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Little Sherri

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Little Sherri last won the day on May 15

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  1. Had a great day today, accomplishing stuff outside - fixed some things, turned on some things for the first time this year, cut some grass, played with chemicals and fuel and fire... a good day in the yard. And now, I will have a beer of my own making, before sitting down to do some paying work... I have a packed week this week and I need to get some stuff out of the way. I normally refuse to work weekends, but nobody I work with is expecting this, I'm doing it for myself so I have less on my shoulders in the coming week, which I am spending on travelling to meet colleagues and see projects and customers. The kind of thing I did on a weekly basis, pre-covid, but now, I work from home 90% of the time. I have been wearing a BeDry EliteCare all day - I put it on before I went to bed last night, but woke up dry, so it's in it's 10th hour right now. It is wet, but not swampy, and so far, has not produced any damp spots on my clothing, not that it matters, because these clothes are going into the wash in any case. But it's nice to be in a comfortable, reliable diaper, and to get a bunch of stuff done, and generally not think about it. The last time I saw the inside of a bathroom was about 8:30 this morning. But for the fact that I'm covered in sweat and sunblock, I might not have seen one until 10 or 11 tonight, but I will probably shower before that, as things are. I did think a bit about my diaper last night... this story is a bit demoralizing. But, as a wise person once told me, when you play silly games, you get silly prizes. I was with my buddy and his wife, who know I wear diapers, and with their three kids, one of whom is a good friend of my younger daughter. Do his kids know I wear diapers? I had always assumed not, or at least hoped not, and tried not to think about it much, because there's no rewards in that, anyway. But, I sort of assumed that my daughter would not tell her buddy that her dad wears diapers, because she also wears them, in a manner of speaking - frequent readers will know that whereas my oldest was as dry as the Sahara overnight from when she was a toddler, my youngest takes after me in the nocturnal enuresis department. Except that whereas I had to wear toddler diapers and battle feelings of shame (and also, of course, secret enjoyment), and generally feel like I was the only person in the world still being diapered at the end of the day in the fifth grade, my daughter gets to walk down an aisle of reassurance that she is not alone - the 40 different nighttime underpants design and branding options attest to that, in sizes from "toddler in training" to "driver in training". So, she wears diapers to bed. Ergo, I had assumed that she'd avoid the topic with her friends, many of whom do not know about her issue in that department. A few do know, but not this one, or so I thought. Again, this may be a figment of my imagination, but... I was wearing a Rearz Active Air and we were walking around at an outdoor festival, and we got beer, and some food, and sat down at a table, and were eating, and I got up to go get more napkins, and when I returned, the youngest whispered to the oldest, in a conspiratorial manner, which is entirely in character for them, and I wouldn't even have noticed it, except that one word bounced of my tympanic membrane: "spshssssshsst spshsesste phststse shsssst diapers shssssst pshssst giggle." I didn't look or break character, but I did, at the next opportunity, evaluate how I was put together, and I did not have any diaper sticking out anywhere, I am sure of that. But I did have that slightly bulgy, amorphous front-of-pants look that anyone wearing a decent diaper who has used it for a bit would understand. I had been sitting across from them. So, when I ambled back to the table with a handful of napkins, I was walking straight at them... did they see anything? And, more to the point, were they looking for anything? Because I think that an unprimed mind would probably not have have given my equatorial section a second glance. But if they were looking for it... yeah, they might have seen it. Like when I went to the last Rearz even I attended, and I did not intend to scan the lower halves of everyone there, and particularly not the men, because that's not how I lean, but, I could not help but notice that a number of folks there had puffiness in that general area. People like us have an almost automatic diaper radar that is hard to turn off. Believe me, I've tried - I visit a nursing home with some frequency these days. There is no sport in detecting that an octogenarian shuffling by has a saggy back end. Regardless, it is what it is. They know, or they do not, and life goes on. I'm great friends with their family and am welcomed there frequently, so the fact that their parents know I'm in nappies hasn't had any material impact on the relationship. The kids knowing doesn't change much, either, but it does make me a bit more self-conscious. And it's rather like finding out that what you had thought was a state secret, is actually in the hands of a gossip columnist...
  2. I'd like it if my wife would keep here eyes on her own work; there are about three dozen things she could be doing around the house, projects that need to be started, or ones that need to be finished, but instead, she wants to work on things that pertain to me, or force me to work on them. For example, she decided to move some pavers that were inset into the lawn, over to the garden, because she wants new pavers for the lawn, and she claims the garden needs pavers. So now my lawn has holes in it, forcing my hand - meanwhile, I have about a dozen things I have to do for work, and some business travel coming up. The other thing she did? I went down to the basement an hour ago - after she'd been working down there for an hour or two, the emerged and left - and I found that my diaper inventory had been fiddled with. She had collapsed some boxes into others, perhaps to create some space, or so I thought... I even thought, "Hmmm, I could order another case or two..." But, no. She texted me and said "I reorganized your diapers so I could take some boxes over to (friend of hers) because she's packing up some stuff for donation. Diaper boxes are perfect." So, that's fantastic - she has now gifted two or three boxes that say things like "LM10" and LS10" and "BY10" and "AA10" on them to a friend of ours, so that she can pack them with stuff, and then take them to a thrift store for donation. LM10, to those in the know, stands for Little Monsters size L, LS10 is Little Splash, BY is Barnyard, AA is Active Air, etc. If the lady asks where the boxes have come from, I'm sure my wife is not going to say "My husband's diaper stash", but whatever she does say, if the lady were, at some point, to Google those codes, some might come up with something. Or, the person at the thrift store they're destined for might say, "Oh, cool, boxes from Rearz! That place is great, isn't it?" Or, nothing of the sort could happen, but still. My imagination is a fertile place. I will give her credit for one thing - she did attempt to put like with like. She but a bag of Barnyards in with two bags of Critter Caboose diapers, and she put a bag of Essentials into a case of Selects where, again, one bag was mostly empty, and there were two other bags. She also too the two orphan Selects that came out of that bag, and put them on top of a full box of Selects. Although they were sitting out in the open, on top of the box, so that if someone went down there, they'd maybe wonder what was in all those similarly-sized boxes, and then have their question answered for them by what was sitting out in the open on top of one of the boxes. "Adult diapers. Interesting." But that person would have to be down in the bowels of my basement, so one imagines I'd know them. But still.
  3. I could title this entry "The Silence of the Diapers", although that's misleading, because the topic is more "The Silence of the Room" as it contrasts the whispers of a diaper. I went over to help a buddy install an ornate chandelier at his mom's place; his mom lives in a condo in a building where most people are of retirement age. It smells of baking, British cooking, hydraulic fluid (from the elevators), and, in the background, that "other people's stuff" smell that hits you when you enter a thrift store. I had put on a MegaMax size medium; I am reminded, every time I put one on, that they are a great product - very comfortable and reliable, and in medium, not very indiscreet, either, for a super diaper. Also, I take it as a complement that I can still fit in a medium diaper - thank you, NorthShore. I tend to forget about them for long stretches, however, because they are expensive up here, so they can't be part of my regular diet. But I have some and I indulge in them occasionally - yesterday was such an occasion. So I went to help my buddy install this light fixture for his mom, wearing a plastic diaper that was of reasonable proportions. I have have long since stopped worrying about the sounds my underpants make - nobody ever seems to notice them and often, they disappear under denim or cargo shorts, and the general background din of life. However, his mom's apartment was pin-drop silent. And, she positioned herself on a chair and watched us perform the whole process - up and down a ladder dozens of times, stooped over a table, wiring and assembling the thing, which had 400 crystal beads that had to be hung off of hooks in a specified order. Also, it needed to be wired. As I walked around, and climbed up and down, I became acutely aware, for the first time in a long time, that I was emitting low, but not inaudible, crunch-crinkle-crunch noises, particularly when climbing. Also, while up the ladder, my derrière was at more or less eye-level for minutes at a time. I eventually went back to an old trick I used to employ, when I was more concerned about such things, and I took some of the many plastic bags that were wrapped around the various parts, and jammed them in my pockets as I went, leaving them sticking out... "right, just stuff this here, I'll throw these out later when we clean up..." (crunch-crunkle-crunch...). I'd imagine that I wasn't the only person wearing nappies in that building, but I'm pretty sure I was the only one in that apartment. Today, I'm bombing around my house in a Rearz Barnyard, with zero thoughts as to the sounds it's making - someone across the yards that back onto mine is trimming their hedges in the distance, and cars drive by every couple of minutes or more, the stove fan hums away, and the radio is on, the dog is barking at chipmunks and, until I dropped her at her bus, my daughter was chattering away. But if you're doing work in a tomb, cloth-backed nappies might be something to consider.
  4. I did this a few years ago. It was... interesting. We'd hired people to move our stuff for us, but I had no interest in explaining to them that the half-dozen boxes of adult diapers needed to go on a plastic shelf in the basement, and please don't crush them in the meantime. Luckily, my inventory back then was smaller than it is now, so I was able to just stuff them all into my car and drive them over myself, and then stack them in a back corner of the garage under a tarp, until the rest of the move-in was finished. I'd have to re-read my thread but I recall that I did get burned slightly, though, when I hid a couple of nappies strategically in my dresser under some shirts - I had emptied my actual nappy drawer, figuring it would warrant a second glance and maybe a "Hey Frank, check this out..." if a mover pulled a drawer open to see what it contained. But I figured they'd come for my dresser later, and I'd have time to do my morning constitutional, and change my diaper, in the confines of my soon-to-be-someone-else's ensuite bathroom. Nope. I came upstairs after having a conversation with one of them about where to start (the living room), to find that while we were discussing where to start, they had started - and the first thing they wrapped up and carted out was my dresser. So I had to stay in my somewhat damp overnight baby pants for a good part of the day, until I managed to get to the new house and sneak away for a few minutes. Plan carefully, my friend. As to your Rearz supply issues, maybe we should start a business. I live an hour from Rearz World Headquarters. I wonder what it would cost to book, I don't know, 1/10th of a container? And what kind of deal we could arrange if we asked Rearz to charge us for lots of 50 cases...?
  5. I've torn the front of my diaper with my zipper before, and I've had the inner liner pull away from the cover so that it started snowing in my pants while I was walking around, leaving me trailing fluff. Probably the funniest, near-fatal diaper failure I experienced was squeezing past a dog crate in a diaper, and I caught the plastic at the back on an edge, which tore it wide open, and wet fluff started falling out, so I ran into the bathroom (which was right there), took it off in the shower stall, then went back and cleaned up the trail of fluff with Lysol and paper towels. Then I took a shower, and when I stepped out, it was like I was on greased ice - I immediately flipped and nearly crashed through the glass walls of my shower. It turns out that Lysol mixed with SAP creates a super-lubricant that should perhaps be investigated by NASA. My wife came banging on the bathroom door when she heard the crash, and asked what happened... "Uh, tore my diaper, cleaned up the fluff, took a shower, slipped on the floor I'd cleaned, nearly died, so business as usual, nothing to see here..."
  6. Too often, I do it sitting down, because I spend a lot of time at my desk or behind the wheel of a car, but I prefer standing, or laying on my back, because it tends to result in more even distribution and a longer nappy life. I'll try and get up sometimes when I'm working and just take a short walk around my office, both for the health of my back, but also to allow for some use of the further reaches of my diaper that don't see a lot of use when I'm in one position for hours.
  7. Good job - that's a tough slog and you've killed it. What you have accomplished is not easy. Remember as well, that in some ways, you should look at any individual pound as being an ever-increasing percentage of your body weight, so the more accurate measure of your progress may be to look at the percentage loss rather than the pound loss, for any given period. I know that when I am at the top end of my weight range, I can drop 5 lbs the first week I start trying to lose weight, whereas when I'm at the bottom end of the range, it can take me a month or more to reliably drop 5 lbs. But if I drop 3 lbs when I weigh 300 lbs (for example), then that's really the same as dropping 1.5 lbs when I weigh 150 lbs. Trying to drop 3 lbs when I weigh 150 lbs, is the same as trying to drop 6 lbs when I weigh 300 lbs. Also as you reach your goal, it is inevitable that your progress will slow, because your body goes into "conserve" mode, which was a useful response when we lived in times of limited food, but in the world many of us are fortunate enough to occupy now, calories are available in ridiculous abundance.
  8. Viewer discretion advised... I had an "incident" while cleaning up the pool and the yard yesterday. It started out innocently enough. I was in a diaper I'd had on for a few hours, an Incontrol Essential. Summer suddenly started this weekend, or at least a preview did, so the temperature went into the high 20's, with humidity equivalents in the low 30's. I was sweaty, wearing sunblock and bug spray, and I was netting vast quantities of organic material out of the swamp that hopefully will be my swimming pool a few days from now. Once I nuke it with chemicals. I had done the "main deed" earlier, and I'm pretty metronome-like in that department (when things are running well). So I was working on the yard, knew I needed a shower later, felt a but of an urge, "probably a fart", and I gave it the go ahead, and got a "hmmm, maybe a bit more than a fart here" sensation, but I was also up against greyness in the distance that was rapidly advancing - we were due to have our sunny afternoon eclipsed by a storm. Going into the house, undressing, going, coming back out, racing against the impending weather... I had a "Well, I'm in a diaper" moment, and I just said, "Ah, to hell with it..." and decided to give in to the urge. I figured not much would come of it, and anyway, I was sweaty, diapered, and due for a shower - whatever transpired would not change my trajectory. Wrong. I have no idea what disagreed with me, intestinally - it had been a good food weekend - but maybe just because the Universe wanted to see it play out that way, I exploded my diaper. I knew right away that things weren't right back there, but I had to let it finish up - there was no going back now. And I needed to finish up the yardwork. I'll spare you the graphic details, but when the storm came, by greatest fear was a power failure, because when the power goes out, we lose our water pump, and were I unable to stand under a jet of hot water for several minutes, I would have had to separate myself from my family like a leper. My onesie and my shorts became casualties of my miscalculation. The juice was definitely not worth the squeeze on this occasion - it would have been far, far easier to have run into the house and gone potty like a big boy. I also became extremely self-conscious in the closing minutes of our cleanup, when my wife and I were putting tools away in the garage... I felt like I had a funk about me, probably because I had a funk about me. She didn't say anything or give any indication that she'd noticed, but I slunk around like a dog who has taken a crap in the living room and knows they've committed a transgression, and also that there's nothing they can do about it except wait for the consequences. At one point my wife suggested that I drive up to the park to pick up my daughter and her friend, because of the storm bearing down on us, and I had a flutter of panic, because there was no way I could get into a metal box with anyone in the state I was in, but then the kids indicated that they liked the idea of walking back in the rain, and then my wife decided to drive over and watch them walk back in the rain, in case a tornado landed or something, and they could dart into the car. "Never again" would be far too lofty a promise, but, I will try to adhere to "never forget", when considering the sometimes-false convenience dangled before the permanently diapered.
  9. This has been a "wet" long weekend. I awakened by the dog wanting to go out, and discovered two mysterious phenomena: the air conditioning was running, and, my wife opened the bedroom and bathroom windows in the middle of the night. And, the Bambino Skooldoodles I'd put on a few hours before was wet. Zero recollection of either event. I closed the windows, pulled some (thankfully, somewhat robust) shorts on, took the dog out, and ran into my father-in-law in my kitchen.
  10. Cute story - I could totally see someone connecting on that level. I haven't been "spotted" very often, at least to my knowledge, because I usually wear onesies if I'm out in public and doing anything active, and otherwise, long shirts and oversized shorts or jeans help a lot. But I did have a few memorable occasions where I either knew, or suspected that I'd been seen. Very early on in my 24/7 journey, I was in a hardware store, rummaging around in some bins of poorly-sorted plumbing parts that were on the bottom shelf. Then, a guy behind me said something like "You like monsters? I prefer barnyards...", and I thought he was making a joke about the disorganization, and it took me a moment to process what he said again... and then it occurred to me that I was wearing a Rearz Lil' Monster. And I was squatting and leaning into a bin that was almost at floor level. And that a "Barnyard" was another Rearz diaper. And that I was about 20 minutes away from Rearz World Headquarters (where it was back then). Suddenly, I spun my head and looked back, but the guy was walking away. He gave me a friendly nod and lifted eyebrows and then he was out of the aisle. This was during the pandemic so we were wearing masks and I did not really see who he was, but I believe he saw my diaper. I wore onesies more, after that. Time #2 was when I went to take my dog for a walk late at night, wearing a big diaper under light athletic shorts, thinking that there was no way I was going to run into anyone. So, of course, my neighbour was hanging out in front of her house, and she was thinking about doing a renovation, so she started talking to me and asking me questions. Eventually, we parted ways, but I was very self-conscious about having a big diaper on, and I looked behind me as I walked away, and she was still standing there, looking at me, and in my mind's eye, I felt like she looked... puzzled. So I've always wondered if she might have thought I had a diaper on. But she was friends with my wife and as far as I know she never said anything to her. #3 was probably the most memorable - I went for an MRI during the pandemic, and I was given a disposable paper gown to wear, and a change room with a burned out light to put it on in. I had a white diaper on, a Rearz Elite Hybrid. I came out of the dark changing cubicle and into a main waiting area that was lit up like an airport... and a nurse came running from behind the reception desk and brought me another paper gown and helped me put it on, because my diaper was practically glowing under the first one, which I didn't realize when I put it on in the poorly-lit changeroom. There were a dozen or so people milling about in there, and I had no idea how obvious it was, until I got to the second waiting area, which was unoccupied, and I had a chance to pull up gown #2 and look at myself in the mirror. My diaper was easy to see under gown #1, although I can't have been the first person that happened to - if I had been a woman, and wearing pink polka dot underwear, it would have been completely apparent as well.
  11. Two quick notes tonight. The first is onesie wicking - has anyone else noticed this? I was working with some buddies fixing a deck, and I wore a onesie so that I could lean over and squat and not worry about my diaper showing. A couple of these guys know I wear diapers but a couple don't, and I have no interest in expanding the circle right now. We were drinking beer and operating power tools, as smart people do, and I was dribbling into my diaper with minimal concern, because I had a good diaper on and knew I had about an 8-hour glide path (more like 10 if I was at home). So, it's maybe four or five hours into the day, we just finished eating burgers, I'm drinking maybe my third beer, and suddenly I feel a dampness on the front of my belly that I at first thought was inside my diaper, so I it didn't really concern me. But then, I was putting my tool belt back on, and the front of my shorts felt... humid. Not soaked, but not dry, either, and it wasn't so hot out that I would have sweated that much. But my diaper didn't feel notably wet - it wasn't dry, but I felt I was far from the danger zone. I was wearing a BeDry, generally a reliable middle-weight diaper, and plastic backed, so it wasn't "sweating" as some cloth-backed diapers seem to. I finished up the project, had more beer, and got picked up by my wife (because beer), and while we were driving home, I lifted my golf shirt and started feeling around my waist a bit. My wife, not once to mine words, said "Pampers leak? Because if you're peeing on my seat then I'll pull over and you can change it or sit on a bag." I said that my butt was dry, and not to worry about her car seat, which is leather - I could clean it if I needed to. And that I was not doing a diaper change on the side of the road. But that alone was interesting, because I can't recall if she's ever asked me if my diaper leaked before. Maybe once, when I dampened the sheets. What I determined had happened was that my onesie, which was one of my snugger, smaller ones, had been wicking wetness up from the lower reaches of my diaper, because one of the leg elastics had been pulled up so far into the fold between my leg and my diaper, that it had worked its way into my diaper somehow, probably when I was squatting half on and half off the deck to drive screws into it. And the onesie had wicked enough moisture out to feel damp on my tummy. I didn't even need to change the diaper when I got home, I just took off the onesie and threw it, and my shorts into the wash. Note number 2: my subconscious tried to prank me again yesterday. I stayed over at a buddy's after a session at a new bar (for us), and then some more beer and a prudent scotch before bed - I stumbled over to their guest bedroom, and promptly fell into a blissful coma. Then, I woke up to the sensation that I was peeing in my diaper, which it turned out I was, and for a brief moment, my mind said "You're in a diaper, go back to sleep..." But then, the particularly urgent and forceful nature of the emission, which was out of character for what usually transpires between the sheets, caused me to ponder my circumstances... and then I realized that I was laying on my stomach and I was sleeping on a friend's bed. My eyes shot open and I flopped over onto my back, while feeling around my front to see if I had violated the sanctity of the linens. I had not, but it was close - had I stayed on my front, and stayed the course, I could have created a small lake under me for sure - this was no ordinary overnight gentle sprinkle. This was a deluge. That, after not having wet the bed for several days. The combination of ethanol, and not sleeping somewhere "safe", is nearly a guarantee of an "event." At least it was a nonevent.
  12. Thanks for that - correcting now! I try to proofread everything a few times before I "publish" it, but sometimes when you read something through often enough, finding errors can be like searching the house for your car keys, and then you realize they were sitting right in front of you.
  13. Chapter 65 – Running Man “So you’re a runner, are you?” The pretty cop was leaning over the counter, fixing Zack with a wry smile. Zack kept his eyes on his lap. He tried crossing his legs, but that felt like he was exposing the back of his diaper. He pulled at the sides of his t-shirt and said nothing. The officer tried to engage him again. “Do you go to school, Adam?” Zack looked up slightly. The friendliness of her smile made him feel bad for rebuffing her attempts at making conversation, so he nodded solemnly. “What grade are you in?” Zack’s eyes widened slightly. What did I tell the other police lady? But she’s not here now… still… make something up. “I’m in the eighth grade,” he said quietly. “Grade eight, you say? I would have guessed a bit lower than that – you must be smart for your age. Are there any girls you like in your class?” Zack’s cheeks blazed heat as he thought about the girls in the classroom he had left behind, which seemed like a thousand years ago now. He had some girls that he liked, and one that he thought might like him back, but that whole universe had been laid to waste, he was pretty sure, when he’d run into a classmate in the children’s hospital, while he was strapped onto a changing table in a woman’s washroom, having his diaper tended to, looking like a toddler. At that moment, the dull ache in his injured ankle went up a notch in volume, as well. Tears started to well up in his eyes, and then a yawn attacked him from nowhere, and he put his hand over his mouth. The young lady was amazed to see the strange boy seemingly fall to pieces. She stood up and then appeared to disappear, which was a relief to Zack, but then he heard her say something from behind the desk, and then a moment later, the heavy door to the lobby buzzed open, and she came walking out, just as another, older police lady appeared behind the desk. The officer crossed the lobby and kneeled in front of Zack, before changing course and sliding his bag of diapers over, so that she could sit down beside him. She put an arm over his shoulder and pulled him into her, an action which he resisted at first, but then acquiesced to, allowing himself to slump into her side, and turning his head into the nape of her neck. He felt his shirt ride up and knew that part of his diaper was probably exposed, but couldn’t summon the energy to be concerned about it. He took deep, hitching breaths, relieved not to have to hold up his end of a conversation that he would have to script on the fly. He just didn’t have the energy for it, and he was afraid that he’d reveal something that would let them figure out who he was. “There, there, little guy, it’s okay, I was just trying to get to know you. We don’t have to talk. You’re safe here. Just relax.” Yeah, but I’m not going to be here much longer, and I have no idea where I’m going next… and anyway, “here” is a building full of cops who investigate people for a living. Zack smelled the lady’s shampoo, and felt her hand rubbing his shoulder, and his breathing steadied. He kept his eyes cinched shut, willing the lady not to ask him anything else. Her hand came down to his hip and he felt her tug his shirt over. He heard the lobby door open, and felt a change in the sound pressure in the room as the heavy glass door momentarily allowed street noises to cascade in, unmuted. He pretended not to notice. Shoes scuffed over the marble flooring. Zack assumed it was the social worker, but did not want to look, in case it wasn’t, and he’d have to endure a sympathetic glance from yet another person, or worse, another attempt to talk to him. A gentle hand touched his hair. “Adam, it’s time to go.” He recognized Mrs. Katrina’s voice, and looked up without moving his head. “You’re exhausted, aren’t you?” Zack nodded. “Sorry, that took a bit longer than I thought it would, but I had to make a few phone calls. I ended up with two options for you, Adam, both emergency placements in foster care, but one family typically houses kids around your age and a bit younger, and the other takes in mostly young kids. I decided to put you with the youngsters, because I thought you’d have an easier time there, and they also have more experience with… well, more experience.” With diapers. Zack finished her sentence in his head with what he thought she was probably alluding to. “We have a bit of a drive ahead of us, Adam. I have a blanket in the car you can use if you get sleepy.” Zack pulled away from the partial embrace of the pretty cop whose name he didn’t know. “Thank you,” he whispered, and then he straightened his back and wiped his face with his hands. “You’re welcome,” she said, and then she stood and ruffled his hair, before reaching across the bench and sliding the bag of diapers back over beside the boy. She walked across the lobby and came back with the wounded scooter, as the social worker shouldered his diapers, using the built-in clear plastic strap on the bag. Mrs. Katrina putting a hand under Zack’s bicep, said, “Up you get, Adam,” and then aided him as he pivoted onto the mobility device. He felt the back of his shirt ride up, and gave his shirt one short tug, as the officer with the bun in her hair, went over and hit the flat chrome panel on the wall that caused the main door to motor open slowly. “Thanks for everything,” Mrs. Katrina said over her shoulder, as they entered slight chill of the evening air. The parking area was well lit, but out beyond the lakes of light, there was heavy darkness. The nondescript rental car of a sedan emitted a heavy click, the marker lights flashed, and the headlights came on. Mrs. Katrina kept a hand on his back and steered him towards the driver’s side of the vehicle, before opening the back door wide and guiding his scooter in beside the seat. Zack looked into the car interior, which was grey, and dimly lit by a central dome on the ceiling. In the back of the car were two car seats, one an inclined, rearward facing baby seat, on the passenger side, and the other, a large, forward-facing seat with prominent side bolsters and a headrest that had angled side panels to it. His eyes sought out the space between them, but he realized with a sigh that it was too confined for anyone to sit there. He looked up at Mrs. Katrina. “I don’t need to sit in one of those.” She raised her eyebrows and gave him a smile. “Well, I think you’re pretty close to the weight rating of this seat, Adam, and anyway, I don’t have a choice. Our rules require children up to age ten to be in a safety seat, and, I don’t know how to take it out, even if I wanted to.” Zack looked glumly at the seat again, and then eyed the doorsill, trying to figure out how he would get into the seat, but then Mrs. Katrina abruptly leaned in and bearhugged his midsection, giving him just enough of a boost to allow his butt to perch on the edge of the car seat. Zack slid back into it reluctantly, feeling the heavy padding on the sides constrain his shoulders and his hips and upper thighs. Mrs. Katrina got him to lean forward partially, and then fished a tangle of straps out from behind him, pulling his arms through them, before reaching down between his legs, and pulling a strap with a seatbelt catch on the end of it out from under him. She snapped a plastic shield together on his chest, then fed two metal tines that together formed one buckle, into the catch, which had a red button on the front of it. Then, she reached above his shoulder and pulled another strap, one that he hadn’t noticed, and immediately, he was pulled back into the seat by the chest harness, and his thighs were pulled down against the bottom of the chair. His purple t-shirt was folded up onto his belly, and the black central strap was straining into the front of his diaper, so Zack tried to tuck his shirt down between them, but was unable to get his hands in under the thigh straps. “I’ll get you a blankie, Adam,” Mrs. Katrina said, seeing him trying to adjust his clothing. “You can’t tuck material in around the straps, it’s not safe.” She reached down and pulled his shirt back up, then went around to the trunk. While she was behind the car, an imposing police SUV angled into the parking spaces in front of the station, illuminating him with its lights, and he strained to turn his head and look into the windshield, but his restraints, and the glare from the headlamps, prevented him from seeing who it was. A door opened, and a silhouette approached him, and then as it got closer, he realized it was Officer Reilly. She leaned into the car and put a hand on his lower thigh, avoiding the scraped part of his knee. “I see you’re buckled in tight and ready to go Adam. Here, I brought you this.” She handed him a bottle of blue liquid with a squeeze top, almost like the top of a dish soap container. He recognized it as being a sports drink. “It was nice to meet you, Adam. Have a safe trip to… wherever you’re going.” She gave all of Zack’s straps a quick tug, and then nodded approvingly. Mrs. Katrina spoke over the officer’s shoulder, as she handed a blanket in to Zack, overtop of the leaning officer, who then took it and tucked it around the car seat so that it covered him up to the middle of his chest. “I’m taking him out to a foster care family I have in the outskirts of the city, for the night. I’ll let you know where he goes from there.” “Where is it?” “It’s in the Olympia area.” The officer made eye contact with Zack, from less than a foot away, stopped over as she was, inside the open door of the car. “Today’s your lucky day, Adam – that’s where you said you were from, didn’t you?” Zack swallowed hard. The social worker went around behind the car, and Zack could tell from the noises she was making that she had loaded his scooter into the trunk. She returned and leaned into the car, clipping his pacifier to the collar of his shirt once again. Officer Riley looked towards the doors of the building, and then looked back at Zack. “I think you’re a minor celebrity tonight, Adam…” she said as she stepped back. The officer with the bun leaned into the car next. She extended a hand to Zack, who by reflex, pulled his hand out from under his blanket and took it in a handshake. “It was nice to meet you, Adam, and I wish you all the best on your adventures. If you need anything, you can call me anytime, okay? My name is Officer O’Connor – Maddy O’Conner.” “My sister’s na……” Zack snapped his mouth shut. He’d almost told them his sister’s real name. He clenched his eyes shut and blew his breath out heavily through closed lips. Officer O’Conner smiled at Zack, and then gently tweaked his nose with her index finger, and gave him a wink. She picked his pacifier up, touching the silicone nipple to his lower lip. Zack accepted his soother, happy to have an excuse not to talk any further. The door closed and then he could hear the low murmur of adults talking through the glass. Zack tried to reposition himself so that he wasn’t so reclined in the seat, but the straps held him resolutely in place. Picking up the squeeze bottle from his lap, he pulled out his pacifier and pulled out the pop-up top with his teeth, before taking a haul from the contents. Slightly cool, sweet, generic berry-flavoured blue liquid filled his mouth. He had a few more sips, studiously avoiding looking out the window, and then he pushed the top closed and let the bottle drop onto the blanket covering his lap. He looked at his pacifier, and somewhat reluctantly put it back in his mouth. It’s better than having to talk. Mrs. Katrina opened the front door and sat down in the driver’s seat, giving a wave to Officer Riley, as the bright lights of the police SUV pulled back, leaving the inside of the car dark, but for the instrument lights. She punched an address into her phone, which then appeared on a display in the dashboard. Looking into the rearview mirror, she could see her charge had his head back in the car seat and was idly sucking on his soother. His sports beverage was sitting on his lap. He'll be asleep in five minutes. ________ Zack woke up and immediately noticed an absence of noise – no wind noise, no tire slapping, no vibration. The dome light in the middle of the headliner was on, and Mrs. Katrina was standing outside the car, talking to someone. The driver’s door was open but resting against the latch. He tried to sit up and look around, once again fighting the straps of his car seat. His legs were going numb where they were pinned into the seat, although he could still detect a dull aching from his damaged ankle. Then his door opened quickly, startling him, and a large, bearded face appeared directly in front of him, displaying a wide smile. Zack noted that the man had a bun in his hair as well, although it was on top of his head, rather than behind. “Oh, hallo, you not sleep! Come, we go inside!” the man said in a heavy accent that Zack could not place. Before he had a moment to react, the blanket was pulled off of him, his sports bottle was handed out to someone outside the car, and then an enormous hand reached down between his legs and pressed the release button on the center latch. The straps holding him down went slack, and then the giant hand was joined by another, and they both fiddled with the clip in the center of his chest, until it relented and opened with a click. The two hands then found his armpits, and in one motion, Zack was lifted from the car seat, tilted like he was on amusement park ride, and withdrawn from the car. He felt his shirt ride way up over his waist but was powerless to react. Next came the sensation of being tossed into the air, and then caught in the crook of a very large, hairy arm, and suddenly he was hovering well above the car, and above the heads of the social worker, and another woman, who was about the same height, but with wiry brown hair that was pulled into a tuft at the back of her head. He felt like he was seven feet in the air, which he basically was, since his vantage point was now above the head of the man who was effortlessly carrying him. Zack wasn’t afraid of heights, generally, but he was startled to have been lifted so high so quickly, and he felt like he was going to topple backwards, so he threw his right around the man’s burly neck. The man grabbed Zack’s good ankle with his right hand, and then laughed and tilted Zack back at a steep angle, using the ankle to counterbalance the boy’s upper body, which caused Zack to yell around his pacifier and grab at the man’s red flannel vest with his left hand. The man laughed heartily, but the lady he was with shot him a severe look, and shouted “Olek, you’re scaring him!” Then she dropped her voice. “He doesn’t know you yet! No crazy rides at this time of night – he was just sleeping, now he has woken up flying through the air in the arms of a crazy man.” Olek nodded his head in apology but raised an eyebrow at Zack, as though asking if he was really scared, or if he wanted more, as he pulled him back up to level, still sitting on his arm. Once he regained his balance, Zack looked around. He badly wanted to take the pacifier out of his mouth, because he felt ridiculous, with his shirt hitched up under his arms and his diaper entirely unobscured. But at the same time, he didn’t want to invite any questions, although he himself had many questions. He also had an unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling… he knew his diaper was a bit wet, because it was pressed against him, and he felt that perhaps Olek would know it, too, because he was sitting on Olek’s arm. I guess I peed while I was sleeping. As though reading his thoughts, Olek took his hand from his ankle and put it into Zack’s left armpit, then shouldered-bumped him gently so that his weight was on that arm, before hoisting him one handed for a moment while he took his left arm out from under Zack and caught him under the other armpit. “Olek, don’t put him down – I told you before, his leg is badly injured!” “Podguznik…” Olek said, as he hovered Zack, who’s eyes were as wide as they could get, in front of the much shorter woman. Zack felt the rear waistband of his diaper being pulled outward, but there was nothing that he could do, short of making a kick for Olek, which did not seem like a winning strategy. His cheeks immediately went crimson. “Nea, he’s fine,” the lady said, giving him a gentle smack on the bum. Olek spun Zack in the air like he was a stuffed animal, and caught him with a right arm under his thighs, putting his left arm across Zack’s chest and suspending him in the air as though he were seated on a church pew. Zack felt the man’s beard against his left ear. He took in the lady in front of him, who was wearing an amorphous, long, brightly-coloured dress, a riot of reds and yellows and whites. “I am sorry, Adam, where are my manners – I am Natalya. This is Olek. Katrina tells us that you will be staying with us for a period of time. Please forgive Olek – he likes to play rough but he usually can’t with the babies we watch. He is thinking you are a bigger baby and can take it, but you let him know if it’s not to your liking. He doesn’t speak a lot of English, but he understands some.” Mrs. Katrina spoke next. “Adam, Natalya and Olek are emergency placement foster parents. I only had a couple of choices that had openings tonight, and the other family primarily deals with older kids. Natalya & Olek usually look after babies and toddlers for us, but given the, uh, circumstances, I thought you might fare better here than you would in a group home with teenagers. Plus, they have more experience with…” Zack watched the social worker’s eyes drift down to his midsection. “…well,” she continued, “they have more experience. You’ll be fine here. They’re lovely people.” “Thank you so much, Katrina,” Natalya said with a bright smile. “We are very excited to have Adam – most of our clients don’t say very much – this will be a chance for Olek to practice his English. And the little ones will be fascinated by this contraption on your leg – you’ll have to tell me all about that when we get inside. Does he have any belongings?” Katrina went to the trunk of the car while manipulating the key fob. The trunk sprung open, and she reached in, before handing Natalya the purple hoodie she’d pulled from the donation box at the precinct. Next, she pulled out the bag of diapers. “There you go… oh wait, I also have baby care products for him – they’re in the basket of his scooter.” “Scooter?” Natalya asked, gazing into the trunk. “It’s a mobility device – I’d say since you have stairs, you probably want to just leave it in the garage – he can’t use it in the house, it’s not safe. And, as we discussed…” Here, she dropped her voice slightly, then continued, “we think he may have run away from wherever he was before he was found by the police. So… best keep the scooter put away.” “Of course, of course, he won’t need a scooter in the house, we have an Olek! Olek, come, take this from the trunk – my hands are full.” Olek tossed Zack into the air again and caught him on one arm, using his other hand to extract the scooter, which he rotated in the air, as though it were made of light plastic. “Garazh?” he said to Natalya, as Zack did his best to keep his balance while being carried like a sack of potatoes. He once again found himself using the man’s neck as a grab point. The man carried Zack and the scooter up the driveway, allowing Zack to take in the house they were in front of for the first time. It was tall, narrow, and had a single car garage, but even in the darkness, the yard and the entranceway looked neat and clean. There was a black pickup truck and a brown SUV on the driveway, which was designed for one vehicle in width but had been widened to accommodate two. The tall man located a black plastic keypad, screwed to the door jam at head height for most people, but elbow height for him. He flipped a hinged lid up and punched in some digits that Zack couldn’t make out, because his enormous hand completely eclipsed the little keypad. The garage door emitted a creak and then trundled up, revealing a garage that was jammed with tricycles and little four-wheeled vehicles that toddlers could sit on and steer – firetrucks and dump trucks and a couple of pink and purple cars. Olek walked into the garage, and with his free arm, he hoisted the scooter up to a wooden shelf that was suspended from the ceiling, and primarily occupied by tires. There was an empty section on the side of it closest to the door, and he wedged the scooter in there, before once again throwing Zack into the air, this time catching him on a shoulder, before spinning him over his ducked head, so that he ended up sitting on the man’s broad shoulders. Zack looked up and realized that he could touch the ceiling if he wanted to, but before he got his bearings, Olek bent at the waist while bracing both of Zack’s knees with his hands, causing the sensation that Zack was going to shoot over Olek’s head like he was a rodeo horse, and land face-first on the concrete floor, except that Olek used the back of his head to balance Zack’s torso. The dramatic ducking maneuver was to prevent Zack from being scraped off Olek’s shoulders by the garage door frame, which hung down below the ceiling by more than a foot. Once out from under it, Olek stood up again, and Zack put his hands on the man’s forehead to steady himself. He realized that his teeth were clenched on his pacifier. “Olek!” Natalya barked, “I told you to be gentle with him!” Olek said something in another language… Russian? And then he started to bounce from foot to foot, causing Zack to rise and fall on the back of his neck. Zack once again became conscious of the damp padding beneath him, although the diaper gave no indication that it was in any danger of leaking – Zack did not feel like he was sitting in a bowl of soup, as he had earlier, wearing the overused toddler diaper. Still, repeatedly squishing it against the man’s broad neck was making him self-conscious. “Take him in the house, you big Lokh. Such a joker. He thinks he has a son! Don’t break him! He’s somebody else’s baby!” Katrina spoke at Zack’s back as he was borne up the front walkway towards the front door. “I’m going to come back and see you tomorrow, Adam. You have enough diapers for a few days. Please be good for Natalya and Olek!” Zack looked back over his shoulder, and then braced himself for another aerobatic maneuver, knowing that he was going to collide with the top of the doorframe going into the house if the towering man didn’t do something. What he did was to take a couple of long steps and pantomime running for the door, causing Zack to throw his hands up in front of his face and turn his head, before an arm came up and hauled him sideways from his perch while the man opened the door with his other hand. But, in the process of dismounting him, Olek swung his injured leg too wide, causing the cast to bounce sharply off the doorframe. Zack emitted a high-pitched grunt as a bolt of pain shot up from the area, the dull level-three ache having been taken up to a momentary level seven or eight. Olek winced and sucked in his breath, throwing an arm under the back of Zack’s knees and cradling him tight against his chest as he walked through the entranceway and into a living room that was narrow but long, with a kitchen and a patio door at the end of it. He laid Zack down on a plush burgundy velvet couch that was like nothing Zack had ever seen before, not that he was paying much attention to the décor. Natalya came in behind them, carrying the diapers and changing supplies with one arm, and Zack’s sweatshirt with the other. Zack looked at her through the tears in his eyes, sitting partway up from the couch. He was surprised to see her throw the sweatshirt through a door that was off the entranceway. “Take that filthy shirt off him, Olek…” and then she said something else in Russian, or whatever it was. Zack realized that she’d actually said the same thing, because Olek put a hand behind his back, sat him up, detached the paci clip from the collar, and then pulled the long t-shirt up over his head and tossed it through the air, where it landed by the lady, who picked it up and threw it through the same doorway. “We’ll wash those and give them back to you in the morning, Adam. It’s warm in here. You’ll be fine….” She paused, seeing the pained look on Zack’s face. “Did Olek hurt you?” Zack looked up at Olek, who, for all his menacing height and bulk, genuinely looked concerned behind his red-brown beard. He shook his head gently. “I’m othay,” he mouthed around his pacifier. Natalya looked skeptical, but Olek looked relieved, and he patted the boy on the shoulder and then went to take Zack’s care items from his wife. Just then, Zack heard a scattering of clicking noises on what sounded like wooden stairs, and then a slower thump, thump, thump. A girl who looked about eight or nine emerged from inside the kitchen, and Zack realized as he looked over at her, that the house was multiple stories high, and that every floor had a staircase that went up, and another one that went down, at either end of the house. The blond-haired girl wiped sleep from her eyes, as she shuffled into the room in a purple knee-length nightie, carrying some kind of stuffed animal, and followed by a medium-sized tricolour spaniel mix that looked like it was wearing makeup. “What’s going on,” the girl whispered, looking over at Zack, and then back at her parents. “Veronika, this is Adam. Adam is a new baby for us tonight – he will be staying for a little bit.” Veronika stopped and eyed Zack. “That’s not a baby,” she stated simply. “Well, sweetheart, you should be in bed. You can do me a favour and please take his diapers up with you, and put them in the yellow room – that’s where he will sleep for now.” She pointed at the countertop where Olek had deposited them. The girl looked sleepy and confused, but she went over to the bag. “How many diapers, mama?” “Take a few, baby. Thank you. Good girl.” The girl reached up and lifted the bag down from the counter then reached in and extracted a bundle of diapers, before putting them down on a bar-height chair that was pushed up to the countertop, and fanning them out. “Cute,” she said. “There’s ones with animals, and ones with just a duck, like he’s wearing now.” “Maybe you can try one if you like them,” Natalya said with a smile. The girl shot back a cross look, and then she gathered them under her arm with the stuffed animal she was carrying, and turned back towards the stairs. The little dog followed her as she disappeared from view and thump-thump-thumped back up. Natalya walked over and picked the bag of diapers back up from the floor, putting them on the chair, and then she went into the kitchen, while at the same time speaking Russian with Olek, who had disappeared into the room where the clothes were thrown. Zack sat up and watched the proceedings, not sure what to make of it. After a minute of fiddling with something, the lady went to the fridge and opened it, withdrawing a carton – milk, Zack assumed. Then, she walked back over to where she’d placed his belongings, and picked up the remaining sports beverage. She unscrewed the cap on the bottle and poured it into the sink, before tossing the plastic remains into a cabinet below Zack’s line of sight. A moment later, she came walking over with a purple sippy cup that had two pink handles on it which were scalloped to look like feathered wings. She carried it past Zack and then sat herself on the couch next to him, where his head would have been if he weren’t craning his body to see what was going on. Wordlessly, she extracted the pacifier from Zack’s mouth, picking it up by its tether and laying it on a side table, while she pressed the nipple of the sippy cup to his lips. Zack, exhausted, slumped back into her lap, and started listlessly suckling. He’d been bottle-fed before and knew the drill, although the sippy cup required a bit more of a deliberate pull than the baby bottles he was used to. It has some kind of valve that lets air in… With her other hand, the lady picked up a remote and flicked on a TV that Zack hadn’t noticed when he exploded into the room in Olek’s arms – it had looked like a piece of art, hung over a fireplace that was barricaded off at ground level by interlinked plastic gates. A baking show came on, a bunch of stressed-looking people all making the same thing at separate stations while judges walked around and interrupted them with questions. At least it’s in English… The softness of the plush couch and the warmth of the room, plus a complete lack of interest in the programming the lady was watching, conspired to cause Zack’s eyes to close as he suckled, and once the last of the milk gurgled out of the sippy cup, his breathing became rhythmic around the silicone spout. Natalya felt the weight of the cup declining, and then noted that the boy had stopped sucking on it, so she waited until she was sure it wouldn’t disturb him, and then gingerly withdrew the sippy cup, replacing it delicately with the purple pacifier he had come in with. She looked at her new charge, as his chest rose and fell. The social worker hadn’t been sure of his age; he claimed to be older, she said, but as far as she could tell, he was probably nine or ten years old, however he was likely developmentally delayed, and in some ways, was acting much younger. She looked at his diaper, with its slight discolouration below the print on the front, and nodded to herself. Although, Mrs. Katrina had said that he seemed bright enough, clearly, what was laid out on her lap, was not neurotypical. Her own daughter, Veronika, was nine, and she had been dry during the day for six years. At night, it was a different story, but Natalya suspected that had something to do with the ever-rotating cast of babies and toddlers they hosted for Child Protective Services – Veronka enjoyed being the big girl, but, Natalya mused, sometimes she wanted the attention that the little children commanded. The baking program drew to a close, and she looked the clock on her phone; it was nearly 11:00 PM, late for her, let alone for the child. However, she looked at him again. He would need a diaper change before bed – the social worker had said he had a diaper rash. And, he was filthy; if she was going to have to wake up, anyway, to get him ready for bed, then she might as well give him a bath. Rather than shouting for Olek, which might have woken up Adam, or any of the children asleep upstairs, some of whom had only a tenuous relationship with normal sleep/wake cycles, she chose to send him a text, assuming that he was probably in the basement, tinkering with something in his workshop that smelled of grease and solvents down there. Sure enough, Olek came tromping up the stairs moments later. “Da, Dorogoy…” he said, using a term of endearment. Natalya motioned for him to come over to her, then asked him to go upstairs and pour a bath for the boy, and to “Come up with something so that his leg stays dry.” Olek nodded and disappeared upstairs. Several minutes later, he reappeared, nodding that he had done what she asked. His wife motioned towards the comatose child, and said, “take the boy up and remove his diaper.” Olek walked around to the front of the couch and very carefully lifted the sleeping boy, leaving him in a reclined position as he was carried up the stairs. Olek walked him into a back bedroom that was not currently occupied – a toddler had been in it earlier, however they had moved him over to a playpen in a larger room, when they heard that Adam was coming. He seemed to have adapted and fallen back to sleep. On one side of the room was a wooden changing table with a waterproof mat on it, next to a dresser. A few of the boy’s diapers had been placed in a neat stack on top of the dresser. Delicately placing the boy onto the changing table, Olek noted that his legs were going to hang off of it, so he changed tactics, and lifted him back up with one hand, while dragging the changing table over until it was up against the dresser, which was nearly the same height. Laying Zack down again, the boys legs were now on top of the dresser. Olek swiftly removed the boy’s diaper, which was somewhat wet, but not soaked, and then he bundled it up and put it aside. Natalya walked in a moment later, and she picked it up, carrying it with her as she motioned for Olek to bring the boy. She walked to the main bathroom on the other side of the hall, and deposited it into a white plastic diaper can they had in there, with a top that opened via a peddle. Zack was stirring now, and when he opened his eyes, he was momentarily confused as to what was going on, but then he looked up at Olek’s vast beard, the texture of steel wool and the colour of copper wire, and he remembered where he was. Feeling a slight urge to pee, he relaxed… and all of a sudden Olek was holding him aloft and away from his chest. “He piss on me! Silly baby.” Zack’s eyes went wide as he realized that his diaper was no longer accompanying him. “Thorry!” he said around the pacifier, turning beet red with embarrassment, both at what he’d done, and, what he was, or rather, was not, wearing. “It’s not your fault, Adam – you were asleep!” Natalya said, as Olek stepped into a green, brightly-lit bathroom with a green apple-themed wallpaper border running around the top of the walls, which Zack noticed first, because he was looking up at the ceiling as he was being carried, in order to avoid looking Olek in the eyes. When he saw his destination – a bathtub full of sudsy water – he began to object, worried that his leg would get wet, but also mortified by his circumstances. However, Olek lowered him into the tub without heeding his “Wait, wait… wait!” exclamations, and that’s when he realized that a plastic stepstool had been placed on the bottom of the tub, and that it stood a few inches above the surface of the water. Natalya guided his cast onto it, and he felt his body sink into the comfortably warm water. The bubbles closed around him, and he felt a bit less exposed than he had. “Adam,” Natalya started, “you are getting a much-needed bath, my little friend. I will be careful when I clean your injured knee, and I will not get any water into your cast, but I am going to clean your feet, and the rest of you. You are having a bit of diaper rash, so somebody has not been keeping you clean, I’m afraid, but you don’t have to worry about that here – I have the cleanest babies on the block!” Natalya turned and chattered away at Olek in their language, while she took a washcloth and squirted some lavender-scented baby shampoo onto it, before dragging it over his face and head, causing soapy water to transit along the silicone nipple of his pacifier and into his mouth. He took it out and tried to spit the water out, so the lady ran some fresh warm water from the tap, into her hand, and then held it up to Zack’s mouth. He looked confused, but then bent to sip it, and then let it run down his chin, and then the lady rinsed his pacifier, put it on the side of the tub, and took a measuring cup that was sitting in the corner by the faucet, using it to scoop up tub water and rinse off his hair and face. She held his pacifier in front of his face, and he took it, after which she worked her way downward and along his extremities, working carefully around his knee and the case, and rinsing as she went. “Olek, lift his leg for me,” she said, and then when he lifted the casted leg almost vertical, her hand and the cloth went under the water, and he could feel her swabbing his diaper area thoroughly, and he clenched his eyes shut and took a hissing intake of breath. “Your rash hurts, baby? That’s okay. We need to clean it for it to heal.” Zack shook his head but said nothing. It’s not the rash that hurts, it’s my dignity. Eventually, the ordeal was over, and he was once again weightless in midair, in Olek’s arms, while Natalya dried him and then wrapped him in a towel. Olek carried him back into the yellow room he had come from, and laid him back on the changing table, before lifting his legs with an arm under his shins, so that his wife could apply diaper cream, prompting another intake of breath and an episode of furious blushing, on the part of Zack. Then, one of the diapers was positioned underneath him, and his hips were lowered, before the front was pulled up and the tapes were quickly and snuggly secured by Natalya’s expert hands. “Keep him here for a moment, Olek, I am going to go borrow something from Veronika for him to wear.” The lady disappeared out of the room, reappearing a minute later with a smallish green and purple nightgown that had Dora the Explorer on it, and a frilly lower hem. “We don’t usually have boys your age, Adam, so I had to borrow something from my daughter. You are close in size to her – it will work until we wash your clothes from earlier,” she said, more to herself than to Zack. Zack pulled his arms in and hugged his chest, but Olek reached over and peeled them off, and they quickly went slack, as Zack once again resigned himself to his fate. The nightie was pulled down over his head, and the frilly bottom covered most of his diaper. Small mercy… Olek picked him back up and wordlessly carried him to the bathroom, where he was seated on the countertop. Natalya opened a new toothbrush and squirted a dollop of pink, fruit-flavoured toothpaste onto it, before removing his paci and brushing his teeth thoroughly. Zack had a hard time getting used to the feeling of someone else probing the corners of his mouth – it felt like being at the dentist. He expected to be offered a glass of water for a rinse at the end, but Natalya smiled at him and said, “It’s baby toothpaste – you can swallow it.” And then she put his pacifier back in his mouth. Olek carried him back to the bedroom, this time in the crook of his arm again, rather than cradled, and Zack was able to discern his destination before he arrived at it. Once again, his heart sank, as he eyed two white painted cribs that were up against the wall, across from the changing table. Olek positioned him in the closer one, landing his legs at the near end, and then laying him back, so that his head was at the far end. He could feel his hair brushing up against the smooth wooden bars. Natalya leaned into the crib and passed him the same sippy cup he had drunk from earlier, this time filled with water, and then she put a white, crocheted blanket on top of him. He looked around, and realized there was no pillow in the crib. Natalya fiddled with something on a side table, and then she turned out the light in the room, and a moment later, a night sky star-scape was projected onto the ceiling, accompanied by soft classical music. The stars slowly transited from one side of the ceiling to the other, occasionally overlaid on aurora borealis-like clouds of pink and green. Zack felt around for the sippy cup, and drank some water from it, to try and banish the cloying taste of the toothpaste, before he put his pacifier back in, yawned widely around it, and, involuntarily drifted off to sleep.
  14. I've written before about *slightly* expanding my comfort zone with respect to people knowing that I wear unconventional underpants. This, purely in the medical sense, mind you - I've resigned myself to the fact that if you're going to wear nappies all the time, everywhere, for 5 years, sooner or later, someone might catch wind of it, but, whereas I'm willing to let that leg under my dignity buckle a bit, I am not interested in coupling "so, that guys wears diapers..." to "because of some unfulfilled childhood need or something...", preferring to leave it in the "leaky plumbing" list of probable explanations. I ran smack into the possibility of that circle expanding unexpectedly this week. This falls into the "caveat emptor" category, under my assertion that you can never plan for all eventualities. Somewhere, at some point in time, a staid businessman was on the toilet, when the plane they were riding in went into a dive, and they were pinned against the ceiling by negative G's for what felt like an eternity but was probably 17 seconds, and then they fell, hit their head on the counter, got concussed, and woke up being tended to in an aisle, having been dragged out of the lavatory by flight attendants, with their fishnet stockings still around their legs, above their suit pants, which were around their ankles. How can you plan for that? SO it went that I was cutting my lawn, while my neighbour was out doing the same thing, and we waved to each other as we went along. I was in standard lawn cutting gear - clothes that will be thrown into the laundry, and I was wearing a big, wet diaper - a Rearz Critter Caboose. I'd been in it for a good part of the day, but I was going to shower and throw my clothes in the laundry after the chores were completed, so it didn't make sense to change beforehand - if it leaked, it would leak on a vinyl seat that gets rained on with some frequency. Because of getting on and off the tractor and crawling under it and previously walking my property with a week whacker, the diaper was doing that thing where some of the stuffing falls down into the middle and rear of it, but, no problem, it was destined for the bin shortly, anyway. Since I was seated on the diaper the entire time, I had no qualms about drive-by social contact. Until, a tire went on the front of the tractor as I was "edging" over an embankment. It didn't explode - it had probably been leaking for a while - but I noticed it when I couldn't reverse back up the embankment edge, because the blown tire had lowered my ride height so that the cutting deck was grounding out, causing the rear tires to spin uselessly. I was sitting there, trying to figure out what to do, when my neighbour waved again, and then I saw that he saw the position I was stuck in, and planned to drive around from his side of the fence, over to mine, to assist. That's when I considered what I was wearing: an old pair of draw-string cotton shorts and a t-shirt. Climbing off the tractor, I realized that I had a very substantial lump of damp stuffing under my derriere - a quick tactile inspection confirmed that it probably looked like I had a midsized dead rabbit down the back of my pants. Plus, the waistband of a Critter Caboose is not subtle, should it have made an appearance while we were heaving my tractor back up onto level ground. I therefore bolted for the garage, as though I'd just realized I'd left a pot on the stove. I have a crash kit on a shelf in there consisting of a couple of Tranquility ATN's in a nondescript bag - I've been trapped in my garage before in a big ABDL diaper under light or no clothes, when my in-laws have showed up on the driveway unexpectedly, which begat my practice of always having emergency shorts within reach, and, a low cost, lightweight diaper option within easy access without requiring me to go back into the house. Caboose binned, Tranquility taped haphazardly on, shorts back up, I ran back out, in time to see my neighbour pondering the position of my tractor. I told him I'd gone to the garage for better gloves, and then he & I got the tractor back up onto level ground, and then I pumped up the tire and finished the job. I tucked my t-shirt in and I don't think he was any the wiser, but had a strip of white plastic made an appearance during our exertions, I could have dealt with that, psychologically, whereas the toddler-in-a-loaded-diaper look I was sporting previously was a bridge too far. Onesies are going to come back into fashion for lawn work, methinks.
  15. I am following a trajectory very similar to that of @oznl. I'm a few months behind him, also 5 years in now, and I'm definitely not out of the driver's seat as far as daytime control is concerned. I pee small amounts a lot, I don't really push anymore, so it kind of peters out to nothing and sometimes it can be hard to discern when the end of an "event" has occurred. I get uncomfortable after holding it for 45 minutes or so, and desperate after a couple of hours, and if I start peeing, there is no stopping it - I have stared in wonder at myself and willed the flow to stop, and it'll choke up a bit but it will not cease. I wet the bed sometimes - IE, wake up in a wet diaper with no recollection of having done that myself, although it is more common for me to either wake up dry, or, wake up, commence voiding, and then drift off to sleep again. I did notice some drops a few times after I'd gone pee on the toilet - I usually use my diapers for that but if I'm engaging in downloading a #2 to the septic-net, then some #1 inevitably accompanies it, and a while back I noticed as I was preparing to take a shower afterwards that I was dripping, and I wondered, "Hmmm, is this it? Have I started leaking involuntarily?", but it quickly dissipated and did not reappear (that I've noticed - maybe I'm dripping in my diaper sometimes - that would be really hard to track because I usually wet every 20 - 30 minutes). So I am chalking that one up to post-void residual, or maybe, because I never really clench up and stop anymore - why bother when I'm wearing diapers? - shutting down a transfer takes longer these days and I stay open longer. Whereas if I were peeing in a toilet and then planning to put the equipment into a pair of cotton boxer shorts, I'd definitely declare a hard stop and giver it a shake before garaging it. SO maybe that, and not being able to stop mid-stream, are related - I don't use the brakes a lot, so perhaps they are rusting up a bit. But I have not lost control and just started peeing while I was awake, outside of having pushed myself to the bleeding edge of disaster, which is incontinence by neglect, and would happen to anyone, it just takes longer for most people.
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