Little Sherri

That was the key - I'm sure lots of other kids wore diapers to bed, but I felt like I was the only one, at the time. Diaper commercials featured babies crawling or toddling around, and pull-ups for older kids didn't exist. For me, it was the 1980's, so the diapers were mostly plastic disposables, although my mom did have a stash of cloth diapers. They made a big impression on me at the time, and for years, and even here, I said that I wore cloth diapers a fair bit, maybe half the time, but I talked to my mom about it a couple of years ago, and she said, "Nope, I hated them - I only put you in cloth as a last resort, when I couldn't find Pampers in the XL size for a few days."

Diaper deliveries for me are a mixture of anticipation and stress...I love getting delivers, but ideally, I'll be home and hear the truck show up and then I'll manage to intercept the package before my wife notices it, and I can carry it down to the basement, and none will be the wiser. However, sometimes they arrive when I'm busy or away from the house, and then my wife will either hear the dog go nuts, or she will stumble across the box or boxes sitting on the porch, which will result in a "Don't you have enough in stock?" conversation, and a "It's not my job to move those heavy boxes..." chaser. Then, I'll get home from wherever I was, and there'll be cases of diapers stacked up in the front hallway - she will carry them in out of the weather, but no further than that.

Still busy as hell over here. Still grateful to be wearing diapers every day. I think I'm running into the conundrum that it can be hard to come up with something to write about every day - some people I follow do it once a week or so, and maybe that makes more sense, but I tend to try to get on here for at least a few minutes every day - let's call it "me time" and often I am then compelled to say something, even if it isn't particularly noteworthy. I guess today is no exception... - Summer-ish weather is here and I'm enjoying wearing shorts more of the time, although we still get evening swings down into bring-a-jacket territory. I'm trying to resist turning on the A/C in the house because at night it's nice and fresh out. That has the consequence of the windows being open more, which is nice, but I have to be cognizant that possibility when I'm walking around the house in just a diaper and a shirt, as is often the case later in the evening once the kids have retired or if it's just my wife and I in our room. The trees around us don't yet have their full payload of leaves, and if I can clearly see over to my neighbour's property, then the inverse of that is also probably true. I pull the curtains across the window - plenty of air still gets in - but my wife sometimes throws them open again while I'm out of the room or in the bathroom, and then I walk in and realize I'm backlit in a big ABDL diaper against the blackness of the night, as observed from a swath of my neighbour's property that will eventually be completely obscured by vegetation. But not yet. - Speaking of unobscured views, I had to tell my younger daughter to delete pictures she took of me; I had jammed myself into an absurd position, trying to free up a lamp cord from under a bedside dresser, on my wife's side of our bed, without pulling out the bed, since it has storage containers under it containing offseason clothing, and never goes back without some fiddling. Ergo, I was at a 45-degree angle, feet on the ground, chest and head pressed into the mattress where it meets the headboard, arm obscured up to my shoulder in the crevice between the bed and the dresser, coaxing a cord that was hung up on something, when I head "Dad, what are you doing!?!" from behind me - my daughter had come into our room to get something from our bathroom. "Trying to free up mom's lamp cord so I can fix the switch..." I grunted. "You look like you've died or something, jammed in the corner like that!" she said, and then I heard the digital camera noise that a phone makes when it takes a picture. "Er, what are you doing?" "Taking a picture - you look hilarious." "Can I see the pictures, please?" (There is always more than one...) "Why? I'm not going to send them to anyone. I just want to show (eldest)." "I'd like to see the pictures..." She comes over and shows me her phone, and sure enough, there's three photos of me contorting myself into the headboard like I'd been fired into that corner from a cannon. And in all three pictures, my shirt is way up, and a wide strip of white diaper plastic is clearly visible (I'd been wearing a Rearz Select). "Please delete those..." "I'm not going to show anyone..." "I'd like them deleted because I know you and your friends flip through each other's photos for entertainment all the time, and I don't want to be part of that entertainment. " "Fine." In other "news", I walked into our bedroom, alongside our dog, a bit later in the evening, still in that Rearz Select, when my wife looked over at me and said, "Hello, Mister Wet!", causing me to startle briefly, until I realized that she was talking to the dog, who had just come in from outside, where it was raining. I, too, was wet at that point - I was at the "Should I change this unreliable diaper" TSN turning point, in my mind.

I'm wearing a workday diaper - a Rearz/Incontrol Essential. It's a comfy white plastic "medium-duty" diaper that works well under daytime clothes.

I've been 24/7 for 5 years, and I generally prefer plastic diapers, although I also have some cloth-backed ones for the gym or to wear under dress clothes etc. In the summer, my uniform of choice for public wearing is a pair of oversized cargo shorts, and then a onesie/diaper shirt/snap-T in a neutral colour - most of mine are black or grey, although I also have white. I gave up on white a while back because you can see a printed diaper through the material. Then, I wear a golf shirt or a short-sleeved button up shirt that overhangs, or a large t-shirt, and it's pretty much bulletproof, as far as I can tell. I've worked with buddies on roofing projects or landscaping or fixing cars etc, contorting and bending and climbing and I haven't had to worry about a diaper reveal. Around the house I will generally omit the onesie - you can get away without it, unless you're planning to be bending over or squatting, but it adds an extra layer of security in case you have to tie your shoes or whatever. Diaper noises sound a lot louder to us than they do to everyone else. I used to think that my diaper echoed when I walked. Now, I pay it no mind. As for what happens when people find out, well, your mileage may vary, but for me, it hasn't been a big deal. I have a couple of good friends that I've travelled with who have seen evidence of my diaper on a couple of confirmed occasions, and we're still buddies, still booking golf trips, still going to the pub every week - they just don't care. I've also been in a couple of medical situations where my diaper was briefly, inevitably at least partially visible, and again, they don't care - they've seen worse, or at least similar, a thousand times, and they're professionals. I do confine myself to white ones when I go anywhere medical, just in case.

So you've been there! This is one of my nightmares. Although I guess if I've just been hit by a bus or whatever, maybe the colour of my underpants becomes a secondary consideration. But a broken leg... in that circumstance, I'd be lucid enough to be forced into a confrontation with my choices, I guess. I think that I could put my head down and get through it if I just had a white plastic diaper on, but if it was unicorns or friendly monsters... not sure. I've found my diaper "on stage", so to speak, a couple of times in medical scenarios, but it was either a plain white diaper (when I was given a transparent disposable gown for an MRI during the height of the pandemic), or an abysmal grey pull-up when I was unexpectedly asked to undress by a urologist and his resident. In the latter case, I was almost more embarrassed about how sad my diaper was, than about the fact of being in a diaper, itself... "Look," I wanted to say, "I have much better diapers than this at home, I only wore this because I want it to not be noteworthy...". It's like having to take your shoes off somewhere and the realizing your socks have holes in them. A couple of other notes... I vaguely recall waking up last night, while lying on my back and wetting my diaper - a cascade down one of my hips is what caused me to return to consciousness. I put my hand down there but no moisture was escaping - it was being conducted down to the padding in the back half of the diaper, at my hip. Good job, BeDry Night. I fell back asleep. Also, I had that now-familiar latchkey scenario play out again, but this time, inconveniently, at someone else's house. We were watching a hockey game at a friend's, and it went terribly, and we had more beers than originally planned while conducting the post mortem. I was already booked into another buddy's guest bedroom for the night, but I reached a point in my diaper's lifecycle where I didn't fully trust it anymore, but, we were only a few minutes from leaving (I thought), so I decided to consciously not use it for a bit... and then an extra beer and a sip of Scotch were added to the mix... and my judgement was already a bit underwater. Finally, the rideshare arrived, we were conveyed back to his place, and we parted ways in his front hall, he going up to his room, and I going down to mine. As soon as we'd come through the door, I'd erupted in my diaper, and was trying to choke off a glorious wee that would not be denied, so I was glad he didn't pitch one more pint before lights-out. I could feel "pooling" down there and I've already been to this movie before, so I dropped my shorts as soon as I got to the bottom of the stairs, and stepped into the bathroom just as a stream laced down my inner thigh. I duck-walked over to the toilet, and finished the job by sitting down and continuing to pee in my diaper - pulling "mini me" out would have led to some cleanup. I then read some news on my phone until the dripping below me trailed off, then I peeled the sodden garment off and bagged it. Only a few droplets had made it to the floor, but my thighs were wet and the toilet seat needed to be cleaned. Not that this is a new experience for me, but it's always interesting, in an academic way, to lose control of a function that you more or less take for granted... don't get me wrong, I know I'm abusing that functionality daily - even right now as I type this - by dribbling freely into my pants every 20 minutes or so. But, other than when I'm asleep, I really don't lose control very often. However I was definitely out of control in that moment - there was no stopping it.

My subconscious is turning against me if this is the case. I definitely do not want this aspect of the diapered life. I've managed to get this far without needing a divorce lawyer, plus, I find the cleanup arduous. I've leaned into the "convenience" of being taped into a restroom on occasion, but generally it's been because I've found myself uncomfortable, and the now-discomfort outweighed the later-inconvenience of the, as you've so aptly described it, agricultural cleanup. I've had an upset tummy shart before - on one occasion, my being in a diaper surely saved the linens - but that was attributable directly to something that had disagreed with me. The tiny nugget in question was not dropped in haste or in deference to fluid dynamics. There would have been more of it. The cleanup, at least, was minimal. Also, I've more or less explained this strange compulsion to myself via referencing my childhood nappy experiences, and something about this being a second go at it on my terms, because I both loved and hated it the first time around, and exhuming and reburying trauma and other psychological processes I can describe but not really explain, because, hey, putting yourself back in diapers is not an entirely rational act. But I never pooped my pants as a kid. Not since the dawn of my memories. I do recall removing my nappy and pooping on the floor once - no idea why I did that, I think I was 3 - but while I know I blasted Pampers with the best of them when I was under 36 inches tall, I never did that in my later childhood - it simply would have been humiliating. I never thought to test out if it felt good until much, much later, when I was making my own as a 'tween and early teen. At age 8, nothing about having a load in my diaper appealed to me. So why now? Weird. In other "news", I got complemented on my diaper this morning. I had just gotten up and was in the bathroom brushing my teeth, when daughter #1, newly returned from a cosmopolitan existence away at school, and once again suffering the indignities of sharing a household with us peons, came into our bedroom and into our washroom, to retrieve a bottle of something or other - I think she said "missile water", which I'm sure costs $17.95 and does something incredible to your complexion. Anyway, younger daughter had been using it in our bathroom (they like our shower better), and elder daughter skidded in without a knock, although the door was open because I was only brushing my teeth. "Swanky diaper..." she said in passing, in reference to my Rearz Daydreamer which was, mercifully, bone dry - they have a transparent cover and keep no secrets.

Cool! Also, the lady holding the can is wearing a diaper. Or my brain might be filling that in.

Well, I had a near-miss today that caused me to consider at least one of the implications of this diapered life more closely... background: I was (and am) wearing a fairly heavy BeDry Elitecare, and I had to run an errand that would not, in theory, require getting out of the car. I've been burned by this situation before, but this time, I was not pulling up in front of a friend's place, I was dropping someone off at a business. It's a very warm day up here for this latitude in early May, so I pulled on a light pair of athletic shorts I had with me as back up - I'd been happily working the day away in just my diaper. I jumped into the car, ran the errand (dropped a kid off at dance), and then I was on my way home when, apropos of nothing, a donkey in a full-size pickup truck came flying out of a side street, totally ignoring a stop sign. I screamed out loud and made a wild evasive maneuver that took me into the thankfully-unoccupied-at-that-moment opposite lane, and then the guy behind me went into a skid and drove up onto the boulevard, all so that the idiot in the newish white GMC Sierra could, I don't know, look at a text message or something. I came out of it unscathed, but, at best, had he caught me as I was evading him, I would have then been sentenced to a roadside conversation with a moron, followed by a roadside conversation with a cop or three, and, a tow truck driver, plus my insurance company, in a giant, barely-concealed diaper. At worst, I could have been thrown into opposite traffic or spun into an obstacle or something - cars do crazy things at 70 kph when you introduce sudden lateral acceleration from a 7000-lb object. And that would have left me wearing a bulging, soaked, oversized, but at least not, say, pink, diaper, under thin shorts, while being asked about if I feel like I can stand up by myself or not, by friendly EMS technicians. "Sir, we're going to cut your clothes off..." "No, I choose death over that. No cutting my clothes off." More robust shorts are called for when driving, is what I'm saying. At least that.

Almost worse than the wetness indicator are diapers that have the size printed prominently all over them - I get that it makes things easier for caregivers, but does my diaper need to shout XL! to everyone who sees it...?

I have not heard of any.

I have a further note on this, actually: I was looking at the varying prints on my stash of Pampers size 8's when I realized that the diapers actually said "Back" on the top of them, at the back (of course), in funky writing - just like some pull-ups do. I compared them with some size 7's I have, and those do not say "back" on them. The size 8's also had a picture of two buttons on the front, in the center of the waistband... then, it occurred to me: they might be acknowledging that people who wear diapers that big could be putting them on themselves, and, might even be able to read, ergo the helpful cues, versus the smaller sizes, which would pretty much universally be handled by someone who didn't need to be told which side was the back.

Another quick update - I'm so busy right now, but I need this mental health break in my day, and it's better for me than cracking a beer at 10:30 AM, isn't it? - What is cool: walking around my kitchen in a t-shirt and a Mega Inspire+ (white giant Rearz diaper) after a refreshing shower, making coffee while checking emails on my phone. I still pinch myself sometimes that this is my reality. I wear diapers. There we are. - What is not cool: being woken up at 7 AM by my beloved, who immediately told me that, 1) I'm on with the dog, she's already late getting out, and, 2), he needs to go, because something stinks. Groggy, I shook the wool out of my brain as I swung my legs off the bed and stretched to greet the morning... and noted a lump under me. Alarm bells started going off in the cockpit, but my wife was busy occupying both the bathroom, and our bedroom, while getting ready, and the dog was running in circles and needed to go out, and my daughter needed to be woken up (or at least, wakefulness needed to be confirmed)... there was no discrete way to deal with figuring out what was going on... was that some weird ball of SAP down there....? But already, inside me, I knew the answer. My Rearz Essential was also somewhat wet, I noted - not soaked, but, it had been dry when I went to bed. I had zero recollection of any dreams or even stirring throughout the night, having watched a hockey game with friends and anesthetized myself with beer the night before. I woke my daughter, walked the dog (with pants on), made my first cup of coffee, made toast, all while surreally noting the presence of a fairly solid, fairly small lump of something that made itself known more when I sat on it, but that was always detectable. I read the paper, distracted, sampling the air on occasion, but I couldn't detect anything objectionable. Whereas in the bedroom, there had been a slight funk. Maybe the dog had farted? Wife and daughter gone, older daughter still in dreamland, once I had my room to myself, I blew the hatch on my nappy... and discovered that, yup, I had dropped a nugget a little bigger than a golf ball in my diaper overnight. Which made no sense. Had it been a catastrophic blowout, I could have blamed the wings I'd eaten the night before, for example... but this, this, had clearly not been done in urgency. I had no dreams that I can recall, but, I also have no history of fecal incontinence, soooo... I have to assume that my subconscious decided to prank me, and that although I didn't recall it, I had, at some point, in a dream, willed myself to poop in my diaper? A very little bit? I took a shower, and binned the Essential, even though it was only moderately wet, per the dictates of Protocol #2 . Then I put on this Inspire+ and a t-shirt, and went downstairs to have a coffee and think about I'd done while I was asleep. So weird. Side note: I was looking at the varying prints on my stash of Pampers Baby-Dry size 8's when I realized that the diapers actually said "Back" on the top of them at the back, in funky writing - just like some pull-ups do. I compared them with some size 7's I have, and they do not say "back" on them. The size 8's also had a picture of two buttons on the front, in the center of the waistband... then, it occurred to me: they might be acknowledging that people who wear diapers that big could be putting them on themselves, ergo the helpful cues, versus the smaller sizes, which would pretty much universally be handled by someone who didn't need to be told which side was the back. Interesting.

I have contemplated this scenario. Jokes aside, even with my morbid sense of humour, the realities of showing up at an ER in a diaper, and in a bad state of repair, do give me pause. My underwear preferences should have no bearing on whether or not I qualify for advanced lifesaving measures, but I have read enough articles written by and about both the elderly, and the handicapped, to know that, particularly in triage situations, where they are trying to determine the best use of limited resources, people in wheelchairs, people of advanced age, people with mental health histories, and people with developmental disabilities, while all entitled to the same care as everyone, nevertheless get docked a point or two in the cold calculus of who lives and who dies when not everyone can be saved. So my big stupid diaper might get used against me. Which, as an aside, makes me wonder... would an ABDL diaper therefore, paradoxically, be better, under such circumstances? I've always hoped, A) not to have to ever arrive in a heap in an ER, but, B), knowing it will probably happen someday, that if it does happen, I'm wearing a reliable, but boring, plain white medical diaper, on the theory that it would raise the fewest eyebrows. But if they would then assess me as a 6 rather than a 7 on the "value to society and likelihood of making a full recovery" triage scale, based on my evidently already being on a glideslope to the grave, and tonight, because Dr. Hope is golfing in Bermuda, 7's live and 6's don't, then maybe my pink bunny underpants would get a "He's an idiot but not infirm" opportunity for intubation that might otherwise be denied... But also, I do wonder if my wife would concur that it's time for me to shuffle off this mortal coil... "No, no, you've seen the diapers, right? DNR...."

I have no idea about Miralaxm, but a relative of mine was on Lactulose in the hospital to treat a liver problem, and by God, she was being changed once an hour. I don't know what the dose was but that stuff alone is very effective, even without any other laxatives. I'd be careful about dehydration or electrolytic imbalance if you started combining them. She was on an IV the whole time to combat that. Otherwise you could pass out and wake up in a lake of poop, hours later, or... not wake up.