is no such thing as a person cured from eating disorders are full of baloney. I lost too much weight while being physically ill for nearly the entire summer this year, and am often eating large, relaxing meals to gain my weight back. I am a naturally skinny beanpole of a person, another genetic factor as well as another product of a different condition. See the "Mixed" section. I have an unnamed neurological complex that is the result of my rotten childhood. I do have my moments of drinking for the sake of getting heavily drunk, but these are not frequent and I am not an alcoholic. Mixed: I was born with three x chromosomes, versus the usual two. This condition is known as Triple-X, Trisomy X, Trisome, Triplo-X, 47 XXX, the Triple-Femme Syndrome, and if you want to be politcally incorrect (though how this is offensive I fail to see), the Superfemales. Of all the chromosome abnormalties, this is the least drastic. On the other hand, explaining its varied effects requires more details and time than I would like to indulge in. This response looks almost ridiculous, if you ask me. I don't view myself as limited at all. In fact, I've felt quite strong for the past few years, with the exception of my sick spells. I'm much, much better at exercising and generally keeping myself healthy than I was not so very long ago.

Precisely. Of course, family members, particularly siblings, can have very similar psychological experiences. That doesn't make this itself genetic, not by a long shot.

Not remotely, although my fiancé (who is a hundred percent adult) is diagnosed as ADD. He certainly doesn't act it, though. I'm told he was a rambunctious baby and child. It will indeed be interesting to see what our own children will be like. If anything, I'm too focused. I'm not OCD, but ADD is about the last thing I could ever be labeled as.

Congratulations! My fiancé and I have decided that, if and when I become pregnant and happen to lose bladder control, I will wear diapers for the time... and he'll change them.

One of my brothers, not the one I speak of the most, has always been obsessed with baby food. He was when he was young, and he still is. It's one of his many odd passions. (His other odd passions have nothing to do with the world of babyish behaviors.) At Thanksgiving, he can be found standing in a corner, eating mushed baby carrots and mushed baby peas. He just loves the stuff. Knowing my family, I wouldn't be surprised in the least bit if he was ignored often when he cried out for food during his infancy.

In my late teens and early twenties, I was temporarily medically incontinent due to kidney infections. I didn't wear diapers as a response; instead, I wore pads. Later in my twenties, I came to realize that I prefer to be treated as a mute baby during intercourse. As a result of that, with very few exceptions, I made for an extremely boring partner to most.* I would simply lay there. I don't have intercourse to be a wild woman. Believe me, I'm a wild woman enough of the time! I want love made to me for the sake of relieving and relaxing me, and I want to be caressed and "babied" to sleep. Does this make me an adult baby? Probably not. I don't wear diapers. I don't pretend to be a baby, technically speaking. My mind is still that of an adult's in these moments, albeit an extremely, extremely regressed adult who is limp to the point of being an immobile zero. But you be the judge. *I am now engaged to a wonderful man who continually refers to me as both beautiful and adorable!

Dang, this topic is old! I like virtually every type of entertainment, from horror movies to children's animation flicks to documentaries. I actually cannot think of a genre that I flat-out dislike. Well, movies solely about things like golf and hunting hold no interest for me, but even those types can have some amusing lines in them.

I, too, am a member of that non-official "We Can Pass For Ten Years Younger Club." Anyway, I was born physically, emotionally, and mentally female, suppressed from femininity as a child, and just barely fall under the "Sissy Girl" description as an adult. More of a "Prissy Girl" in my case, though. I'm too quiet when regressed to be a real sissy, and the adult Prudence is also a priss.

I was a quiet, ignored infant who did not speak until her first year. When I did speak, I babbled forth the alphabet before anything else. This was the result of amusing myself by staring at an ABC book that had belonged to my older brothers. All of my mother's children were ignored, particularly in their infancies. She did not wish to be a mother. She never should have been a mother. She was only a mother because of what society expected. There wasn't a clue in the woman's brain as to how to go about properly raising children. Had prenatal testing existed while I was in the womb, I would have been aborted solely on the basis of gender. My mother had a tantrum when I was born, saying that she could only have boys and that I must be a boy named Timothy Lars <last name>. The doctors responded by saying that I was most certainly a little girl, and she better name me something else. She only continued to yell, and it was my father who named me. My brothers were spoiled, but never loved. The brother I am closest to was rejected from our mother in infancy. He was allergic to her milk, and my clueless parents did not realize this for months. When they did finally figure it out, Mother acted as if it were the child's fault and thus the first emotion permanently embedded into his subconsciousness was anger. The first emotion permanently embedded into my own subconsciousness was that of being a let-down, of being a disappointment by simply being myself. So yes, our mother was emotionally abusive. She wasn't physically abusive, though her own father was to his wife. She did come pretty darn close to being physically abusive. She threatened it frequently enough, and her children all came to emulate this. When angry, she would throw things to the ground and curse us. Do I like the idea of "punishment" as an adult? Not in the least. I find it repelling. I am the way I am because I need something to make up for the neglect of so long ago and a way to feel gently loved. All of my siblings are also on some level of the AB spectrum, so to speak, though they wouldn't define it as such and I also do not define myself as an adult baby/child. Thanks a lot, Mother. I'm so pathetically a product of the way I was raised, or the lack thereof.

Pagan and proud, but quiet about it among any folks whom I know won't be willing to listen.

I'll repeat the obvious. Seems like the solution is to just wear one!

Hello. You and my best friend share a name.

^ Is madly in love with a drop of rain that she preserved in a jar of milk years ago, and lost.

Seconding what the person above me said! : )