Rachel Emily

I'm more on the DL rather than the AB side of the line--diapers for me are therefore quite sexual. Overwhelmingly so. Yet the little bit of time I spend in little girl mode, playing with my dolls and plushies,

I am probably the exact opposite of most folks here in that I was trained much later (close to age three). The only reason my mom didn't try sooner, she said, is that doctors led her to believe that because of my disability, I'd be difficult to train if I could be trained at all. The opposite turned out to be the case, she said. According to her, once I was trained I didn't wet once during the night (ironic considering I'm a bedwetter now.) Strangely, although I was trained late, and have other memories from that time, I don't remember my potty training at all. So upsetting I blocked it out, perhaps? I do remember being instilled with a dread fear of wetting or soiling myself that lasted into my teen years (when the thought of doing so suddenly became arousing), so maybe my mom went a bit overboard in her methods. Curiously. my mom kept me in rather thick training pants until I was about seven. Maybe I had more accidents than I remember?

I don't think I mentioned this before, but I'm a side sleeper.

I heard a lot of the earlier stuff as well, since my mother had late fifties/early sixties '45s. "Downtown" is the earliest contemporary one I remember, however.

I'm more than willing to try a tiara if I can find one, but I am a definite "hair bow" girl and would really like to learn how to tie a hair ribbon properly.

Time was, I would have recommended Ammens medicated powder. It works faster in clearing up diaper rash than any powder I've ever seen.

While I haven't had any close calls where my diapers are concerned, I did have one yesterday evening in which my neighbor almost caught me with my pacifier. She'd come over to give me some groceries (she goes to local food pantries and gives me part of what she takes home). I stared at her with an obvious "deer in the headlights" look, I guess, because she asked what was wrong. I said, "Uh...you surprised me. I wasn't expecting you," which was true enough.

My guess is, considering that he cleans motel rooms, you were one of the least surprising things he's seen....

I think you're greatly underestimating the imagination of little girls. If they can particularize, say, a Strawberry Shortcake doll or a plush Smurfette, they can do it with just about anything. Would the "Chatty Cathy" (or the boy's counterpart, "Chatty Brother")

Yesterday I had one of those "questionable" days. I had one wetting that I was at least half-awake for, then fell into a deeper sleep. When I woke up, my diaper was soaked to the point that the moisture had wicked up my nightshirt. I don't think it was a matter of my first wetting spreading. I was quite clearly wetter than I'd been initially, but cannot prove that it was due to wetting in my sleep.

I'm afraid I have to say clean. Granted, I fantasize about messing, but would rather not deal with the mess (like I was forced to do

Not really, because I'm pretty open about wearing diapers. What people don't know is

Well, the article makes some good points, particularly about the media only pretending to be "tolerant", and even then only toward those who look gorgeous. However, were it possible for me to do so, I would want to do everything I could to make myself look as recognizably female as I can. Why? Because in the early years of my transition, when I didn't pass as well, my life was a living hell. I couldn't go out on the street without someone pointing and laughing, yelling "fag!", or telling me I should meet with some sort of grisly demise. Women recoiled when I'd go into the restroom, so I stopped going in there. To this day, even though I look at least acceptable enough to enter a women's restroom, I still avoid it and seek out unisex places. My voice once made me cringe, as did my face, and it messed with my self-image. I knew I was Rachel in my mind, but that mental image would be obliterated the moment I opened my mouth. I couldn't handle the incongruity, so I worked for years on my voice until it reached a point that I was at least comfortable speaking. (If you want to hear my voice, listen to Toddy's ABDLcast. I made a couple of SpeakPipe calls.) I no longer feel the need to hide in my apartment, and can go out on the street with a certain level of confidence. The hormones softened my features; I still don't look as good as I'd like, but at least men say things like, "Can I help you, honey?" which while sexist, is infinitely better than "fag." The idea of passing might be outmoded, but I felt I had to do it in order to live in the real world. Now I feel as though I have to apologize for feeling that way. EDIT: One more point I wanted to make. Even though I think it's important to pass, I don't think I'm an over-the-top, giggly stereotype either. I don't wear makeup unless it's a special occasion. I don't wear jewelry--not because I don't want to, but because I have a hard time with such things as earrings (earrings and cerebral palsy do NOT go together.)

"Robin Hood" represented the artistic nadir of the Disney studio, with so much reused

When I first got cloth diapers, I wasn't able to get plastic pants my size right away (pre-internet, so harder to find) so I attempted to use trash bags. That worked about as poorly as one might expect. Consequently, I didn't try cloth again until I was able to obtain adult-sized velcro diaper covers from a local diaper service.

Every year, all the residents in my apartment complex go to a local banquet hall for our annual Christmas dinner party. They usually charter buses to take us, since typically about two-thirds of the complex attends. I, along with several other people in wheelchairs, traveled in a disability van. Long story short, on the way home I noticed that the vibration of the van was causing me to experience something close to true incontinence--I didn't