Tinkles123

There's nothing like the comfort of a cloth diaper fresh from the dryer (or clothes line). I grew up wearing cloth, and I have fond memories of being pinned snugly into them. I still have some well-worn cloth diapers that I enjoy wearing. For everyday use, though, I rely on disposables. Attends were my first disposable diaper in the early 1980's. I've worn Depends, Tena, Tranquility, Molicare, Abena, and store brand adult disposables. A store brand disposable with a Luvs or Pampers as a liner actually works as well or better than many of the premium disposables, at least for me. If I had to choose ONE brand of diaper, however, it would have to be Northshore Supreme. Not the Air Supreme, although those are good diapers, but the plastic backed variety. The Northshore Supreme is the closest thing to a genuine 12 hour diaper that I've found. They take getting used to. As many have said, their padding is "harder" than the padding in some diapers. The positive side of the firmer padding is that the padding doesn't clump like the padding in many diapers does. Odor control is really good, too. The nicest surprise about Northshore Supreme was how effective they are with small poop accidents. Most of my BM's go in the toilet, but I do have a "leaky butt" problem and also occasionally end up with an unexpectedly soiled diaper. Northshore Supreme manages the discharge from leaky butt and even many bowel movements MUCH more effectively than other diapers I've tried.

Glad to see people are still reading The Family Babies after so many years.

I'm so happy to know you have understanding parents who know and appreciate what you need. Certainly you have some major physical problems. Being cared for like a baby van help make those problems much less of a burden in your life, as you know. With more people in it like your parents, the world would be happier.

Parents of children with Asperger's often experience great frustration because of their children's unusual behavior and difficulty communicating their feelings and needs. I'm so very sorry your parents abused you, Claire's situation is, of course, somewhat idealized. Being allowed to completely abandon responsibility for dressing, bathingg, and toileting, in this story, made a huge difference in her feeling of safety in what sometimes is an unsafe world for an Asperger's kid. I don't know that Claire's positive response is unrealistic. A possible continuation of the story line would be her decision, sometime in adolescence, about whether to potty train again and the consequences of that decision. Terry would be faced with a similar decision. Tiffany Is a new character with interesting possibilities. I haven't decided if this story will continue Some Asperger's children, like Tony, are disgusted at the thought of "going potty" in a diaper. For them, having to wear diapers would be extremely difficult. I am, and I see you are more like Claire and Terry. I don't know that my parents ever understood WHY wearing and using diapers and sucking on pacifiers made me so happy and contented. They did know that it made me a lot easier to manage, and that made changing soiled diapers, watching out for diaper leaks, and all that extra laundry worthwhile. I'm grateful to them.

CHAPTER ONE When Mom and Dad had asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I took a deep breath and told them. I said I wanted to stop using the toilet and wear diapers again. I said that I wanted to have a pacifier to use whenever I wanted to, that I wanted one of them to bathe and dress me, and that I wanted a bottle every night when I went to sleep. Mom and Dad didn't look as stunned by my request as i had thought they might. They didn't say yes right away, but they didn't say no, either. And they didn't try to talk me out of making the request. or indicate in any way that they found it unreasonable or ridiculous. I had always been an unusual child. Today, Asperger's Syndrome is well known, and even somewhat understood. When I was a little girl, though, kids with Asperger's were considered weird, and largely marginalized. The condition was not nearly so well understood as it is today. At home, with my family, I felt accepted and loved. Everywhere else, though, I felt terrified -- terrified and very lonely. I had potty trained later than most children, just past the age of four, so I remembered how secure I had felt when I had been snugly diapered all the time. I had learned to use the toilet primarily to gain the approval of my parents. I’d never enjoyed any thought of being a “big girl.” Having to recognize when it was time to go pee or poop in the toilet was just one more terrifying responsibility. Now, at the age of seven, and in the first grade, I wanted to feel secure again, like I had felt when I wore diapers and had no real responsibilities. My older brother, Sean, (he was 12 at the time) and my younger sister Meghan (she was five and a half, just a year behind me in kindergarten) were normal in every way. They tried hard to involve me in their busy social lives, but, to tell the truth, it never worked very well, either for them or me. I preferred staying at home with my books, my toys, and my dolls. One of my dolls was Baby Alive. She wet and even pooped her diapers. I always enjoyed changing and bathing her -- the poop looked real enough but didn't smell at all bad, it came packaged as powder you had to mix with water, and it also served as Baby Alive's food -- and I daydreamed about being taken care of in a similar way. Nothing more was said about my request for a while. I continued dutifully using the toilet as I had for more than three years. I wore Pullups to bed and for naps, as I always had, and did wet them more often than I had been doing lately, not always in my sleep. Mom and Dad barely noticed, though. I’d been changing my own Pullups for some time. I didn't suck my thumb in front of anyone. just when I was alone and no one could see. But I did keep hoping. Being allowed to enjoy the security of being diapered and cared for was the only Christmas gift I'd asked for. I wanted it VERY much. When I went to my bedroom to dress for bed on Christmas Eve, I was delighted to find a pink and yellow pacifier lying in the middle of my bed, with a note tellling me it was mine to use and enjoy. The note was signed "Santa." I popped the pacifier into my mouth and began to suck enthusiastically. Mom and Dad knocked on my bedroom door a minute or so later, and asked to come in. I said "sure." mom was carrying a disposable diaper, a “diaper doubler” pad, and a pair of pink plastic panties that looked to be just about my size. Dad carried a bottle filled with milk and a single folded cloth diaper. "We've decided you should have the gift you really want, Claire." Dad said. "Mom's going to diaper you, and then I'll feed you a bedtime bottle." That's exactly what happened. I went to bed on Christmas Eve wearing a Luvs size 5 diaper, with a doubler pad inside, and pink plastic panties for extra protection. The plastic panties fit snugly, but not too snugly over the diaper. i also wore a cuddly flannel night gown. As I nestled in under the covers, I heard the faint, familiar rustle of the plastic mattress cover that had always stayed on my bed, since I still sometimes wet at niqht Dad sat on the edge of my bed next to me and held the bottle while I drank every drop of the warm milk it contained. When i had finished the bottle, Dad draped a folded diaper over his shoulder, picked me up, and patted my back gently until I rewarded him with a healthy belch. After Mom diapered me, and before he fed me my bottle, Dad had explained that wearing diapers again would mean that I'd be giving up some of my “big girl” freedoms. I would have to let him or mom check to see if my diaper was wet or soiled whenever they felt it was necessary, and not fuss about it regardless of how much I might be involved in whatever I was doing at the time. If they asked if I was wet or had gone poopies, I was to tell them the truth. I could ask to have my diaper changed whenever I felt I needed it. but Mom and Dad would be ultimately responsible for keeping me clean and dry. If one of them decided I needed to be changed, I was not to argue. Sean and Meghan would be told I was wearing diapers again. Mom and Dad assured me that no teasing from anyone would be allowed. Part of the agreement was that I'd never use the toilet but would do everything, including all bowel movements, in my diapers. If/when I decided I wanted to use the toilet, again, even once, the diapers would be put away and I'd be back in "big girl" panties again, with the responsibility of staying clean and dry during the day. Wearing diapers would be an "all or nothing" proposition. I nodded my understanding of everything Mom and Dad had told me, and, after enjoying my bottle and the burping that followed, I went to sleep a very happy little girl. Sean and Meghan woke me up early and said that Santa had made his usual visit, and left a good-sized pile of presents under the tree. As soon as I moved to get out of bed, I felt both my dry diaper and and an urgent need to pee. It wasn't at all difficult to let go and wet my diaper. It wasn't really all that different from a Pull Up, after all. If Sean and Meghan noticed what I was doing, they didn't say anything about it. Before going downstairs, I popped my pacifier into my mouth. Again, netiher Sean nor Meghan made a comment. Santa had been good to all of us. Sean had new ice skates, a football, a set of passenger cars for his Lionel train, and more stuff that he seemed happy about, although it didn't interest me. Meghan had three new dresses for herself and two for her favorite doll, a really nice doll house, a Baby Alive just like mine, a Candy Land game, a pair of play high heels, play make up, and some costume jewelry. I had a toy piano, crayons and a coloring book, an Etch a Sketch, my first Walkman radio with a tape player and some Christmas tapes. I also had several footed sleepers with nursery characters like Winnie the Pooh, a dozen onesies -- long tee shirts with a snap crotch to hold diapers snug -- several pretty pairs of plastic panties and some plain white ones, two more pacifiers, several new baby bottles, pretty pink and yellow diaper pins, and three dozen cloth birdseye diapers -- just what I had asked for. "Those won't be for all the time," Mom told me, "but Santa said he thought you'd enjoy wearing them when you want to feel extra comfy." I wasn't a very demonstrative child, but I did manage a big smile and a hug for Mom and Dad. Even before all the presents were opened, I felt the need to poop. Remembering the agreement, I knew I'd be pooping in my diaper. That didn't bother me, really. My only concern was the teasing I might get from my brother and sister -- and maybe even my parents, when they noticed what I'd done. I got up from my pile of presents and went to the kitchen. Mom was there, making pancakes. She smiled, and asked if I was hungry. I nodded. Then I liftted my nightgown to expose my diaper, (I'd often lifted my skirt, dress, or night gown if I was dressed in one when I was making a BM, I couldn't explain why), and began pushing the BM out into my diaper. It felt very good to be pooping in a standing position again, and I noticed it was a lot of poop this time. I remembered how nice it was before I was potty trained, and made poopies in my diapers all the time. It felt now like having to use the toilet was just a bad dream. Mom asked "Are you making poopies, Claire?" Red-faced, I nodded. Mom reassured me, saying "It's okay, honey. That's what you're supposed to do. When you're finished, go ask Daddy to change your diaper, and then we'll all have breakfast." I finished pooping, then asked Dad to change my diaper. He said "Sure, Honey," took me by the hand, and led me to my bedroom, where I saw he'd set up the top of my dresser as a changing table. "You were always a Super Duper Pooper, Claire, and I see you still are!" Dad exclaimed as he cleaned me up. "You were really wet, too! I should have checked your diaper before you all started opening presents. But I figured it could wait." "Thanks, Daddy," I said as Dad lifted me from the table. He'd put a clean Luvs on me, this time without plastic panties, then he patted my diapered bottom like he’d always done. A happy family sat down to the pancake breakfast Mom had prepared. I wore my usual bib because I'd always had a problem spilling food on my clothes. Meghan sometimes wore a bib, too, if she was dressed in something especially nice. She no longer needed to drink from a sippy cup, thnugh, and I still did. After breakfast, all three of us kids helped gather up all the wrapping paper for the trash, saving the stick-on bows so they could be used again. We weren't going visiting today. It was a tradition in both my Mom and Dad's family that everyone enjoyed Christmas in their own home. The big family Christmas gatherings took place on the nearest weekend after Christmas. A roast was cooking slowly in the oven for our Christmas dinner, and the whole family was in the living room, examining and exclaiming over each other's presents. Meghan invited me to bring some of my dolls over to her doll house for a visit, and I did. Both of us now had Baby Alive dolls. Mine was named Jane and Meghan called hers Sarah. We mixed up a packet of the special food Baby Alives ate, fed them, gave them their bottles, and burped them. Then we put them in their little beds for a nap, and took a closer look at Meghan's new doll house. It was very real looking, with furniture, lights that lit up, and even a Christmas tree in the living room. We decided it was time for our dollies to wake up from their nap. Both dolls, of course, had wet and soiled diapers. Meghan had never changed a diaper before. I felt like a real big sister as I demonstrated by changing Jane's diaper. Although in many ways I was a clumsy kid, I was a pretty good diaper changer. She managed to get Sarah's diaper on so it wouldn't fall off, pretty good for a first attempt, and we dressed our dolls in play suits. "Do Mom and Dad change your diapers like we just changed Jane and Sarah's?" Megan asked, not with any malice, but simply out of curiosity. She’d been potty trained before I was, when she was two and a half, and didn’t remember wearing diapers at all, not even at night. "Pretty much," I answered. "Does it feel weird to have your diaper changed?" Meghan wanted to know. I shook my head. "No, it feels really nice," I said, in a way that told Meghan I didn't want to say any more about it just then. My pacifier was tied to a ribbon around my neck. I placed it back in my mouth and started sucking. As I sucked, I rocked back and forth in a repeating pattern that is oe of the many ways Asperger's people have of relieving emotional stress. It's called "stimming." We didn't get to hang out in nightgowns and pajamas all day on Christmas, even though we kids probably wouldn't have minded not getting dressed. it was close to noon, though, when Mom told Sean and Megan to take their baths and dress for the day. True to her and Dad's promise, Mom proceeded to bathe, diaper, and dress me herself. My diaper was swollen with pee, and Mom remarked that it would need to be checked more often. She set me in the tub and washed me all over, including my hair. She dried me with a big, fluffy towel. Before drying my hair, Mom diapered me with two of my new cloth diapers. She lifted me by my ankles to slide the diapers under me, just like she'd done so many times before, and again to sli on my plastic panties, a pink pair with ruffles. I sucked on my paci and enjoyed the whole experience. The only thing I had to do was lift my arms so Mom could get my onesie and my jumper over my head. It was a very happy Christmas for me that year, one that has always stood out as a very positive memory. When we made our holiday visits to Grandparents, cousins, uncles, and aunts, no special mention was made of my diapers, not even when Mom, Dad, or Sean took me aside to change me. Sean received admiration for his diaper changing skill -- and his willingness to change soiled ones -- from our cousins Marie and Joann, who were close to him in age. Neither of them, though, made a big deal of the fact that I was back in diapers. I remember feeling more comfortable and less stressed around the extended family than I had in some time. My cousin Kevin was just two months older than I. We were both in first grade and both in special classes at school, he because he had been born with a spinal abnormality that kept him incontinent and made walking difficult, I because of unconventional behaviors related to Asperger’s Syndrome. Kevin and I had always felt close to each other. At Thanksgiving, I had told Kevin that I wanted to wear diapers again like he did, and be treated like a baby. Kevin suggested that I tell my Mom and Dad what I wanted, thinking they just might consent to the request. Now, when I saw Kevin at Grandma’s house, I told him I wanted to show him something in private. We went into an empty bedroom and I lifted my skirt, exposing my pink ruffled plastic panties. “Cool!”’ Kevin exclaimed. “We can be diaper pals again, like we used to be before you were potty trained. When did you start wearing diapers again?” “On Christmas Eve,” I answered. “Mom put a diaper on me, Dad fed me a bottle, and I haven’t had to go on the potty since then. I'm not even allowed to.” (“Then” was now four days in the past.) “How are you liking wearing diapers again?” Kevin asked. “I haven’t been this happy in I can’t remember how long!” I exclaimed. “Are you wet right now?” Kevin asked. I smiled shyly and nodded. “My diaper hasn’t been changed since we left home. I just wet without thinking about it now.” Kevin grinned like he was thinking of something naughty. “Let’s both make doodoo!’ he said. (Doodoo was Kevin’s family’s preferred term for poopies.) I realized I did have to poop, so I grunted a litle and passed some very noisy and smelly gas. “Wow!” Kevin exclaimed, admiring what I’d just done. “You fart better than any girl I know! Even better than most of the boys!” I blushed a little and smiled sheepishly. I was already pushing a BM into my diaper. “Daddy calls me a Super Duper Pooper,” I admitted. The BM wasn’t an especially large one, but it did create a bulge in the seat of my diaper. Kevin was now enthusiastically filling his own diaper. When we’d both finished, we returned, holding hands, to the family room where most of the other cousins were talking and showing each other some of their gifts. All the girl cousins were fond of babying Kevin. He was a very cute little boy, small for his age and, because he was still in diapers and had poor motor skills like I did, often regarded as more of a toddler than a growing up young man. “Come and sit on my lap, Kevin!” Cousin Joann called. Cousin Joann guickly withdrew the invitation, though, when she smelled poop and noticed the bulge in the seat of Kevin’s pants. “Eww! You went poopies in your pants, didn’t you?” Cousin Joann asked in mild disgust. “Yup!” Kevin answered, sounding proud. “Want to change my diaper?” Joann shook her head emphatically. “No way!” She declared. “I’ll change your diaper, Kevin,” Sean volunteered. “You can change poopy diapers?” Cousin Joann asked, incredulous. “Sure I can,” Sean responded. “It’s no big deal. Mom showed me how when Claire went back to wearing diapers. It’s my job to make sure she’s changed when she needs it today. And from the way your diaper is sagging below the hem of your dress, Claire, I’m thinking you need a diaper change too, right about now.” Sean stood and held out both his hands. I took one, and Kevin took the other. “I went poopies like Kevin did,” I admitted. “That explains it,” Sean grinned. “I didn’t think one little boy could make that big a stink! Let’s get you both cleaned up.” Off we went to Grandma and Grandpa’s bedroom, which had its own bath. On the way, Sean asked Kevin’s Mom if she’d mind if he changed Kevin’s diaper. “Not at all, Sean!” Kevin’s Mom replied. “It’s about the time of day Kevin usually has a BM. Thank you for volunteering.” Kevin had us both cleaned up and changed in little more than five minutes. He’d been changing my diapers since the first day, Christmas, as he had told Joann, and he was quickly becoming an expert. Poop had leaked into Kevin’s plastic panties, so they needed to be washed. Sean asked Kevin if he’d mind wearing a pair of mine for now, since we hadn’t brought Kevin’s diaper bag to Grandma’s room with us. Kevin and I were nearly the same size, so Sean had no problem changing us into clean Luvs size 5 from my diaper bag. We’d often worn each other’s clothing, even shoes. Sometimes we’d pretend Kevin was a girl and I a boy. We both enjoyed this game, although Kevin was better at it. Try though I did, I didn’t make a very convincing boy. Kevin, though, was a gifted mimic and an enthusiastic roleplayer. He could be a quite convincing little girl. Kevin didn’t mind wearing my plastic panties at all. He loved pink, loved ruffles, loved most of the pretty things girls love, in fact. The girl cousins had often dressed Kevin up as a toddler girl. He’d stopped making even a token protest at this kind of treatment. Kevin’s delicate features, his longish, curly hair, and his skill at mimicking girlish ways of walking, sitting, and even flirting had convinced more than a few people that he really was a little girl. Underneath his dress-up trousers, no one would notice Kevin was wearing ruffled pink plastic panties. But Kevin knew, and so did I. We both enjoyed our little secret. For as long as I could remember, family gatherings had been stressful occasions for me. Being around so many people “overloaded my circuits,”’ you might say. It was too much emotional and sensory stimulation for me to deal with comfortably. I remember “stimming” at family gatherings much more than at other times. I knew I was making something of a spectacle of myself but, really, I didn’t care. Stimming released the stress overload. Often, because of the stress overload, I would not be able to eat at the children’s table with the other cousins. Mom would need to feed me at the adults, table, or, if the occasion was especially difficult for me, in the kitchen. Being with Kevin sometimes helped keep me calm. Today I was calmer, more relaxed than I could re-member ever having been at a family gathering. Was it because of the diapers, because I no longer had to deal with the responsibility of being a “big girl?” I think it was. I had no problem being with the other cousins at the table. I actually enjoyed it, and barely spilled anything on my bib. Kevin had no brothers or sisters. He enjoyed being with Sean, Meghan, and me. Before we left Grandma and Grandpa’s, we’d plans for Kevin and his parents to come to our house on New Year’s Eve to greet the new year and sleep over. It was something nice for us all to look forward to. At the gathering at my Dad’s parents’ home, there was no one like Kevin. Dad came from a family of only two siblings. We had no cousins on Dad’s side of the family. Uncle Jack, Dad’s brother, had Asperger’s like I did. 35 years old, never married, he had his own home but had lived with Nana and Pop Pop until only two years ago. Uncle Jack experienced problems relating to others and making his way in the world that were similar to those I experienced. I had always felt comfortable with him. Uncle Jack understood me and my situation as no one else did. When he’d been a boy, no one knew what Asperger’s was. Uncle Jack had had a more difficult time than I was having. Nana, Pop Pop, and Uncle Jack all knew I was in diapers and being babied again. Dad and Mom had spoken with them by phone before Christmas to discuss whether allowing me to regress as I wanted to was a good idea. When I made my request, Dad had recalled (although he didn’t tell me) that Uncle Jack had gone back to wearing diapers when he was six, after having been potty trained for only a year. Uncle Jack had not been potty trained again until he was sixteen, and then only because he wanted to learn to drive a car, something Nana and Pop Pop would not allow him to do while he was still in diapers. During our visit, Uncle Jack and I had some time alone. We talked about being different, and about wearing diapers. Uncle Jack told me about how he’d gone back to wearing diapers when he was a little younger than I was now, and how good it had been to feel like a baby again. I hadn’t known he’d done the same thing I was doing. Hearing about it helped me. I asked Uncle Jack if he’d had a tough time at school because he wore diapers. He said that he was already being teased a lot before he went back to wearing diapers, so it really didn’t make a lot of difference. In a way, it had made things better, since the school nurse who changed his diapers had befriended him. While we were talking, Uncle Jack noticed that I wiggled a little in my chair. He said, “You just made weewee, didn’t you?” “Yes!” I admitted. “How did you know?” “People who wear diapers notice things like that,” Uncle Jack said. “I think a lot more people wear diapers than you might realize,” Uncle Jack added. “Do you need to have your diaper changed?” I shook my head. “I’m only a little bit wet,” I said. “Besides, Mom, Dad, or Sean always seems to know when it’s time to change my diaper. It feels good not to have to worry about it.” “I know,” Uncle Jack agreed. “I liked wearing diapers a lot.” Then Uncle Jack told me a secret. He told me that, after being potty trained again, he continued to wet his bed and still had to wear diapers whenever he was sleeping. Sometimes, Uncle Jack told me, he stayed in diapers all day, just because he felt like it. “It’s not as nice when you have to change your own diapers,” Uncle Jack said, “but it still makes me feel calm, happy and safe to have a diaper on sometimes.” I promised not to tell anyone that Uncle Jack still wore diapers. I don’t think Sean or Meghan ever guessed. If Mom and Dad knew, they never talked about it. Uncle Jack and I have always been able to relate to each other in a way that those who don’t have Asperger’s wouldn’t understand. We’ve shared many of each other’s secrets. New Year’s Eve was fun. Dad surprised all of us by taking the whole evening off from the cab company he owned. He did call the office several times to make sure everything was okay, but for the most part Dad really enjoyed the family fun. Sean was excited because he was going to be allowed to stay up until midnight with the grownups. Meghan, Kevin, and I would go to bed at our regular time but be awakened to ring in the New Year at midnight. We all enjoyed the traditional New Year’s Eve family dinner: pizza. Then we kids played games until bedtime. Sean played with us. He really seemed to enjoy being with us younger kids. Kevin shared my bed, because it had the plastic mattress cover. Kevin’s Dad, who had always had a strange sense of humor, had bought “Happy New Year tee-shirts for Sean, Meghan, Kevin, and me, and plastic panties printed with the words “There’ll be some changes made!” for Kevin and me. We were dressed in those as we went to sleep, so we’d wake up all ready to greet the New Year. I felt a gentle hand shaking my shoulder, and heard my brother Sean’s voice telling me it was quarter to twelve, time to get ready to say hello to the new year. Still half asleep, I rolled over to sit up and felt a big load of poop in the seat of my diaper. I started to cry, not wanting to welcome the new year in such a state. Sean came to my rescue, lifting me up onto the changing table and changing my diaper in record time. Then he changed Kevin’s diaper, which was only wet. All of us made it downstairs in plenty of time to start making a racket at midnight. It was great fun! Kevin and his family stayed with us through dinner time on New Year’s Day. After the midnight session, we all slept late on New Year’s morning, then had a light breakfast. After breakfast, everyone managed to bathe or shower in our two bathrooms. I wanted to share a tub with Kevin, and I was happy when Kevin’s Mom bathed the two of us together and then diapered and dressed us in matching overalls. Mine were red and Kevin’s were green, in honor of the holiday season. Mom was surprised that I let Kevin’s mom give me a bath and diaper and dress me. I would usually insist that it had to be Mom, Dad, or, more recently Sean. I had regressed, Mom admitted with mixed feelings, but I was becoming more trusting and less nervous. That had to be good thing. CHAPTER TWO All vacations come to an end eventually. Sooner than I wanted it to be, it was time to go back to school. I liked school, really, but I was nervous about going back to school wearing diapers. On the first day back, I didn’t take the bus. Mom drove me to school. Meghan, of course, came along. Meghan went to her kindergarten class. Mom and I went to the nurse’s office, where Mom dropped off a package of Luvs, and two paifrs of white plastic panties, along with some lotion and some wipes, and had a conversation with Nurse Richardson. Soon the conversation included Principal Barker and Mrs. Ross, my teacher in Special Education. I sat by myself reading a book while the adults talked, and I never did find out exactly what they said. After a while Mom came over to where I was sitting and told me that everything was all right and I would need to do everything Mrs. Ross asked of me, like I always did. Mrs. Ross and Nurse Richardson said that either Nurse Richardson or one of the teacher’s aides in special education would check my diaper frequently, just like they did for other diapered kids. I was not to fuss or complain when this happened, and I was to go to Nurse Richardson’s office to have my diaper changed whenever I was told to go. I nodded, relieved that I had been allowed to wear diapers to school, and perfectly willing to follow the rules. Mom kissed me goodbye and left, Nurse Richardson checked my diaper, was surprised at how wet it was, (I’d been nervous and had wet more than usual) and changed it. Nurse Richardson was an expert diaper changer. She had a comforting touch. I felt very safe having her change my diaper. After my diaper had been changed, I followed Miss Callahan, one of the teacher’s aides, to our classroom. I’d missed morning assembly, where all the kids in special ed recited the pledge of allegiance as best they could, sang a song, and shared any special news or events in their lives. I didn’t think any announcement about my wearing diapers was going to be made and none was. I just got out the learning packet I’d been working on before Christmas and took up where I’d left off. I began the day with some third grade arithmetic problems. Those were easy for me Daytime wetting was not yet automatic for me. I had already learned, though, to try to make weewee every half hour or so (I could tell time) so that I wouldn’t end up flooding my diaper. When an aide checked my diaper shortly before lunch, it definitely need changing. Two other diapered kids and I were escorted to Nurse Richardson’s office for a diaper change, and then we went together to the cafeteria. We Special Ed kids didn't often socialize with the other students. They gave no evidence off wanting anything to do with us, except maybe as objects of ridicule, so we kept to ourselves, and, as we were able, helped each other out. I was the only one in my age group with above average intelligence, but I was also socially, emotionally, and physically well behind most children my age. I never thought of myself as superior to anyone. I wore a bib at the school lunch table just as I did at home, because I was clumsy and a very messy eater. Too much of what was supposed to go into my mouth ended up on my clothes. I would like to say I was making good progress toward learning to feed myself properly, but I was not. Today, lunch was less stressful for me than it had been, perhaps because I felt safer and calmer in my diapers. The afternoon passed without anything awful happening. I needed changing half way through the afternoon. It was not unusual for kids to have an afternoon BM. For kids in diapers, this would mean a soiled one. I made poopies in my diaper, as several of the others did. It wasn't an awful experience, but very matter of fact.. Kids nearby noticed the smell and commented that someone must have pooped, but they didn't make an issue of it. When she noticed I'd pooped, one of the aides took me to the nurse's office and changed my diaper there. Clean and dry, I was soon back at my school work.. I rode the school bus home feeling much better about school than I could remember ever feeling. When I came through the back door, Mom was delightfully surprised that I stayed in the kitchen and asked for milk and cookies rather than running to my room and closing the door like I usually did. Meghan joined me for milk and cookies, then Mom remembered to check my diaper -- it was soaked -- and take me to my room for a diaper change. After she changed my diaper, Mom gave me a bottle of water (I'd already had milk) to help me relax before dinner. It wasn't long before, both at home and at school, my diapers and diaper changing became part of the daily routine. Changing my diapers was far less stressful for everyone than dealing with the tantrums and other emotional outbursts that had once been common occurrences and now happened rarely. Because I was feeling safer, I had almost none of the panic attacks which had once been more than a daily part of my life. Everyone's life got easier. Sean realized an unexpected but welcome benefit. Because he was not only handsome, smart, and athletic but also was "man enough" to change his almost eight year old sister's wet and dirty diapers without flinching, Sean was now more popular than ever among his female classmates. He didn't' mind that popularity one bit. Easter was always a special time for all of us, with new outfits for all the kids, special church services, at least one Easter Egg Hunt, and a big family dinner. My Easter dress that year was a pretty lavender taffeta design, with a petticoat. It was a very old-fashioned design and I loved it. I wore white ruffled plastic panties, covering extra diapers to minimize the need for changes. Except for a mid-afternoon BM which everyone must have noticed but no one mentioned, I didn't do anything upsetting all day. As the school year progressed, my behavior became more and more like that of so-called "normal" kids. As the end of the school term approached, I began hearing talk about "mainstreaming" me, placing me in a regular second grade classroom. I had mixed feelings about that idea. I felt safe in special education. I might not feel so safe in a regular class. I said I might be willing to try being in a regular class. I insisted, though, that I would not be potty trained again any time soon. CHAPTER THREE Memorial Day weekend brought with it the beginning of the swimming season and the end of the school year. I knew I'd be going back to wearing swim diapers, and I didn't mind. I was so used to being in diapers by this time that I no longer thought about them a whole lot, any more than another kid would think about her panties all the time. I was in them all the time and I used them unselfconsciously. I no longer had to remember to pee. It just seemed to happen. I pooped whenever and wherever I felt the urge, which caused some awkward moments when it happened in public places. Usually, I did not ask for a diaper change, even when my diaper was soiled. I knew someone would check and discover that I needed changing soon enough. When Mom, Dad, or Sean would tell me to come and get my diaper changed, I'd sometimes protest that I didn't need to be changed. My protests fell on deaf ears. They knew my patterns better than I did. The diaper was almost always right at the "change me now!" stage. To my family's credit, I remember very few diaper leaks. So when Mom brought home a package of red Little Swimmers swim diapers, I was delighted. I knew I'd need to wear some kind of diaper when I went swimming, and the Little Swimmers looked like they'd fill that role nicely. I looked forward eagerly to our first trip to the pool. Mom had to remember how to pack for a say at the pool with a child in diapers. I'd need my beach cover up and a second one in case the first got too wet to wear. I'd also need two or three onesies, two or three swim diapers, and, of course, enough Luvs for when I was not in the pool. The only things I wouldn't need more than one of were my beach towel and my flip flops. All five of us went to the pool on the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend. It was a nice, warm day with bright sunshine. On the way to the pool, I wore only a onesie covering a Luvs, and flip flops. Anyone looking at us would guess that Meghan, in her pretty skirted swimsuit, was the older sister. Everyone carried something in to the pool area from the parking lot. I carried my diaper bag and a tote filled with sunscreen and other beach items. The water looked inviting and, since it was early, not too big of a crowd had gathered. Sean went off to meet some of his friends by the diving area. Meghan waited for me to change into my swim diaper. Mom put my beach cover up on me, reached under it to unsnap my onesie and untape my diaper, then held the swim diaper for me to step into, and refastened the onesie. No one saw me naked, but I had such little body awareness that it would not have been bothered if they had. We played in the children’s area until lunch time. I was not the largest child in a swim diaper, but I might have been the oldest. Swim diapers don’t keep pee out of the water, only poop. The kiddie pool always was chlorinated extra heavily for that reason. I have no idea how many times I wet my swim diaper. My fingers and Meghan’s were all wrinkly – pruned up, Sean would say – by the time Mom called us for lunch. Sean, Meghan, and Dad blocked the view while Mom changed my diaper right on the blanket. After two hours in the water, a swim diaper won’t hold any kind of a wetting, and no one likes the feeling of pee running down their leg. Mom had made sandwiches, and brought along some potato and macaroni salad from the deli, as well as lemonade and cookies. We had a nice picnic lunch. Then Meghan and I lay down on the beach blanket under our beach umbrella for a nap, I with a baby bottle of lemonade. It was a noisy environment, so we slept for less than an hour. As I was waking up, I knew I’d be pooping very soon, so I just stood up and did it. Someone walking by saw me and smiled. A child filling her diaper is kind of a cute sight, I guess. Mom took me to the restroom and cleaned me up there, putting another swim diaper on me so I could go back into the pool with Meghan. During the afternoon, Dad took Meghan and me into the big pool for a swimming lesson. Both of us managed to successfully float on our stomachs, the “Dead Man’s Float,” Dad called it. Floating with my face in the water was a big accomplishment for me. The previous Summer, I’d been afraid to put my face in the water. Meghan and I were now about equal in our swimming skills. We went to the pool again on Memorial Day itself, and many times throughout the Summer. It was a good summer. Dad went with us when he could take time away from work, and Mom always brought books and other projects she was working on. Sean played with us sometimes, even when his buddies wondered out loud why he’d want to hang around with little kids. Some of the girls noticed Sean playing with us, and admired him for being kind to his sisters. Sean was very definitely discovering girls, and girls were discovering Sean. During the last week in July and the first week in August, we took a car trip to Colorado. We visited Pike’s Peak, and rode the cog railway to the top. We went on two steam rail excursions, the Durango and Silverton, and the Cumbres and Toltec. Sean and Dad were big railfans. We also visited two archaeological sites where we explored ruins of very old settlements. I participated completely in everything we did, usually with a pacifier in my mouth, which did its job of soothing me very effectively. I heard Sean saying to Mom that dealing with the complications of my being in diapers was much less of a problem than dealing with my behavior issues on our trips the past two years. I wasn’t supposed to hear the conversation, I suppose, but I was kind of glad I did. I knew I was not an easy child to live with. I couldn’t help the way I was. The security of being treated like a baby again made things easier for me as well as my family. I read more than a few books over the summer, and began a personal journal which I kept very private. Mom and Dad gave me a book with a lock and key. I kept the key on a chain which I often wore around my neck, or carried in my little purse. My handwriting improved as I used my journal more and more often, sometimes writing in it several times a day. Over that Summer, I became much more confident in the water and actually learned to swim. Both Sean and Meghan enjoyed time with their friends, time which I didn’t share, of course. But that was fine with me. I had the same amusements I’d always had, and now I had my baby things too. As I said, it was a happy summer. CHAPTER FOUR As the first day of school approached, Mom, Dad, and one of the school counselors talked with me about being in a mainstream classroom. How would I feel, they asked, about being in a “regular” classroom? I stiffened visibly. “Would I still be able to wear diapers?” I wanted to know. “Yes, Claire, you’d wear diapers just like you do now, except that you’d have to go to Nurse Richardson’s office when your diaper needed changing, since there are no diaper changing aides in regular classrooms. A special teacher's aide would make sure you went for changes often enough.” “I’m supposed to be in second grade,” I said, “but I was already doing third grade work last year. Wouldn’t second grade be boring?” “Your teacher would give you challenging work that would keep you interested,” the Principal explained. “You’d meet other children who are as smart as you are, and we hope you’d learn to enjoy working with them.” “It does get kind of lonesome in Special Ed,” I admitted. “I like the other kids there, but they don’t do the kind of school work I like to do.” “What about the teasing and bullying,” I wanted to know. “I know I’m not like other kids, and “normal” kids don’t like me very much usually.” “We hope that being in a regular classroom will give other children a chance to know you better,” the counselor explained. “And we hope it will give you a chance to know them. We won’t allow teasing or bullying, and we’ll trust you to let us know if anyone treats you unkindly.” “If it doesn’t work out, can I go back to Special Ed?” I asked. “Yes, Claire, we’d allow that, but we do think this will work out for you and for the other children as well.” “Well, okay then, I guess I’m willing to try it.” I was trying hard not to stim. To relieve the emotional pressure I was feeling, I wet my diaper. I hadn’t sat on a toilet since Christmas Eve, and no one had been suggesting that I “go potty” anywhere but in my diapers. I was comfortable wearing diapers. I didn’t really mind being talked about and stared at when people noticed I was diapered. When I had to go poopies, I usually just did it, even if others were around. Much of the time the only thing that made my pooping noticeable was the smell. Sometimes, though, I had to push to expel a hard or unusually large load, and the pushing sometimes was accompanied by grunting and grimaces. Mom or Dad, sometimes Sean, would ask “are you going poopies, Claire?” I always thought that was a stupid question, but never said so. Actually, they asked the question so they could take me to have my diaper changed as soon as I’d finished pooping. Because of Mom, Dad, and Sean's vigilance, I don't remember ever having a diaper rash. I wet without thinking much about it, and paid little attention to the state of my diaper. Again, Mom, Dad, or Sean would often ask if my diaper was wet, or they’d simply feel my diaper to determine whether it needed changing. Teachers’ aides in school had been checking my diapers also. Now, in a regular classroom, I’d need to become more aware of when it was time to have my diaper changed. I was nervous on the first day of school and almost begged to stay home. I wanted to be in school again very much, though, and that desire proved stronger than the nervousness. I wore a jumper and blouse, as I usually did, with a disposable diaper and plastic panties covered by a onesie with a snap crotch. My new class was designed for exceptional children across the range of primary school ages. Children from all over the school district were enrolled. I was not the only child in the class with Asperger's syndrome, although I was the only one in diapers. Tony and Terry used the toilet like other children. Their behaviors, though, were more disruptive than mine, and included a lot of stimming. I wondered if they might be happier and calmer in diapers. The teacher and her aides tried to help us interact with the other kids, with some success. The other children weren't unkind to Tony, Terry, and me. They just didn't know how to relate to us. In the very direct way of interacting that Asperger's children have, Tony and Terry asked a lot of questions about my diapers. I answered their questions frankly. I discovered that Tony was fastidious about being clean, and was totally repulsed at the thought of going potty in his pants. Terry, on the other hand, admitted that he sometimes wet and pooped his pants on purpose, hoping that his parents would diaper him. So far they hadn't done it. Instead, they encouraged Terry to be more careful, and helped him change his pants. Terry was the oldest of three children. Both his younger sisters were clean and dry both day and night. Neither had Asperger’s. I offered Terry the same suggestion my cousin Kevin had given me. I encouraged Terry to ask directly for what he wanted. Later that week, Terry's Mom called my Mom. The two moms talked a long while. After she'd hung up the phone, Mom told me that Terry had asked his parents to diaper him "like Claire's parents do." Mom said that, although they had some concerns, Terry's parents were going to diaper him as he had requested. Terry would have to follow the same "all or nothing" diapering rules I followed. I was very happy to hear he had been successful. I liked Terry, even had a little crush on him, but I didn’t recognize the feeling for what it was. Two days later, Terry showed up at school looking happier than I remembered ever seeing him, but kind of nervous, too.. Based on his newly calm demeanor, and the fact that his pants looked tighter than they usually did, I guessed he was wearing a diaper. He’d come in to class a little late, just as I had the first morning I came to school in a diaper. When I asked him, he admitted he was diapered. "I'm wearing plastic pants, too," Terry said. It was close to 10:00 in the morning. "Is your diaper wet?" I asked. Terry admitted it wasn't and added that he really needed to pee. I told him he'd better go ahead and pee before he had to go so bad that his diaper wouldn't be able to hold it without leaking. Terry began relieving himself a little at a time until his bladder was empty and his diaper was so full that it created a noticeable bulge in his pants. A teacher's aide noticed and asked Terry if his diaper need changing. Terry nodded shyly. The aide smiled and held out her hand. Terry took her hand. I spoke up and said my diaper need changing, too. The aide held out her other hand. The three of us went to the nurse's office where Terry and I were quickly changed into dry diapers. I made it a point to remind Terry to wet his diaper whenever I wet mine. It didn't take him long to catch on. An hour after lunch, I noticed that Terry was farting and trying to conceal it. I was sure he needed to go poopies, and thought he was probably nervous about pooping his diaper in school. So I stopped what I was doing and filled my own diaper, making sure that Terry noticed. Seeing me pooping made it easier for Terry, and soon we were both in the nurse's office being changed again. Having a diapered classmate made me happy. Although I didn't mind being the only one in diapers, I felt much better having a "diaper pal." Terry and I did become pretty good friends, and Tony managed to overcome his discomfort with the mess he associated with diapers enough to be friends with both of us. If he thought either of us was peeing or pooping, he'd tell the nearest adult, and we'd tell him to mind his own business. All things considered, though, we all got along okay. Our relationship with others in the claas gradually improved, also. We were still the "odd ones," but we weren't bullied or teased. Sometimes we were even included in social events like birthday parties. One or both of our moms would always be nearby to change our diapers when they needed changing. We were part of the group as much as we allowed ourselves to be. The other kids didn't exclude us, but sometimes we tended to exclude ourselves when an activity was just too much fpr us to handle. Although my parents and teachers had hoped I'd be willing and able to let an adult know when my diaper needed changing, that didn't happen. Instead, my awareness of the state of my diaper lessened. If someone asked if my diaper was wet, or even if I'd soiled it, I wouln't always know. Some of my class-mates found it disconcerting that I'd sometimes grunt and fill my diaper right in front of the group, without thinking anything of it. My pediatrician, after observing me and talking with Mom and Dad, estimated that I had the body awareness of about an eighteen month old child. I was no longer potty trained in any sense. When, or perhaps if I decided I didn't want to be diapered anymore, I'd need to go through the entire training process again. If I'd been given the choice between being required to develop more mature toilet habits and going back to Special Ed, I would have chosen Special Ed without question. I was happier and calmer in my diapers, with no responsibility for letting someone know when they needed changing, than I could remember being at any time in my life. CHAPTER FIVE I don't remember how aware I had been of my diapers before I had been potty trained. I do remember, as I've said before, consenting to be potty trained only to please my parents. Now, back in diapers, I was aware of them just about all the time. I liked the feeling of the diaper on my skin. I still do. I don’t even mind when the diapers are wet or soiled. My being in diapers, having a pacifier (which I brought to school but used there only when I was REALLY stressed), taking at least one bottle every day, usually fed to me by Sean, Meghan, Mom, or Dad, and being bathed and dressed rather than doing it myself soon became so much a part of our family’s ordinary way of being that it felt quite normal. I had proven how bright I was and how easy to be with, so long as, physically, I was treated as a young child. I was never left alone, someone was constantly beside me whenever we went out. We had a harness for me, and a sort of leash, but didn’t use them often unless I was really nervous and likely to try to run off somewhere to hide. Actually I LIKED the leash an said so. Wearing the harness gave me a sense of security I really wanted. So gradually I began wearing it more often, even when I was fairly calm. Thankfully I was small for my age, and not very heavy. At eight I looked more like five. Still, an obviously diapered five year old on a leash with a pacifier in her mouth will draw attention, and I sometimes did. It became much easier to go places, because I became much easier to manage. Before long, there was no need to be concerned about tantrums. I didn’t stim all that much anymore, either. All anyone needed to be concerned about, really, was the state of my diaper. I wouldn’t often ask for it to be changed, often wouldn’t know it needed changing. So, unless someone else remembered to check, I’d be likely to have a diaper leak. Meghan and Sean saw it as THEIR responsibility when that happened. Dad and Mom had said, after all, that someone would always take responsibility for my being clean and dry. Meghan became a little mommy to me. We were close to equal in size, but no one would have guessed I was the older sister. The pacifier, the leash, and the diapers either playing peek a boo under my dress or skirt or making a bulge in my pants marked me as the little sister. Meghan stayed close by me, even when we were with her friends. She still does. Meghan accepts me for who I am – the whole family does -- and helps me with those parts of life that I find difficult to deal with. She began helping with diaper changes when I was nine and she was seven. Within a year she could do the whole change herself unless the diaper was soiled. Now, I’m 11 and she’s 9, she can change even a nasty diaper. She’s so good at it that Terry’s mom lets her change his diapers when we’re together. Mom would like it if I could wear cloth diapers all the time – she’s pretty green – but the school insists on disposables. Cloth diapers and disposables feel different, of course. I enjoy both. Cloth diapers, when they're dry, feel REALLY snug and cozy. When you wet them, the fleeling of warmth spreading over your bottom is delightful. Yes, eventually the diaper gets cold and soggy, especially after repeated wettings, but plastic panties keep that from happening too quickly. By the time the diaper gets uncomfortable, someone always notices and changes it. I wear plastic panties with disposable diapers, just as I wear them with cloth diapers. They do protect more against leaks. Besides, they're nice to touch, they make a nice rustling noise, and they're cute, I think. Disposable diapers hardly ever feel wet, at least not until they're really soaked! I wear "youth diapers" now. I've outgrown Pampers, Luvs, and Huggies. I miss the pretty prints on the baby diapers, but the youth diapers are okay. They have more tapes on each side, two or three. Baby diapers have only one. Wetting feels different in disposables then it does in cloth, but pooping feels pretty much the same in both. It's kind of a nice feeling, really, when the poop starts filling the diaper. Usually it's warm and squishy. Sometimes it's a little lumpy. If I have diarrhea, it can be a nasty feeling. I hardly ever have diarrhea, though. It's kind of funny that I can feel the weight of the poop on my shoulders because I still wear onesies. Mom likes them because they keep my diapers snug. I'd rather not have my plastic panties covered up, I like it when people can see them. When I'm wearing a pretty dress I aometimes get to wear ruffled plastic panties without a onesie, and I like that a lot. But onesies are okay. I suppose I squirm a little when my diaper is uncomfortable, or tug on it just a bit. That, I guess, is the cue that prompts whoever is nearest to ask "Claire, do you need a clean diaper?" As I've grown older, I usually nod or sometimes simply say "yes." Once in a while I'll "sort of" ask to have my diaper changed. I don't actually ask to be changed. Instead I tell Mom, Dad, or Sean "I went poopies," or "I made weewee a lot." Sean still changes my diapers without complaining, whenever he's home. He's going to be a great Dad, I think. Meghan, as I said, changes my diapers now, too. She asks, just like Mom, Dad, and Sean do, "Do you need a clean diaper, Claire?" Our Baby Alive dolls spend their time on a shelf now. Meghan has me to take care of, and she says I’m more fun. Sometimes I wonder what’s going to happen as I get older. I wonder if I’ll have to be potty trained again some day, and give up my diapers. I wonder if I’ll have breasts like women do, and have to shave my legs like Mom does. I don’t have any breasts yet, thank God. Sometimes, though, I think it would be nice to have them. My ears are pierced now. Meghan talked me into getting it done. I howled when the technician did it, but it didn’t hurt for long, and I do like wearing earrings. I’m noticing more how I look. My mother is pleased that I’m more interested in what I’m wearing. Sometimes I’ll even ask to wear a dress or skirt I like especially. I almost never ask to wear shorts or pants, though. That’s because Tony says he likes me to wear dresses. He says it’s what girls are supposed to wear. I don’t know about that, but I do know I like it when Tony likes how I look. Terry, too. I’m not sure which boy I like better. Terry is a good diaper pal, and he’s really funny sometimes. He’s still shy about pooping his diaper in front of other people. So he tries not to, and ends up farting so much it makes me laugh and it annoys some people. Just last week, one of the other girls in the class said to him, “Why don’t you just go ahead and poop your pants and go get your diaper changed? You’re killing us all with the smell of your farts.” Terry turned bright red. I came to his rescue by making a BIG fart myself. Everyone laughed. Then I pooped, so did Terry, and we both went to have our diapers changed. Tony would hate to wear a diaper, but he says now that I look cute in mine. He likes to touch my plastic panties, especially the ones with ruffles. If no one’s watching, sometimes I let him. Sometimes Tony puts his arm around me when we’re walking together. Terry never does that, even though he knows I like it. Tony likes to hold hands, too, but he makes sure my hands are clean before he holds hands with me. Just last week, Tony surprised me by kissing me on my mouth. I really liked it, and I hope he does it again. I asked Sean how he knows when a girl wants him to kiss her. I want to do whatever it is that lets a boy know. Sean reminded me, though, that tony has Asperger’s, and he might not recognize the signal. So, Sean said, maybe I should just ask Tony to kiss me. But not too often, Sean warned. I’m still kind of young for kissing. Two more Asperger’s kids have joined our class in school. One of them is a girl. Her name is Tiffany. I don’t know her really well yet, and it’s kind of hard for me to make friends. I’d like have a friend with Asperger’s who’s a girl, though. I miss having girlfriends like Meghan does. I don’t know whether Tiffany wears diapers. I’m not sure if I’d rather she wore them or rather she didn’t wear them. Wearing diapers makes me feel special. If everyone wore them, I wouldn’t be special.

I wouldn't get too concerned unless it happens repeatedly. I DO hope you have a plastic mattress cover, though. That's a worthwhile investment for anyone, really. Prevents stained mattresses. This site sells both diapers and cotton briefs. http://www.comcoincmn.com/diapers_covers_pants They're not at all sexy but they do work. Any time, of course, that you wet a garment without a waterproof backing, it will eventually soak through to your bedding or clothes.

Thank you for reading all of what I posted. It's about 10,000 words. I've been working with these fictional characters, and some others yest to be introduced, for a while. I thought Mary Louise's story would be the first one told, but it turns out that Betsy needed to be "heard" first. Anyone who writes fiction understands how characters take on a life of their own. If there's enough interest I will post more of my work. Years ago I wrote another fairly long story, "The Family Babies." Certainly, it can't hold a candle to "Hannah," but some people liked it. I believe it's still here somewhere if anyone wants to read it. I didn't quite bring that one to a conclusion, but it came close enough.

BETSY’S STORY – PART ONE – SUMMER, 1999 On a day in July --- 1 My mother, seeing my slightly reddened face and noticing a poop smell, asked, matter-of-factly, "Are you making doodoo?" I looked up from the book I was reading, or at least trying to read. I took my pink and yellow pacifier out of my mouth. "Yes, Mom," I answered, equally matter-of factly, "but I don't think I'm finished yet, so could we please wait before you change my diaper?" "All right," Mom agreed. "Just be sure you come and tell me as soon as you're done. I don't want you to get another rash. I noticed when I last changed your diaper that your bottom was a little red. I'm relieved that you finally made doodoo, Betsy," Mom added. "It's been two days since you last did, and I was worried you might need a suppository " "Yes, Mom," I answered again, with just a bit of annoyance in my voice. "I'm probably a little red because I've had a lot of orange juice and not a lot of water today. It doesn't hurt so please don't worry." I was VERY happy that I'd managed to poop before Mom felt the need to stick a suppository in me. I hated suppositories. Lying naked, sometimes for 15 minutes or more, on my changing table with a glycerine stick up my butt, then pooping uncontrollably onto a diaper that was just spread underneath me was a very unpleasant experience, even though I knew it was necessary sometimes. I didn't like my mother's constantly keeping watch over the state of my diaper. Sometimes I'd deliberately fib and tell her my diaper was clean and dry when it wasn't. I didn't usually get away with those fibs. Mom would insist on checking my diaper if she didn't believe me, wanting to protect me from diaper rash. Of course, I didn't like diaper rash, either, So, in a way, even though being inspected so frequently and so intimately annoyed me, I was glad Mom was so vigilant. Besides, I knew that I had options I could be potty trained, I knew, but I rejected that option for reasons I'll ralk about in a little while. I could take responsibility for letting Mom know when my diaper needed changing. I had considered doing that but frequently either forgot or became distracted because I was doing something interesting. Right then, for example, I put my pacifier back in my mouth, began sucking again, went back to reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone and quickly forgot about the mess in my diaper. In a few minutes, I felt a familiar pressure and, grunting in a rather unladylike manner, pushed the rest of what had become a sizeable load of poop into my diaper. I peed while pushing out the load, bringing an already wet diaper perilously close to the point of saturation. Mom always insisted I wear plastic panties, even with disposable diapers. I never complained about having to wear them, remembering all those little yellow puddles in my plastic panties that would otherwise have leaked onto my clothes. Placing a bookmark in the middle of a chapter about a troll on the loose in Hogwarts Castle, but taking the book with me, I went, still sucking on my paci, to find my mom. "]CHAPTER 1 My name is Betsy Larsen. I was 12 years old in the summer of 1999 when I was reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Yes, that's an astounding age for a completely healthy -- well, physically healthy, anyway -- girl to still be wearing diapers. My reason for refusing to be potty trained made excellent sense to me, however. Diapers -- and my pacifier -- kept me safe in a world that, from early childhood experience, I believed was anything but safe. I'd been Betsy Larsen only since I was four years old. My twin brother, Billy, and I had been born to the Farrells, a troubled young couple who had been so overwhelmed by having twins to care for that they had "lost it" in a very major way. Patrick and Maureen Farrell had, before Billy and I were finally taken from their home by Child Protective Services, abused us emotionally with incredibly cruel words, physically with beatings and neglect, and, finally, sexually. I had discovered that soiling my diaper if I could, or at least wetting heavily was the best way to stop the sexual abuse. Billy had made a similar discovery. Although we each did have our own beds, we often slept cuddled together, pacifiers in both our mouths. Almost every morning, we'd wake up in a cold, soaked bed. Eventually, one of our parents would remember to change our diapers and help us get dressed for the day. Often, our outfits weren't clean. Just as often, Billy would end up wearing items of clothing that were mine, and I'd be dressed in something of his. It didn't really matter, though. We were about the same size, and our clothes weren't all that unalike. We both wore simple pants and tee shirts most of the time, sometimes just tee shirts over a diaper. In Summer, we'd sometimes be naked on the little patio of our apartment, where a Mr. Turtle pool was set up. I remember enjoying being naked. I envied Billy's ability to pee standing up without having it run down his leg. I did discover, though, that by squatting with my legs spread wide, I could avoid peeing on myself, too. The Farrells had not managed to potty train either Billy or me, even though we were brighter than average four year-olds. They weren't particularly good at keeping us clean and dry, either. Billy and I had many diaper rashes. More and more, though, we relied on our diapers to help keep us safe. Diaper rash was preferable to being molested. Late one morning, when both our parents (neither had a steady job at the time) were still sleeping off the previous night's drinking, Billy and I let ourselves out the front door of our apartment and, still dressed in pajamas and with badly leaking, soiled diapers, went searching for breakfast. We'd found no food in our apartment. A neighbor saw us, took us in, cleaned us up, fed us, sent her son out to buy diapers for us, and called the police. A very kind officer delivered Billy and me to a children's shelter. There we received new outfits and another diaper change. We managed to convince the people in charge not to separate us. Bending the rules, the director of the shelter assigned us to share a small bedroom with twin beds. Plastic mattress covers assured that we wouldn't end up with urine soaked mattresses. Billy and I felt terrified, but being together made the situation bearable. Our parents were arrested and released on bond, posted by a friend. They were allowed no contact with us, however. Neither Billy nor I wanted to see them. Eventually, both parents surrendered their parental rights in exchange for a sentence of five years on probation. I don't know if either of them succeeded in straightening themselves out, nor do I especially care. We first met Jim and Rose Larsen as foster parents. Billy and I had been at the shelter for a little less than a month. Our bruises and diaper rash had healed. The staff at the shelter treated us kindly, and even seemed fond of us. We were happier than we could remember being at any time in our lives. Because we were past four and still in diapers, no one had really high hopes that anyone would want to adopt us. Foster care, though, might be a possibility. The Larsens had only recently qualified as foster parents. Finally accepting that they could not have children of their own, Jim and Rose Larsen had decided that a child did not need to be "theirs" in order for them to love him or her. We were among the first children the Larsens met. They seemed taken with us, and we instinctively liked them. They arranged an "in-home trial" weekend that worked out so well that we never went back to the shelter. It took about two years for Billy and me to be released for adoption, but we'd been thinking of Jim and Rose Larsen as Mom and Dad for a long time before we became legally theirs. State law required that Billy and I each have a bedroom of our own in the Larsens' home, so we did. Until we were eight years old, though, we never spent a night apart. We alternated between sleeping in Billy's bedroom and mine. Rose, with help from Jim, diapered us well and carefully enough that we almost never had either a diaper rash or a leak. No mention was made of potty training for more than a year after Billy and I came to live with the Larsens. Neither they nor the therapist we saw weekly pressed the issue at all. When the subject was brought up it was because we'd be starting school, and kids don't usually wear diapers to school. The mere suggestion of potty training made both Billy and I rigid with fear. We protested loudly that we DID NOT WANT to use the toilet and wear big kid underwear! We wanted to make weewee and doodoo IN OUR DIAPERS, thank you very much! The discussion ended right there. Now, more than seven years later, neither the therapist we continued to see, although less frequently, nor our parents tried to impose potty training on us. Somehow we were allowed to go to school in diapers and have them changed when necessary by either the school nurse or a teacher's aide. During Kindergarten that arrangement worked fine. Teasing began in first grade and got worse as the year went on. Before school ended for the term, our new parents decided it would be best to home school Billy and me. Dad and Mom owned an accounting and bookkeeping business. Dad was a CPA. Mom had worked as a Junior High Math teacher until she and Dad had become serious about starting a family. Lately she'd been helping out in the accounting business, which was growing rapidly. Since Billy and I arrived, Mom had been working from home, doing bookkeping and payroll for smaller clients. Now she'd be home schooling us as well. Dad promised to help as much as he could. Home schooling worked well for Billy and me. We had no trouble at all mastering the course work for our age group, and often ventured beyond the required curriculum as we explored whatever interested us. We visited the library several times each week, and played in neighborhood parks almost daily. Home schooling meant that Mom no longer needed to diaper us with disposables very often. Billy and I had never worn cloth diapers and plastic panties before coming to live with the Larsens. "Cloth diapers are better for the environment," Mom explained as she pinned cloth diapers on us for the first time. "And, I think they protect you and your clothing better... not to mention the furniture." I remember looking at my own and Billy's reflection in the mirror, and finding the way we looked in our diapers, tee shirts, and plastic panties more than acceptable. We wore an assortment of blue, yellow, pale green, pink, and, of course clear and white plastic panties. Thick cloth tabs sewed to our undershirts securely held diaper pins and kept our diapers from drooping too badly. Wherever we went, some people noticed that Billy and I were wearing diapers. The diapers were always visible under pants. When I wore skirts and dresses (something I'd hardly ever done before coming to live with the Larsens but found I enjoyed very much), my diapers were less noticeable. Still, however, people would notice, especially if the dress was short and I was diapered heavily. Some people weren't exactly kind in their remarks when they saw us being changed in a restroom, or even when they spotted the diapers under our clothes. Mom and Dad always managed to get us away from abusive people with a minimum of fuss. Billy and I adjusted quickly to our new routine. We'd been pretty shy around other kids, and didn't really miss being in school. We had always enjoyed each other's company more than anyone else's, and we still did. With Mom and Dad, our world felt wonderfully complete ... and safe. The required curriculum for our grade level was not especially challenging for Billy and me. Mom challenged us, though, by helping us explore a range of fascinating subjects -- literally from architecture to zoology. With his keen interest in math, engineering, aesthetics, and functional use of space, Billy soon began designing and constructing model buildings. Soon he was at work planning a town with residential, business, industrial, and recreational areas. Over time, Dad and Billy began bringing Billy's town to life as a working scale model, complete with working cars, trucks, and trains as well as an airport that, except for the fact that the airplanes didn't actually fly, was quite realistic. My great love has always been words. With mom's encouragement I began to write. Short little stories and simple rhymes at first, then gradually more complex material, some of which eventually saw publication. I've finished a short novel about a girl who creates a vivid fantasy life to help her cope with the very threatening life she actually leads, and I'm working on a sequel, which I'm trying to write from the point of view of the girl's brother. Trying to think like a boy is fascinating for me. Often, I ask Billy's opinion of what I've written. Sometimes Billy suggests changes. Often, though, he tells me I really "got it right." It's great having a twin brother. I wish every girl could have one. Home schooling grew in popularity in Mayfield. It wasn't too long before the school district began to offer an enrichment program for home schooled kids. Meetings for both parents and kids happened once or twice every month, an informal athletic program began, the library started offering special activities, and, not long ago, a website had begun offering additional resources. We met Lou Maxwell and his mother at one of the home school meetings. I hope you've had the experience of recognizing that someone you've just met is going to be a very good friend. Lou is that kind of person. Other kids were sometimes stand-offish toward Billy and me. I could understand why. I knew quite well how unusual it was for otherwise healthy kids like us to be wearing diapers at our age. I wondered if they thought wearing diapers was somehow contagious. Lou showed no hesitation. He introduced himself totally unselfconsciously and responded to us as a friend and equal right from the beginning. When Billy asked him "Aren't you gonna ask us why we still pee and poop in our diapers?", Lou answered "Do you want me to ask you? "I guess not, unless you're curious," Billy said. Lou admitted openly that he wore diapers himself at night because he wet in his sleep. "Sometimes I need to wear diapers during the day, too, if I'm not going to be near a bathroom. I know what wearing diapers is like, and knowing that you wear them doesn't bother me at all." Our moms became friends as easily as we did, and soon we were visiting each others' homes at least once a week. Both Billy and I enjoyed our friendship with Lou. Billy and Lou enjoyed Billy's models. Lou and I enjoyed fixing each other's hair and trying on clothes. Yes, that's right. Lou's hair was long enough to style, and he enjoyed having me style it. He also enjoyed helping me experiment with my hair, which, with his encouragement, I was letting grow. Lou had a very androgynous appearance at that age. He was more pretty, really, than handsome. When we were together at Billy's and my home, Lou willingly tried on my outfits. He looked better in some of them than I did, nothing at all like a boy wearing a dress. Even Billy agreed that Lou looked great in my clothes. It felt to me that Lou and Billy were attracted to each other. I wondered if either or both of them might be gay, but rejected that thought rather quickly. I knew several gay people. I was certain my brother wasn't gay. And, certainly, Lou's energy didn't feel gay to me. Lou felt like a girl friend to me. More and more, I began to relate to him in that way. It seemed the natural thing to do. Billy, I realize now, also related to Lou as though Lou were a girl. Which, although none of us had fully recognized the fact, Lou really was! Neither of us was all that surprised when, for one of our regular Friday get-togethers when we were all twelve years old, Lou showed up in a skirt, blouse, earrings in newly pierced ears, a necklace, newly styled hair, and even a little make-up. Lou had been developing a decidedly more female appearance for some time. It was no longer possible not to notice his budding breasts and the curve of his hips. Lou's family doctor had referred him and his parents to an endocrinologist, who in turn had called in a geneticist. Tests revealed that Lou was genetically female. "He" would be living full-time as a female, and would need to decide eventually to undergo surgery to transform his external genitalia into a vulva and create an opening for an already existing vagina. Lou had also been offered the option of more extensive surgery to remove all female organs, so that he could continue to live as a male. Lou told Billy and me that his mind had been almost completely made up right at the start. He had, in fact, realized quite a while ago that somehow he must be female, but had never known how to share this realization with anyone. We were the first outside his (well, from that moment on, Lou was never “he” again) family to see Lou as a girl. Lou had been out all morning shopping with her mom. They'd had a glamour shot" taken to celebrate Lou's first day as a girl. That was the reason for the make-up. Billy's diaper couldn't completely hide the erection that he'd gotten as soon as he saw the transformed Lou. I think Lou saw it, too. I saw what looked like a cross between an embarrassed and pleased look on her face. I looked at Lou and she blushed a little. None of us mentioned Billy's erection or Lou's response, though. i have to admit that Billy's penis fascinated me. We'd grown up together, so I was used to seeing it. Lately, it seemed to be developing a mind of its own! When Billy got aroused, which he did more and more often, his penis grew amazingly and stood straight out from his body. During the past year, Billy's body had been developing at a much more rapid pace than mine. I remained flat-chested and without pubic hair. I wasn't nearly as mature, physically, as Lou or Billy. Billy would soon have a beard. His pubic hair had already begun growing. Within a few months, Lou's transformation was complete. Physically, mentally, emotionally, and legally female, Lou was now Mary Louise Maxwell. She, like Billy and me, saw a therapist regularly, and that was a good thing. Right away, though, everyone who knew Lou knew she was meant to be a girl. On a day in July --- 2“Ready for a clean diaper?" Mom smiled and looked up from the papers she was working on as I waddled into her study. My diaper smelled awful, I knew. I nodded. I must have looked somewhere between solemn and ridiculous standing in front of Mom in just a pink tee shirt and yellow flower-print plastic panties over a sagging, soiled diaper, with ny paci in my mouth and Harry Potter under my arm. "Let's go, then." Mom led the way to my bedroom. I climbed up on my changing table -- it still fit me comfortably -- and lay down. As Mom pulled down my plastic panties and began unpinning my diaper, I opened Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone to the page I had marked and resumed reading. "That must be quite a book!" Mom exclaimed. "It's been a while since you kept reading while I changed your diaper." "Yeah," I admitted, "it's pretty good. I don't want to put it down." I'd started reading only that morning and was already halfway through the book. "I'm glad you're enjoying it," Mom said. "You've been kind of down lately, since Billy hasn't been home as much as he used to be." She had slid the soiled diaper out from under me, rinsed the poop out in the toilet in the bathroom just ouside my door, dropped the diaper in the diaper pail, and was now cleaning my poopy bottom with wipes. Billy was at the town swimming pool with Lou Maxwell. I could have gone with them, but I would have had to wear diapers and plastic panties under my swimsuit, and I was too self-conscious to do that, since I'd now be the only one my age wearing diapers. Billy had decided to be potty trained. He was enjoying his freedom from diapers. I wasn't ready for such a big step, and I was still upset with Billy for going ahead without me. I could understand and appreciate Billy's reasons for giving up his diapers. I still felt that he'd abandoned me, though. Billy still needed diapers at night, "just in case," but many mornings he now woke up dry or only slightly wet. CHAPTER 2 At about the same time Lou was having her surgery, a new magnet school for gifted and talented children was announced in Mayfield. The new school was especially interested in attractng students like Lou, Billy, and me. It sounded like a very exciting idea to all three of us. I wondered, though, how big a problem my own and Billy's diapers would present. Billy wondered, too. It wasn’t long before Mom and Dad learned that we’d be allowed to attend the magnet school wearing disposable diapers. That was good news! I knew there would be teasing and that we’d have difficulty making friends, but being able to attend a school like the magnet school made all of it worthwhile. Billy agreed, sort of. Almost right away, though, he’d begun thinking about how nice it would be to not be so different, to learn to use the toilet so he wouldn’t need diapers anymore. At first he didn’t say anything, but I knew he was deep in thought about something. Finally, one day, Billy seemed unusually tense all morning. When, just before lunch, Mom said “Come on, you two, let’s get you some clean diapers,” Billy replied “I don’t need a clean diaper, Mom, I need to use the toilet.” Mom didn’t believe Billy until she’d checked his diaper. Amazed at finding it dry, she followed Billy into the bathroom where she unpinned his diaper and left him to “go potty.” Billy went through the whole process without getting pee on the floor or anything. He emerged from the bathroom, naked from the waist down, looking very proud of himself. Mom said, smiling, “I guess we need to get you some underwear!” Billy just grinned. Mom pinned a fresh diaper on Billy but let him go without his plastic panties. Then she changed my diaper, which was soaked. Mom noticed my silence – I hadn’t congratulated Billy nor had I made any other comment – but didn’t say anything. We all had lunch, then went to K-Mart where Mom bought Billy two dozen pairs of Hanes briefs. Billy was excited to put on his new “big boy” underwear as soon as we returned home. For the rest of the day, he went to the bathroom when he needed to without any prompting. I watched, impressed but also dismayed. When Dad came home, he beamed at the good news of Billy’s success. He didn’t belittle me, or say anything to make me feel bad. In fact, he changed my diaper with his usual good cheer before dinner, telling me about how his day had gone and asking about mine. For the first time in as long as I could remember, though, I felt self-conscious about wearing diapers. Not self-conscious enough to want to join Billy in potty training, but definitely self-conscious. I was noticeably quiet all evening, as I had been all day. Everyone “gave me space,” and said nothing about the now obvious difference between Billy and me. I had my pacifier in my mouth all evening and didn’t say much. I just sucked and thought. Mom diapered Billy at bedtime, just in case. In the morning, his diaper was wet. Not as wet as mine, and not soiled like mine was, either, but definitely wet. He would have had wet sheets if he hadn’t been diapered. Billy went to the bathroom as soon as Mom removed his diaper, took a shower, and put on a clean pair of his new briefs. I let Mom bathe me, as she always did, and, of course, diaper me. After breakfast, Mom left Billy and me by ourselves while she went to her study to take care of a client’s payroll. “What the heck is this all about?” I asked Billy, the hurt in my voice unmistakable. “I thought we were both going to stay in diapers, and now you’re potty trained!” “Not quite potty trained, but working on it,” Billy answered, trying to hide the pride he felt in his accomplishment. “I woke up wet this morning, remember.” “Yeah, barely wet,” I said. “But you went potty right away and now you’re wearing your new underpants. I'll bet it feels really different.” “It does feel different, but I'm getting used to it and I like it," Billy sad, a little defensively, I thought. "No one said you had to be potty trained too, Betsy,” Billy said, again defending what he’d done. “Mom and Dad aren’t upset with you at all.” “I know,” I agreed, “but now everything is going to be harder for me.” As I listened to myself, I realized I sounded like I was whining, but I continued. “When we were both wearing diapers, I didn’t have to feel so different. You were just like me. Now you’re not!” Billy hugged me. “I’m kind of sorry,” he said, “but it’s something I’ve been thinking about even before we found out about the school. I just thought it was time.” As Billy spoke, I realized that the revelation that Lou Maxwell was actually a girl, even more than the thought of being with other kids in school in the Fall, might have been his motivation for potty training. I said as much. Billy blushed. “Well, yeah, I thought she might see me as more than just a friend if I could be more grown up,” he admitted. I couldn’t think of anything to say in response. I understood. I didn’t think that I would have given up my diapers even if I’d met someone who made my heart beat faster. But I could see why Billy would consider the possibility of being seen as more manly by a girl he had a crush on worth the price of giving up the security of diapers. “If she doesn’t want you to be her boyfriend, will you go back to wearing diapers again?” I asked, sounding hopeful but already guessing how Billy would respond. “I don’t think so, no,” Billy answered, sounding almost regretful. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner what I was thinking, but I knew you wouldn’t like it and you’d try to talk me out of it. I hope we can be close like we’ve always been, and I’m still fine with you wearing diapers, but it really is time for me to give them up.” “I know,” I said, and hugged Billy. “But it’s not time for me to give them up.” “I didn’t think it would be,” Billy agreed. “And you know I’ll stick up for you against anyone who thinks it’s weird that you aren’t potty trained. I’m still your twin brother and I always will be.” I didn’t say anything. I just hugged Billy harder. Throughout the rest of the day, Billy used the toilet with no problems and no accidents. He even managed to wipe himself without any help when he pooped. Nobody said anything more about him being potty trained and me not. Mom asked regularly if I was wet, like she always had,and changed my wet diapers in her usual, cheerful way. Within minutes after I’d soiled a diaper, she noticed the smell and asked if I’d “made doodoo,” again, just as she always had. When I nodded and looked a little ashamed, she assured me “It’s okay, just like it’s always been. Just remember, I don’t want you sitting in a poopy diaper, so when you make doodoo, let me know so I can get you changed right away.” Mom smiled as she said this, and I smiled back. Neither Billy nor I had ever been very good about telling Mom or Dad when our diapers needed changing. Mom guessed correctly that my being the only one in diapers wasn’t going to change that behavior. Mom diapered Billy again that night. In the morning he woke up soaked and with a load in his diaper. He was out of bed early, so obviously upset that I woke up, too. We’d always had a kind of awareness of how the other was feeling. I got out of bed and joined Billy in the TV room. Mom and Dad were still asleep. My diaper was probably as wet as his, but I hadn’t pooped. Billy was holding his pacifier, but it wasn’t in his mouth. “I’m sorry,” I said, hugging Billy. “I think I know how much you wanted to wake up clean and dry.” “I don’t understand it,” Billy said. “I don’t remember wetting or pooping. I woke up and knew right away my diaper was soaked and poopy. I don’t know know what happened.” “Your brain probably hasn’t gotten the message yet,” I suggested. “After your first day without a diaper, you almost made it through the night without wetting. I’ll bet you didn’t sleep a whole lot, though. Last night, as you were getting more used to wearing regular underwear, you relaxed a little more, and your body did what it’s used to doing. You know you wake up with a load in your panties at least two or three times a week. It’s nothing unusual.” I was trying to reassure Billy. He did seem relieved. “You always were smarter than me,” Billy said, putting his pacifier down on the coffee table and giving me a two arm hug. Just then Mom walked into the TV room. She smelled poop and asked if I’d made doodoo. “No, Mom, it was me,” Billy admitted right away. I could always count on Billy to “be a man” and protect me. It had been that way for as long as I could remember. I was a little bit smarter. He was stronger, and seemed to have more courage. “Let’s get your diaper changed, then,” Mom suggested, forgetting for the moment that Billy was potty trained now, and focusing on the situation at hand. “I don’t want to wear a diaper today, Mom, if it’s okay,” Billy said calmly. “I had an accident but I want to keep working at being potty trained. “Of course, Billy,” Mom said, remembering. “I’m sorry. For a moment I forgot you don’t want to wear diapers anymore.” Mom removed Billy’s wet and soiled diaper, and cleaned his poopy bottom. Then Billy took a shower and dressed for the day, putting on a fresh pair of briefs. Billy didn’t often have daytime accidents, but he had to work pretty hard at staying clean and dry at night. It was more than a week before he woke up completely clean and dry. The night after that, though, he was wet again, although he didn’t poop his diaper. Most mornings we’d sit in our diapers together in the TV room before Mom woke up. Billy would talk about how it was going for him. “Sometimes I feel like giving it up,” he admitted. “Diapers still feel more normal for me than underwear, and it’s not as easy as you might think to remember to hold it when I have to pee or poop and not just go in my pants. It can kind of make you crazy!" “I don’t even want to think about it,” I said. “You’re amazing, Billy. I don’t think I could do what you’re doing even if I wanted to.” Billy smiled. About two weeks into Billy’s potty training, we went to an amusement park the whole family loved. We made the trip once each year, in late Spring before it got too hot. It was a four hour drive. The day before our trip, Mom suggested gently that Billy might want to make the trip wearing diapers, “just in case.” Billy thought about it all day, before consenting to be diapered for our trip. “It’s a long time in the car,” he reasoned, “and a lot of the rides are scary. Some of the lines are long, too, and you can’t step out of the line to use the bathroom and not lose your place. I don’t want to have an accident and it wouldn’t be much fun to have to think all day about whether I had to pee or poop." The next morning Billy woke up almost dry. After he had showered, though, Mom double diapered him for the car trip, She’d double diapered me, too, after my bath. Mom was carrying the big diaper bag, and another bag with extra diapers and plastic panties in it. We’d be gone overnight and, between the two of us, we’d use nearly three dozen diapers before returning home. “Don’t worry about going to the bathroom today, Billy,” Mom advised. “I don’t think it will hurt your potty training. Just go in your diaper. When we come home, you’ll get back on track right away.” Billy seemed a little doubtful, but also a little relieved. When, about halfway through the car trip, we stopped at a rest area, both our diapers needed changing. Billy seemed a little embarrassed, but he didn’t balk at having his diaper changed. For the rest of our two day trip, Billy peed and pooped in his diapers like he always had. I enjoyed the amusement park as much as I always had. So did Billy. He forgot about diapers and just had a good time. There was an unbelievable new roller coaster this year. It was so intense that even Mom admitted she’d wet herself a little as we went down the first hill, and that was something Mom never did. “I was glad I wore a Poise pad,” Mom said, laughing about her accident. Even more than the amusement park, though, I loved having my diaper buddy back, even though I knew it would be for only a few days. On a day in July --- 3 Mom lifted me by my ankles, as she always had , and slid a fresh diaper under me. After liberally applying lotion, she pinned the diaper on me snugly. Then she slipped a clean pair of plastic panties – these were plain yellow with no floral pattern – over my feet and pulled them up past my knees. Lifting me again by my ankles, she pulled the plastic panties up around my waist, making sure the diaper was tucked in all around. “All done,” Mom said, and I climbed down from the changing table. “Not quite,” I said, and Mom replied, “Oh, of course, I forgot!” Then she patted my diapered bottom, as she always had. We both smiled. “What do you think about taking a little break and getting some fresh air?” Mom suggested. We could both use it, and it’s too nice a day to stay inside. We could walk to the park. The idea sounded good to me. I put a cotton skirt on over my plastic panties, and a pair of sandals. It was one of my favorite skirts, about mid-thigh length, with a simple pattern of pastel squares. I hadn’t worn this skirt much lately. I’d been more self-conscious than usual about people noticing my diapers, and they were sometimes visible under this skirt. Mom took the small diaper bag – it had room for about four diapers, wipes, lotion, and an extra pair of plastic panties – and I packed a few pieces of fruit and two bottles of water in an insulated bag. We put both bags in a big canvas tote and added a book for each of us, in case we decided to sit on a bench or the grass and read, and two beach towels to sit or lie on. I, of course, brought Harry Potter. We were walking out the door when Mom reminded me "Don't forget your pacifier." That's my mom. She remembers everything. Mom is kind of old-fashioned, and Sometimes does embarrassing things like asking if "I made doodoo" right in front of people. I know she loves me and cares about me, though. I've always known that. She's always doing things that let me remember how much she cares, like reminding me to bring my pacifier to the park. I was rough on pacifiers, by the way. I suckedhard on them and sometimes even chewed on them, in kind of the same way other kids chew on a pencil. When a pacifier started getting raggedy looking, a ne one always showed up on my bedside table, as if the tooth fairy had brought it or something. CHAPTER 3 Billy stayed in diapers the whole time we were away from home. It turned out to be three days, not two. We were having so much fun at the amusement park that ee decided to stay an extra day. It felt so good to have my diaper buddy back again! Mom had to wash a load of diapers on our second night away from home. Billy and I helped fold the diapers as soon as the dryer finished its cycle. We often helped wash and fold our own diapers. We were the ones using them, after all. Billy and I slept in the same bed, as we most often did in hotels. All four of us Larsens usually shared one room. Sharing kept travel cost down. We were still comfortable sleeping in the same bed, despite the difference in our physical maturation rates. Because we shared rooms, we were able to take more trips, even a cruise the previous summer. Mom had arranged for the ship's laundry to wash our diapers. It worked out fine. The ship's laundry service was very friendly. Sometimes, like on this trip, we brought a waterproof mattress cover with us when we traveled, if the place where we were staying couldn't provide them. When she could, Mom called ahead and checked. Most places were happy to provide mattress covers, and even thanked Mom for being considerate of their bedding by asking for one. We pulled in to our driveway a little after 8:00 on Sunday night. Since he'd be putting on his night diapers in only a few hours, Billy didn't bother switching back to underwear. But the next morning, after Mom had removed his wet, soiled night diapers and he had showered, Billy went right back to wearing his Hanes briefs. That first day wasn't too easy for Billy. He had several accidents, one of them requiring more than just a change of underwear. Mom was out delivering some documents to a client when that one happened. My heart went out to Billy as I saw the wet spot on his shorts expanding rapidly, and then the pee running down his leg into his left sneaker. "Oh, Billy, I'n so sorry!" I cried. Billy didn't say anything. The look of disappointment on his face said it all, though. He squished off to the bathroom, stripped off his wet clothes, showered, and left his wet left sneaker in thr bathtub. Then he dressed again, from the skin out, finishing just as Mom walked in the door. Billy looked embarrassed and ashamed as he explained to Mom what had happened. Mom tried to help Billy understand that it really wasn't such a big deal. "Lots of people have accidents, Billy," Mom said. "You've already cleaned up after yourself and put on clean clothes. Now all you need to do is get over it and get on with your day." Always one to "man up" when there was a challenge to deal with, Billy just nodded. I could see he was relieved, though. "What should I do about the wet sneaker?" Billy asked. "Let's just put both sneakers through the washer and dryer,” Mom answered. “They look like they could use it anyway.” “I’ll take care of it,” Billy said. And he did. Billy’s mood lightened as the rest of the day proceeded without any further accidents. He didn’t complain when Mom told both of us to come and get our night diapers on a little earlier than usual. She didn’t want to have to bother with diaper changing later, when everyone would be tired. Billy even stayed up a while longer to watch TV with the rest of the family, dressed in only his diapers, plastic panties, and a tee shirt. He didn’t seem at all embarrassed to be seen that way. Billy’s diaper was nearly as wet as mine the following morning. Both of us were up early, watching TV in the family room. Mom hadn’t come out of her and Dad’s bedroom yet when he felt the urge to poop, and I could see him struggling. We both made it a practice never to wake up Mom or Dad. They took good care of us and we wanted to do our best to take care of them. After he’d passed gas three or four times, I said “Billy, why don’t you just go ahead and poop and get it over with. At this point you’re probably not gonna make it until Mom wakes up anyway.” Billy stood up, filled his diaper, then didn’t sit back down. Ever the gentleman, he was trying to make it as easy as possible for Mom to get him cleaned up by not sitting in the poop and smearing it all over his butt. I was less polite. Watching Billy poop triggered my urge, and I filled my own diaper. I could feel it squishing all over my bottom. I was used to the feeling. It didn’t bother me. It was another fifteen minutes before Mom woke up. By then, the poop smell in the family room was pretty strong. Billy was still standing. Mom noticed, and knew why. She thanked Billy for being so considerate and said “Let me get you out of that messy diaper so you can shower and get dressed.” Billy followed Mom to the bathroom. She was back in a few minutes, ready to get me cleaned up. Mom took off my diaper, wiped me clean, and then gave me a nice warm bath before re-diapering me. “All clean and dry,” Mom declared. “Let’s have breakfast.” It took a while longer, but Billy succeeded. By the beginning of summer he was clean and dry day every day. Billy still wore diapers to bed and didn't complain about having to wear them. He kept a calendar where he bored "dry," wet," or "soiled" (D,W, or S) on each date. By his own reckonibg, Billy was wet one morning out of two on average, and soiled about one morning out of five. He'd hit a plateau where he'd stay stuck for months. I remained firm in my determination to not use the toilet at all. That, pretty much, became the way things were. Swimming season started, and Billy was eager to spend more time at the town pool. We had a pretty nice backyard pool, three and a half feet deep and twenty-four feet in diameter. Now that he didn't have to be concerned about people seeing his diapers, Billy wanted to be with the kids our age at the town pool. Going swimming, for someone who wears diapers, can be awkward. Disposable diapers swell up horribly in water. Disposable "swim diapers" don't swell, but they're not terribly absorbent, either. Their main purpose is to keep poop out of the water. They're available only in babies' sizes so, even though I was small, they hadn't been an option for me since the year before last, and they were a little too tight that year. Billy and I had tried cloth swim diapers, last year which accomplished the same purpose but leaked pee, sometimes embarrassingly. Most of the time we wore our regular cloth diapers and plastic panties when we went swimming. I usually wore a skirted swimsuit in an attempt to hide my diapers, but they still were pretty obvious. Neither Billy nor I had felt comfortable at the town pool in previous years. I still didn't have much enthusiasm for going there, but now Billy did. Because her body was looking less and less like the body of the boy she was supposed to be, Lou Maxwell had been spending a lot of summer days at our house during the past two years. Now that she could completely enjoy life as a girl, Lou, like Billy, wanted to be with other kids at the town pool. They never failed to invite me to come along with them, but I almost never went, especially now that I'd likely be the only one my age who wore diapers. When I did go with them to the pool, Billy and Lou never left me by myself and always tried to include me in whatever they were doing. When my diapers needed changing, Lou changed them in the women's dressing room. Mom had shown her how when Lou had offered and I had agreed. Lou was already a skilled diaper changer. The new friends Lou and Billy were making were always nice to me, although it felt to me like they thought of me as a rather odd little sister. Most of the time, I felt more comfortable staying home. Mom and Dad were both concerned about me, I knew. I knew also that they realized I needed to work things out for myself. Most days they gave me all the space I needed to do that. But there were special days like the one I've been describing. On a day in July --- 4 Mom and I found a quiet place under a tree near the lake shore at the park. We spread our beach towels on the grass and sat watching the ducks swimming in the lake for a while. I noticed a turtle sunning himself on a rock near the shore if the lake, and pointed it out to Mom. Mom showed me two hummingbirds quarreling over who'd have the first go at a honeysuckle blossom. I lay down and dozed off. Well over an hour later I woke up and had to think for a second before remembering where I was. I saw Mom sitting and reading her book. She smiled. "Hey, Sleepyhead!" Mom said, "I guess you really needed a nap! "Yeah, I guess so! " I yawned and stretched as I sat up, and noticed as I did that my diaper was wet. No surprise.. "It's a hotter day than I thought," Mom said. What do you say we go home and have a little swim in the pool?" That sounded like a good idea to me. “Great!” I answered. We packed up and walked home, happy to be together. It was about 3:30 in the afternoon when we walked in our front door. Billy wouldn’t be home before 5:00, and Dad wouldn’t be home before 6:00. Our backyard was more private than most, with a six foot fence and mature trees surrounding the property. Actually, our house was on the edge of a little woods. When we were young, Billy and I had often played naked in the backyard. We’d also skinny dipped in the pool now and then. Our pool was more heavily chlorinated than most because, of course, Billy and I peed in the water. Our diapers and plastic panties couldn’t keep the pee out of the water. Poop was not a problem, though. Thick cloth diapers and plastic panties kept the pool poop free. We also both knew enough to get out of the pool immediately after we began pooping, or sometimes even before. Neither of us had ever had a poop accident while skinny dipping. We never skinny dipped when it was even remotely likely we were going to poop. I had my swimsuit in hand and was taking my tee shirt off when Mom suggested “Feel like skinny dipping this afternoon?” “Both of us?” I asked, wide-eyed. “Why not?” Mom asked. We’ll take a cover-up with us just in case someone comes home early. So that’s what we did. For the next half hour, Mom and I enjoyed our backyard pool wearing nothing but sunscreen. We carefully applied the sunscreen all over, especially to those places where we didn’t usually need it. By the time Billy and Dad came home we were both dressed and busy preparing dinner, a huge salad of fresh, crunchy vegetables from the farmer’s market, broiled chicken breast with lemon pepper, and corn on the cob. We had key lime pie for dessert. It was a pretty nice summer dinner, we all thought. We talked about our day while we ate. Dad was working hard to get his business far enough ahead so we could enjoy our vacation, a “stay-cation” this year, since we weren’t going on a long trip but would, instead, take day trips close to home and enjoy some days relaxing at home together. Billy was enjoying being with the other kids at the town pool, and hinted that more than one girl seemed to be interested in him. He said that Lou was popular with the other kids. She was becoming friendly with some of the girls, and more than one boy was trying to impress her. Kids at the pool had the impression that Lou and Billy were a couple. Billy still had thoughts that maybe he and Lou would become a couple, but so far Lou didn’t want to be in that kind of relationship with anyone. Billy was being careful not to get too insistent. Some kid named Sean seemed especially infatuated with Lou. Mom and I told Dad and Billy about our day, including the skinny dipping. “I guess you two had the best day of any of us”! Dad said. Billy agreed. It had been a good day, I realized, as I drifted off to sleep that night. CHAPTER 4 In the middle of the following week, UPS delivered a large package. Mom seemed to be expecting the package, but I had no idea what was in it. So I asked. “You’re going to need to wear disposable diapers to school,” Mom explained. “They won’t allow cloth because storing the used ones is something they don’t want to deal with. So I ordered a supply of the best disposables I could find in your size. Feel like trying one on? You probably need a clean diaper anyway.” I was curious to discover what the disposables felt like, so I agreed quickly. Mom removed my diaper – it definitely did need changing – and unfolded one of the disposables. The box included four packages, each with 32 diapers in it. “Abena Abri-Form Air Plus Breathable Briefs” the package said. Extra small. Pretty fancy name for a diaper, I thought. The outside of the diaper looked like cloth, but it was really paper. Two tapes on each side of the diaper fastened it. There was a waistband across the back. The diaper was thick, but not as thick as the cloth diapers and plastic panties I usually wore. Mom taped it on, helped me down from the changing table, and gave me the customary pat on my diapered bottom. “If you don’t mind, Betsy, I’d like you to wear just your tee shirt over the diaper for a while, so we can both see how well the diaper works,” Mom requested. I had no plans to go anywhere but maybe the backyard, so I agreed without complaining. The Abena diaper felt really comfortable. Mom had taped it on as snugly as she could, and it stayed in place even as I sat, stood up, and walked around. I tried some jumping jacks (silly, I know) and the diaper stayed snug. Three hours later I would normally have been overdue for a diaper change. The Abena diaper, though, still felt dry to me. I knew I must have wet, probably more than once, but I couldn’t feel the evidence of it. Finally, six hours after mom had diapered me, the Abena diaper needed changing. Mom and I were both impressed. “This is wonderful!” Mom exclaimed. “If we add a booster pad, you’ll be able to go all through most school days without a diaper change, unless you make doodoo.!” Mom still insists on saying “make doodoo” instead of “poop” or “have a bm.” That’s one of her endearing quirks. I agreed that going all day without a diaper change would be a very good thing. Mom ordered booster pads designed for Abena diapers. When they arrived in a few days, we decided I’d wear the combination when Mom, Billy, Lou, Lou’s mom, and I all went shopping for school clothes. It worked amazingly well. We left for the mall at 9:00 in the morning. By noon, when everyone else used the restroom, I just waited for them. Lou and I must have each tried on more than two dozen different dresses, skirts, and pairs of pants. We both favored skirts and dresses over pants. Lou because they were still kind of new to her, and I because they concealed my diapers better than pants would. Billy was pretty bored with all of this shopping. His clothing needs had been ridiculously easy to fill. Just a few pairs of pants, some shirts, socks, a new pair of shoes and a new pair of sneakers. He played with his Game Boy while Lou and I eagerly looked for and tried on outfits. While we were in the girl’s underwear department, Mom had an idea. “If we bought you some panties large enough to fit over the disposable diapers, they’d help keep the diapers snug and make them even less noticeable,” she suggested. “Want to try it?” I hesitated. I’d worn pretty panties a few times, on a special occasion, under a fancy dress. The idea of wearing panties regularly had never occurred to me. I didn’t see how it could do any harm, though, so I agreed. Mom bought and paid for one package of Hanes cotton panties for me, opened the package and took out one pair. I went into a dressing room and slipped them on over my diaper. The panties did make my diaper fit just a bit more snugly, and they weren’t uncomfortable. Mom bought several more packages of panties for me, in pastels and white. It was nearly 5:00 when we got back to our house. I’d been wearing the diaper and pad combination for more than eight hours, and I felt nothing worse than some extra bulk between my legs. That was a curiously good feeling. Mom checked my diaper and saw that it could probably go another hour, maybe two, before it reached a critical stage. She removed the diaper, though, and changed me into a cloth diaper and plastic panties. Billy, Lou, and I were going to have a swim, then our dads would join us and we’d all have barbecued hamburgers for dinner, with watermelon for dessert. Billy jumped into the pool with a huge splash, as he always did. Lou and I followed, and water was soon slopping out over the sides of the pool. We played Marco Polo for a little while, then set up the course of underwater hoops we liked to swim through, and took turns negotiating them. Finally, we all relaxed on blow up rafts until our moms told us it was time to get ready for dinner. Lou and I changed in my room. I saw how her body had developed much more than mine had. I didn’t even need a training bra yet, and Lou was almost an A cup. She had some fuzz in her crotch, too, and I didn’t. I’d seen Lou without clothes before her surgery, and I couldn’t help noticing that now she looked pretty much like any other girl. If I hadn’t known, I could never have recognized that she’d had plastic surgery. “The doctor told me I’ll be getting my period soon,” Lou confided. “I’m already carrying tampons in my purse, just in case it happens when I’m away from home. Mom showed me how to put one in and take it out.” I felt a little jealous. “Does it feel weird to have a tampon inside you?” I asked. “No, not at all,” Lou said. “If you put it in right, you can’t feel it at all.” I figured it would probably be another year, maybe longer, before I found out for myself. We’d taken showers, and Lou had put on her bra, panties, and a tee shirt dress. Now she diapered me in cloth and plastic panties – she was getting really skilled at diapering – and I put on a similar dress, although without a bra. If you looked closely, you could see the outline of my plastic panties under the dress, but it wasn’t all that noticeable. I really appreciated Lou. She was very matter of fact about the diapering. No teasing, no baby talk. I considered her my best friend. We all enjoyed a pleasant evening together. Again today, I felt “normal,” not left out because I wore diapers. I was beginning to realize that the big difference between the “happy” days and the “not so happy” days was my frame of mind more than anything else. As the summer continued, I went with Billy and Lou to the town pool more often, and became more comfortable there. Some days, Billy, Lou, and I would hang out at our house and enjoy our backyard pool. We didn’t go skinny dipping, though, although Billy hinted more than once that he’d like to. Sometimes, on a rainy day, we’d go to the mall, or maybe the library, or a movie. The weeks of summer vacation rolled by very pleasantly, and also too quickly. In early August, Dad was able to leave his office for two weeks, and the four of us enjoyed our “stay-cation.” We rented a pontoon boat for a day on a nearby lake, had a picnic on the boat, and swam in the deepest water of the lake. We visited the zoo, the botanical garden, and a couple of museums. We drove several hours to an amusement park that had opened just this year, and stayed two nights exploring it. I wore my new Abena diapers on the trip. With the booster pads, I could go a whole day on two, or at the most three diapers. Billy wore the Abenas, too, although they fit him a little too snugly. He liked that he could take the diaper off easily enough when he was able to use a toilet, then re-tape them snugly. Billy wet his diaper at least once or twice during the day, and was wet every night, probably because we’d played so hard all day he slept more soundly than usual. He did say, though, that it was a lot easier wearing the Abenas than being pinned up in cloth diapers. Mom and Dad decided to buy some in Billy’s size so he’d be able to take them off himself more easily. On the second week of our vacation, Lou and her parents joined us for another day on a pontoon boat. Lou’s brothers, Matt and Mark, both had summer jobs and didn’t come along. It was a fun day. We barbecued on the boat. Mom changed my diaper on the boat, too, but everyone else sort of looked away. It wasn’t very awkward at all. We stayed out on the lake all day. No one said anything about it, but I was pretty sure everyone else just went in the lake when they had to pee. While Dad was on vacation, Billy and I had our thirteenth birthday. We celebrated with Mom and Dad at Red Lobster, and really pigged out. Dad’s vacation was over all too soon and the opening of school was only two weeks away. It felt strange getting ready to go to school. Billy and I hadn’t been to regular school since first grade, and Lou had never been. We didn’t think we’d know too many kids there. Our small garden gave us lots of fresh vegetables for summer meals. The backyard pool, the town pool, and the nearby park were good places to play. I read a whole list of books. So did Lou and Billy. In late August, Lou got her period. I knew there was something different about her, and I quickly figured out what it was when I saw her on the first day. Lou was proud of “being a woman” now, but she didn’t seem to think less of me because I was still, physically at least, very much a girl. Lou didn’t share her news with Billy, and he never guessed. Girls are pretty much a mystery to thirteen year old boys, even a thirteen year old boy who hung around with girls as much as Billy did. It rained hard on Labor Day, spoiling our plans for one last summer cookout. Instead, Mom cooked the burgers in the broiler, and Dad boiled the corn in a big pot. Potato salad, watermelon, and two videos made it a pretty good day after all. I laid out my clothes for school the next day, a green jumper, white blouse, and brown loafers. Plain gold stud earrings and no other jewelry. Mom would put an Abena on me in the morning, with a booster pad. I’d wear cotton panties over the diaper. The previous week, she’d left a package with the school nurse who would change my diapers when necessary. I’d have to see the nurse at lunch time, to have my diaper checked. Other than that, I’d go through the school day just like any other student. Seventh grade girls didn’t shower for gym class, so I’d even be okay there. The diaper might show under my panties, but it wouldn’t look too bad. I was relieved when, the next morning, I woke up with a huge load of poop in my diaper. Mom seemed pleased, too. It looked like I wouldn’t need to worry about pooping in school. Billy woke up with a soiled diaper, too. He admitted to being nervous, and almost decided to wear a diaper himself, but finally decided against it. He did put one in his backpack, though, just in case. After a breakfast of scrambled eggs, orange juice, and toast, Billy and I walked to the corner to meet the school bus. Our first day in a new school was about to begin.

What a delightful, innocent story! No bondage, no punishment, just a world in which parents and kids maintain a closer bond for a longer time because the kids stay in diapers until they're nearly grown. Imagine the effect on juvenile delinquency if this became the world we actually lived in! I can only imagine how busy the diaper changes in schools in a world like this would have been. That would be quite an addition to the story.

You can't keep the hairs from growing inward, because you're dealing with a fairly common congenital malformation. Usually you'll see the tiniest dimple at the base of a baby's spine who's going to develop a pilonidal sinus/cyst. As for the idea of scrubbing with an acne pad, let me add my own OUCH! A very unpleasant prospect. During the years before I had mine excised, I'd often leak pus, blood, or a straw-colored fluid I was always wearing some kind of protection day and night. If I hadn't been, I would have needed something like a Kotex.

I'll ditto the suggestion for plastic or rubber panties and a waterproof pad for your bed. Wet sheets can be fun once in a while, but pretty soon your bed starts to smell like stale pee, and that's no fun. Adult Cloth Diaper Co. Leakmaster pants are a lot like the Gerber panties you may have worn as a kid. Comfortable, effective, fit well over diapers without being too bulky. So many people don't "get" how relaxing it can be to sleep through a night without worrying about having to get up to pee. I'm glad you discovered our delightful secret!

Let me add a "ditto" to baby Robert. I'm 62. When I was an infant, my mother noticed a little dimple where the pilonidal sinus would eventually develop. At 18 I had my first flare up. Doctor said not to worry, that it was "a classic pain in the ass" and not much more. Eight years, and several flare ups later another doctor suggested surgery, advising me that a pilonidal sinus will continue to grow until it is excised. Mine was pretty big, and the loss of all the flesh that had to b removed has caused continuing discomfort. As Robert said, the thing has to heal from within. I actually saw the fascia covering my coccyx one day after a sitz bath while a dressing was being changed. Healing to the point where I could sit and work comfortably took about six weeks. I would have had the surgery years earlier if I had known that putting it off would only make the problem worse.

To answer the original question -- both my ability to hold urine and my ability to hold off ejaculation have dropped to near zero. This is a side effect of diabetes, the result of nerve damage. Just before I completely lost the ability to have normal intercourse, I had reached the point where I had only a mild pleasurable sensation. It wasn't possible for me to be sure I had actually had an orgasm at all. From what I've heard, other diabetics experience similar issues.

I was very happy to hear that you didn't go to the incontinence support group meeting. You had absolutely no business being there, as I think you really know. From what you said, you have no daytime incontinence and you don't wet your bed. Your not going demonstrates that you actually do listen when you ask for others' opinions. That's a good thing.

You write with real empathy for a young person newly dealing with incontinence. Sounds like you've been there. Please continue your story.