Little Sherri

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.

Interesting - I've never heard of these. I wear onesies (diaper shirts) which help with sagging a bit. I've been wearing diapers for 5 years now, haven't noticed any indentations on my skin, other than the skin down there being maybe a bit tougher than it was in the "before times". I suppose I could ask my wife if she's noticed anything. A Trest with a NorthShore booster in it would be a 1 ton truck of a setup. I haven't tried Trests yet but I can get 12-16 hours out of a "super diaper" like a Rearz Mega Inspire+, and at that point you could see it from space, so I haven't played around with boosters much since I started wearing full-time, whereas when I was only wearing here and there, I used to buy boosters.

Another quick note - although I often say that and then write a novel. But I really do have a hell of a lot to get done today for work. How can you tell? Because I'm wearing plastic pants. I may not have time for "I should start changing positions while I'm using this diaper" antics. The ones I have on are printed Rearz vinyl ones, notably oversized for a disposable, but they're comfy - the only reason I don't wear them more often is because they're bulky, which I suppose I could solve if I started buying plastic pants for disposables - all the ones I have, I bought for wearing over cloth diapers, and so by necessity, they are oversized. I know some of you here - @oznlbeing one - wear plastic pants religiously, and you probably get more mileage out of your diapers as a result, and do less laundry. Mostly working from home has allowed me the luxury of being on safe ground and within moments of a change, if necessary, and when I'm out and about, I generally have a conservative flight plan, so to speak. I was reminded again last night of the expenditure of spousal political capital that always wearing diapers demands... my wife and I got into a disagreement about something minor, and she mounted an argument best described as "because I say so, and now I will stick my fingers in my ears and pretend I can't hear you", so I said, 'Well, that argument is just childish...". So, I guess I opened the door for what was coming. "I'm the childish one?" I, of course, was mounting my argument while wearing a diaper... a plain white one, but the onesie I had on hid most of it, save maybe the leg gathers. At least it was a black onesie?

Chapter 63 – Retail Therapy [9:00 PM] Kelly blinked, looking at the security guard, and tried to decide how to react. She already knew that he’d left the property. Her first instinct had been to demand that the security guard call the police… but, there was no way to un-ring that bell, and little chance that it wouldn’t get back to Chris at some point, if there ended up being an Amber Alert put out for Zack. Kelly didn’t know if that would be the protocol or not, and she didn’t want to find out. That kid is going to be hobbling along one of the sidewalks, probably half a mile from here, or less. He can’t go up or down staircases, he has no money, he has no phone, and he doesn’t know where he is. I can find him. “Well, uh, thank you for finally doing something. I am going to have to notify the police, I’m afraid.” The guard gave Kelly a tight-lipped nod. “That was my thought as well – I can call them for you. We talk to them several times a day. I’m sure that they can ask their squad cars to be on the lookout for him, and that he’ll turn up in no time. He can’t be moving very quickly.” “Uh, thank you, but I would prefer to call myself. I have some things I need to convey to them, about my son. He’s... developmentally, well, a bit delayed, and he tells wild stories. Who knows what situation he’s talked himself into, out there, if someone’s asked him what he’s doing on the street at this time of night. I’ll call them.” The security guard watched as the blond, tall, well-dressed lady made her way back out the front entrance of the hospital, once again not acknowledging the guard who held the door open for her. She expected to see the lady reach for a phone, but instead, she walked towards a taxi stand. __________ Kelly walked up to a white Volkswagen that had just dropped a passenger that looked like a priest of some sort, at the taxi stand. She took the door out of his hand as he exited, preventing him from closing it behind himself, and then sat down inside. “Are you a taxi?” she asked the gentlemen who was driving it, who looked South Asian to her. “I am rideshare, Lyft, but also taxi,” he replied. “Do you take credit cards?” “I use the square app, so I can. Where do you need to go?” “I have no idea. I’m going to pay you to get you to drive me around for a while.” The man looked at her in the rearview mirror, perplexed. “You don’t have somewhere you need to get to, you just want to drive around?” “I am looking for someone who might be walking around somewhere down here. It will be easier to find them if I am in a car. They are on a scooter, and I really need to find them. Are there any businesses around here that are still open?” “There is a sandwich shop that is really good, a little ways up…” “I’ve already been there. Something else,” she snapped. The driver looked back over his shoulder at her. “There is a twenty-four hour pharmacy up the street from here?” “Take me there.” ______ [8:45 PM] Officer Riley finished dabbing at Zack’s scuffed knee and palm with alcohol wipes. The boy had winced and sucked air in in response to the stinging antiseptic, but he hadn’t withdrawn or started crying. She didn’t know exactly what to expect from him; in one sense, he was very stoic and seemed to act older than he looked, but then he would get confused and act unsure of what to say, and he would suddenly seem much younger. Mrs. Katrina held his good hand in hers, until his wounds were clean and bandaged. Still holding his hand, she gave it a squeeze and said, “Now, Adam, Officer Riley and I need to have a bit of a closer look at you, just to make sure that you’re not injured, and also, you’re, uh, your one-piece outfit… it’s been damaged, so we want to find you something else for you to wear. Is it okay if we take your, uh, outfit…" Zack interrupted her. “It’s a romper,” he whispered flatly. Mrs. Katrina looked at Officer Riley, and then continued. “Is it okay if we take your romper off, Zack?” Zack became acutely aware of the dampness below and around his midsection. On the one hand, he hated the idea of being undressed by two women, both strangers, in a police station, but on the other hand, he could not realistically fathom the idea of staying in the soaked toddler diaper that was under the larger medical diaper he was wearing. He didn’t know what state the outer diaper was in; it felt puffy between his legs but not particularly heavy. “It’s fine,” he whispered, in a lower voice. Officer Riley reached down between Zack’s thighs, and grasped hold of the leg cuff on his uninjured leg, before pulling the two sides of material away from each other. The snaps disengaged in a linear fashion, snap snap snap snap, until the bottom of the garment was open, and then Zack raised his arms expectantly, and the two women drew the damaged and soiled romper up and over his head. They made eye contact briefly as Zack’s large white diaper was revealed. The expanse of white plastic travelled from his diaphragm to his thighs, down between his legs, and then went more than halfway up his back. The side panels covered his hips like an oversized bathing suit, and the rear puffed out to form a sort of bustle where it enveloped his behind. Two blue tabs on each side almost met in the middle of the diaper, below and above his navel. Mrs. Katrina had expected there to perhaps be a smell about him, once they took his outwear off, but there was only the faintest hint of pee, and maybe baby powder, lingering around. “Do you have anything on underneath your diaper?” she asked. “Yeah,” he whispered, “another diaper.” The police officer furrowed her brow. “Is it another one like this?” she asked him. “No, it’s… it’s a baby diaper. Or like, one for toddlers.” “Do you usually wear… two diapers, when you go out?” Zack’s cheeks reddened, and he looked at the ground. How can I explain that they didn’t have anything my size at the hospital, without leading them back to where they’re looking for me? He stayed quiet. Mrs. Katrina cleared her throat. “Well, then, are you… are you wet, sweetie?” Zack nodded solemnly, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. “Your diaper, the baby, er, toddler-sized one – it feels like maybe it needs to be changed?” the officer asked. “Yeah,” Zack more mouthed than said. “Do we need wipes as well?” Zack shook his head, and blushed harder. “Well, I’m going to run out to a local pharmacy and see if I can scare you up something that maybe fits a little better than this ensemble of a diaper that looks five sizes too big, and one that’s probably a little small. While I’m doing that, why don’t you go with Mrs. Katrina and have a look at what we have in our miscellaneous clothing box – I’m sure that there’s going to be something in there that fits you.” Officer Riley got up off of her knees and addressed Mrs. Katrina. “If you take him down the hall with you, and go into that main area in there, there is a cabinet in the far corner – it will be the only one that doesn’t have a lock on it. In there, you’ll find a couple of bags and a box of random clothing – I think the box holds most of the kids’ clothing. You should be able to find something that fits him.” Mrs. Katrina nodded at Officer Riley, and then took Zack by the hand again, as the officer opened the interview room door, and walked out, making a left, towards the motor pool. Mrs. Katrina looked at her charge, and she wasn’t sure exactly how this would go… would he follow her willingly down the hallway of a busy police station, dressed as he was? She reached over with her other arm and wheeled his damaged scooter so that it was within reach of him, and silently, he put his casted leg up onto it. She gave his hand a gentle tug, and to her surprise, he started gliding along a half-step behind her, being towed, essentially, by his outstretched hand, because he was not looking at where he was going, he was only focused on her feet. A soft rustling accompanies his steps, as the plastic diaper folded and unfolded around the upper thigh of his working leg. When they entered the main office, a couple of the half dozen or so officers working in the room or passing through it turned their heads towards the child, but then quickly looked at the social worker instead, not wanting to stare at the unfortunate boy she was leading. Clearly, he had been dressed by someone ill-equipped to deal with him. They could all imagine a version of what the story likely was – this was a room full of police officers. If the social worker had been carrying conjoined twins, many of them probably would have shrugged. Their jobs intersected with unexpected weirdness on practically a daily basis. Tears collected on Zack’s cheeks and then dribbled down randomly, causing him to taste saltwater as he licked his lips. The social worker put a hand on his head and ruffled his hair. “It’s okay, Adam, everyone here is a professional – this is just like being in a hospital. Sometimes when police officers have to arrest people, or rescue them, they’re in bed, in the bathtub, or even on the toilet. Think about that! They don’t care that you wear diapers, Adam. And they know that you’re being a very brave little boy. Now, let’s see if we can find anything that we can pull up over your cast… hmmm….” Mrs. Katrina started rummaging through the box that she’d located in the one far cabinet without a lock, just as the police officer had described. _______ [9:10 PM] Officer Riley pulled her marked SUV half up onto the curb and left it parked with the four-way flashers on, rather than the overhead lights. She exited the vehicle and hit lock on the key fob. Down here, you never know. Just as she approached the entrance to the pharmacy, the windows for which were covered with bright pictures of happy people doing happy things, a white Volkswagen sedan pulled up behind her cruiser, and one of the back doors shot open. A tall, blond woman exited the car, smoothing down her skirt as she scanned the front of the store, before fixating on the entrance. Officer Riley heard the car come to a stop and looked behind her reflexively, across the sidewalk, which was bathed in bright light from the large 24 Hours sign above the store. She stepped back and held the door open for the women, who gave her a curt nod, and breezed past. Shit, Kelly said to herself as she passed the police officer. I can’t very well start questioning the staff about a missing child, with a cop standing in the store. She looked around the brightly-lit interior of the business, before settling on the aisle the furthest to the left of the entrance. She decided to wait the cop out down there, and then she could make an inquiry at the front counter, reasoning that a police officer stopping in at a store mid-shift probably would not be there long. The bloody cab driver better stay put. Officer Riley walked in the opposite direction from the lady she’d held the door for, over towards the front counter. A short Black woman with a nametag pinned to her blouse was behind the counter, placing products into a bag for a customer. The lady’s nametag said Justine, and below that, Manager. “Hello, can I you a question,” Officer Riley inquired as she walked up to the counter. An elderly man in a long, brown overcoat gave her a passing glance over his shoulder, and then took his bag from the lady who was packing it, and headed towards the door in a slow shuffle. “Hello, officer,” the woman said in a lively voice, “how can I help you?” “Hi… I’m looking for some assistance finding in finding something on your shelves. Diapers, specifically, but in a slightly larger size than would be common.” “Are you looking for adult incontinence products?” the woman inquired. “No, not for an adult, but not for little kids, either. I have a situation involving a child who is about ten, I think. He’s wearing a diaper, but it is really oversized on him, and we need to change it. I want to find something more appropriately sized.” “We have pull-ups down aisle twelve that should work. They’re categorized by weight. Do you know how much he weighs? Here, let me get someone up here and I’ll show you.” The lady picked up a phone next to the cash register, hit a key, and then the subtle overhead music stopped. “Sales associate to the front counter, sales to the front counter please.” Her voice carried across the breadth of the store. A young man who looked like he was about eighteen years old, wearing a beige uniform shirt, and black pants, emerged from an aisle and headed towards the front. Officer Riley and the manager walked towards the opposite side of the store. “I’m not sure pull-ups would work, either – the child has one leg in a very large plastic cast, almost like a winter boot. And given the size of what he’s wearing currently, I think we might need more… capability. This isn’t just a bedwetting situation.” “Hmmm… I see. Let me show you what we have.” As they turned into the back aisle, Officer Riley noticed the woman that had preceded her through the door, standing at the other end of the alley of shelves. She looked up, made a surprised face, and then exited the aisle, turning towards the pharmaceutical counter at the back of the store. Something in the woman’s mannerisms caught the officer’s eye. She’d been a cop for a few years now, and she knew when someone was avoiding her. As to the why of that, well, there could be a number of reasons. She might be shoplifting, or trying to access narcotics, or she might be hiding from something, or, she might not like cops – it could be as simple as that. The way the lady was dressed, the fact that she had arrived in a cab, and that she’d walked right past the officer while she was holding the door, rather than veering off… Officer Riley felt that whatever was up with the lady, it probably wasn’t something worth getting distracted over. Lots of people avoid cops. Justine led Officer Riley down the aisle, reviewing the products on display as she went. “At this end, we have the infant diapers, and then the baby and toddler products, which aren’t what you’re looking for. On the opposite side, we have adult products, but the smallest of those that I’ve seen have about a twenty-five-inch waist, which, it sounds to me, might be too big. Further down......,” the lady trailed off as she took a few strides towards the end of the aisle. “We have the training pants, pull-ups, overnight briefs, etcetera. They’re sized for toddlers, all the way up to one hundred fifty pounds or so. But I have another suggestion, as well… we don’t sell a lot of these, but, one of the specialized brands just launched an intermediate size diaper, for handicapped kids. We keep them behind the counter, because they don’t get included in our shelf planning – they’re not advertised yet.” Justine exited the other end of the aisle and walked up to the pharmacy counter, with the police officer following behind her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted the tall woman once again rapidly depart from their sight, down one of the middle aisles. I’m going to keep an eye out for her. She seems up to something. However, the presence of the police officer in the store reassured her somewhat. But in a downtown twenty-four-hour pharmacy, anything could happen. “Dave,” Justine said to the short, bald man in a white coat, who was standing with his back to the store, feeding pills into a counting machine, “what are those medium-sized diapers called, the ones we keep back here?” “Run N’ Play,” the man said, looking over his shoulder. “Can you pass me a package of them?” “Sure, Justine – give me one moment.” He waited until a certain number had been reached on the machine, withdrew a green pill bottle, and snapped matching lid onto it, before peeling a label from a sheet beside him, and carefully applying it to the side of the bottle, centered from top to bottom. He walked towards the pharmacy counter and smiled. “I don’t want to forget who those were for.” “Of course, Dave,” Justine said, smiling back. Dave went to the right of the cash register and opened a cabinet door, reaching down into the bottom and well to the back, almost to the point of climbing into the unit. He emerged holding a rectangular white plastic package that had its own clear plastic built-in carrying strap. He deposited it on the counter and pushed it over to Justine, who picked it up with both hands to read the print on the font. Officer Riley, who was taller, read over Justine’s shoulder. Run N’ Play Active Fit Diapers, the package proclaimed in bright blue letters on a yellow background, in a strip across the top of a large panel on both sides. Below that, in smaller letters, the text read Intermediate Youth Diapers – 12 Hour Comfort. Beneath that text was a diagram of the inside of an unfolded diaper, showing Dual Leak Guards and Snug Leg Gathers, plus a Lockaway Stay-Dry Core, Strong, Refastenable, Easy-Change Tabs, Elastic Waistband, and a Moisture-Proof Cottony Plastic Top Sheet. Next to the diagram was a picture of a folded diaper, viewed from the top, showing the cover print options, one of which consisted of yellow giraffes, pink lions, blue elephants, and green trees, all on a white background. The other was simpler, just one large, yellow rubber ducky, centered on the front panel. An arrow extending from the words Wetness Indicator to both images pointed to a yellow line on the lower half of the front of the diaper. On the bottom right corner of the package, in black letters, were the numbers 60 to 85 lbs. +. The bag held 30 diapers, stacked in one row. “Does this look like what you’re after, officer?” The police officer nodded. “I think these will work. If they really last twelve hours then a bag should get him through a few days, anyway. Can I pay for them here?” “Absolutely,” the pharmacist responded, and then picked up a wand and scanned the barcode. “That’s $27.99. The state doesn’t charge sales tax on baby diapers.” “Well I’m glad they don’t!” Officer Riley noted. “That’s not cheap. Although I guess this isn’t a common size.” “Nope,” the store manager replied. “We get them from a clinic just outside the city, that has their own store. They bring them in from somewhere. We just started carrying them to replace another brand that was out of stock for months.” Officer Riley pulled a billfold that held a credit card from one of her uniform’s many pockets, and the pharmacist swiped the card, which caused the machine to immediately beep and print a receipt. “No signature required, Officer.” “I never understand how that works. Sometimes it wants a pin number, sometimes it wants a signature, sometimes the card just taps. Well, anyway, it worked. Thank you both for your help.” Dave nodded and then went back to sorting pills, while Justine gave wave and then went off to look for the woman who seemed to keep dodging them whenever they encountered her. Officer Riley walked towards the exit, carrying the package by its built-in strap, and turned her head to look down the aisles as she turned towards the door. The blond lady was down a middle aisle, intently studying a device in a large yellow box. She glanced at the officer quickly as she crossed the top of the aisle, and then pulled her eyes away just as fast. Curious. But I don’t have time to get sidetracked. Kelly eyed the large, yellow box in her hand, wishing she hadn’t looked up at the police officer. She knew that the cop would be passing by the end of the aisle, as she’d been listening for her distinct footsteps, which were heavy on the glossy floor, because of her shoes. As much as she was feigning interest in the contents of the shelves to avoid making eye contact with the police officer, she was intrigued by the contents of the box. It contained two baby bottles, air lines, a conical contraption with a screw-on lid attached beneath it, and a small round device in a soft yellow colour. A breast pumping kit. She thought about the herbs and the medication she’d picked up from a naturopath, what seemed like a lifetime ago, but had only been a week, when she’d left the kids at he sister’s cottage to run an errand. She hadn’t started taking them yet – everything had been turned upside down by Zack’s injury. This has been one shitty week. I deserve something. Kelly waited another minute, then walked to the end of aisle and scanned the entrance to the store. The cop was gone. The store manager was back at the front, organizing a display. Kelly walked over to counter, carrying the yellow box under one arm, while trying to appear casual. “Hey,” she said to the manager, “can I ask you a question?” Justine looked at the lady. She’d had a glance down the aisle as she followed the police officer out, to make sure that she wasn’t loading her pockets or preparing to rob the pharmacy counter, but when she noted that her attention was on the maternity equipment, her suspicions softened a bit. They were near a large downtown hospital. Maybe this lady was here to support someone who was in the throes of labour or about to undergo a C-section, and maybe her mannerisms and skittish nature were a side effect of the stress she was under. She certainly wasn’t hiding the expensive device she was carrying. “Yes?” the store manager replied. “Have you seen a boy tonight, he’s eleven, he would have been by himself, riding a push scooter, with a cast on his right leg?” Justine furrowed her brow. “Not that I can think of. I can ask the other employees if they’ve seen him. What was he wearing?” “A light blue romper. He has blond hair.” Justine called back to the pharmacy, and ran the description past Dave, who said that he had not seen anyone like that. Then, she paged the part-time kid back up to the front, and he confirmed that he hadn’t seen anyone, either. Kelly responded to the news by turning her head and scanning the store again quickly, as though he might have rolled inside while they were talking at the counter. “Well, anyway, I’ll take this. Does it require batteries?” “No, I think it plugs in, ma’am. Will that be cash or credit?” “Credit.”

Update.... my daughter finished in the bathroom, allowing me to go in there and have a shower and change my diaper. I wrapped up the heavy BeDry Night... and I left it sitting on the counter when I came out of the bathroom. It was midnight and I was tired - I never do that, but this time, I did. So in the morning, my wife was very impressed. "Can you come deal with.... this, right away? Don't leave your wet Pampers on the counter." Oops... I have another "first" possibly on the schedule... a friend of mine wants to rent a cabin on a remote lake and spend a few days fishing this summer. I am not a big fishing person, but I do enjoy it - and he has all the trappings, boat, rods, reals, lures, I literally just need to bring myself, beer and gas money. But he's also bringing another buddy, a guy I like but that I haven't spent much time with... and we'd be bunking in a one-room cabin in the woods, after spending 10 hours on the water in a bass boat each day. SO, wearing diaper for all of that presents logistical challenges that I have to think through. Such as: I can easily spend 10 hours in one diaper, especially if I'm careful about how much I drink, but, can I wear a 10-hour-rated diaper around a couple of friends, undetected, under summer clothes, particularly at the end of the shift, when it's doubled in size? Those guys will be peeing off the edge of the boat here and there - that's the deal - so do I join them? Or be the guy who never needs to pee, with the bulky mid-section? Peeing off the boat, even in pantomime, could relieve some of the load on the diaper... but I obviously can't fiddle with a onesie in order to do that, so I'll have to wear a normal t-shirt, but that creates the potential for diaper exposure when you're, say, leaning over the side of the boat to grab a fish you just caught, with everyone else looking on, inevitably. And God help me if I fall out of the boat - I'm a good swimmer, but is there any way to hide the fact I'm wearing a diaper if that happens? "Take your shorts off and let them dry on top of the motor for a while..." "No, I prefer to stay in them, thank you..." Squelch squelch squelch as I walk back and forth. And then there's the overnight portion of the proceedings, getting undressed, getting dressed... trash disposal... sigh.

I agree - I wore diapers to bed until I was in my 10th year, and I'm definitely "here" to reclaim those years on my terms - at the time it was somewhat traumatic, or at least, I was soaked in anxiety about it - I knew that I liked wearing diapers, but I also knew that I could never tell anyone that, and I knew that my parents wanted me to outgrow them. I was terrified that any of my friends would find out about it - I thought that my world would come to an end - and I also wanted to grow up and be a big boy and stay up later and be allowed to do more stuff independently, like every other kid growing up. I felt scared, ashamed, immature, embarrassed, but also viscerally thrilled when I was wearing a diaper. It was a lot for a kid to handle. So, I'm handling it again now, on my terms, wearing diapers as an adult kid, I guess!

I can't comment on baby pacifier sizing, other than to say the study is interesting, but I've been using adult paci's when I sleep for about 6 years now, and the size is critical, for sure. I started out using the largest toddler paci's I could get, but they always put pressure on my front teeth that would manifest as a dull ache when I woke up. I knew from having had braces as a kid, that that ache meant my teeth could eventually move as a result. I eventually bought some of the Rearz/Pacifier Addict "size 6" adult pacifiers, and they work perfectly for me - I have at least 25 of them that I rotate through before I clean them and start again. I have been sleeping with one every night for half a decade and my teeth have not moved. I subsequently tried their Fixx "size 10" paci, but I found it huge, like trying to fall asleep with half a banana in your mouth - it would make my jaw slightly sore by morning.

I thought about writing something on this topic myself. When I first rekindled an interest in "this", after having been kind of forced out of it as a kid, the only thing I could get my hands on outside of ill-fitting pull-ups were store-bought medical diapers that were pretty much universally white (and also universally sucked). So when I finally discovered that there was an industry dedicated to these interests, I went crazy for printed diapers, buying them in cash at first, back when Rearz had a storefront, and then later, once I opened up to my wife about it, I was able to order them. The universe was mine - I flitted from printed diaper to printed diaper, only occasionally buying something in white, usually if it was on sale or if it made some phenomenal performance claim (the MegaMax, for example). Now, I still have a lot of printed diapers in my inventory, but at least half of what I wear is white, and I'm less interested in the specific print, than I am in if the diaper is comfortable, fits well, performs, and doesn't require a second mortgage. So, it's funny - I grew up in strictly white diapers, and later in life, I longed for the printed kid diapers that came on the market, but wouldn't fit me. Then, I was in a position where I could have any diaper I wanted, and I went on a printed diaper binge, I guess you could say, and now I'm coming back around to where I was when I first started as a DL, when I was a kid, in white diapers.

This was my parents' philosophy. I had a plastic top sheet on my mattress but on the several occasions where my parents test-drove transitioning me out of wearing diapers in bed, the result would be me waking up at 5 AM in soaked sheets, and then laying there, or trying to roll over to a dry area on the bed and fall back to sleep for a bit... but in soaked pajamas, or I'd get up and put on dry PJ's, but then they'd become dirty immediately, because I was still doused in pee when I put them on, so at some point everything would have to go into the laundry. Once that happened more than two or three times, the conversation came around to "It's not your fault, you're body just hasn't caught up with your age, but a good night's sleep is important for you to do well in school and to grow big and strong, so tonight I think it would be best if..." And then came the long walk over to the closet to get a diaper from the box on the floor in there.

A couple of further quick notes on another week navigated from within my infantile underpants... my wife's baking show once again lamented that "Nobody likes a soggy bottom" on a flan or a cheesecake or whatever, which caused her tilt a glance my way, because I was hanging out in an Incontrol BeDry Night that I had been in for 18 hours at that point, and it was heavy. It acted like a high-end super diaper should, though, and did not leak into my clothing at any point, no matter how much I sat on it in various locations, walked around, climbed stairs, etc. I probably could have slept in it but I was by that point getting tired of sitting in a pond. Earlier, I was regretting my diaper choice, because my daughter had texted me and asked if I could pick her up at work at about 8 PM, and I thought to myself.... "Hmmm, you've spent the whole day in this diaper, it's pretty bulky... should you change it?" But then the devil on my shoulder said, "You're not even going to get out of your car! Don't worry about it. Why change now - shower and change when you go to bed. You spent $4 on this diaper and you know it has a few hours left in it... it's comfy...." The devil won. At least I put jeans on, rather than wearing track pants... fast-forward to my arrival at her place of work, when I get a text from her that she had already left with one of her friends who has a car, to go to her house for a quick visit, and why don't I just go over there and pick her up? I can't say, at that point, "Because I'm wearing a huge soggy diaper...". Well, I guess I could have said that, but... I still have some dignity in me, I guess. And I thought, fine, I'll just sit on their driveway and doom-scroll the news feed. But the Universe had plans for me, as it always seems to... I'm good friends with my daughter's coworker's dad. And his wife saw me sitting on their driveway and texted me to "Come on in and have a beer..." Sh*t. I like beer. I just don't like going into someone's house and hanging out while wearing a super diaper at >70% of it's capacity. AND, an additional wrinkle, one that worked both for, and against, what the Universe wanted to see play out, is this: I'm pretty sure these people know I wear diapers. So, on the one hand, that factor removed the "Oh God what if they find out I wear diapers" concern, but on the other hand, it was the genesis of another anxiety: "They know I wear diapers so this huge diaper is going to be obvious to them... their eyes are not going to skip over it as anomalous data, they're going to mentally raise an eyebrow and think, yup, diaper." Regardless, I was backed into a corner. Declining would have been weird. So I untucked my shirt, left my light spring jacket on, went in and sat at their bar-height kitchen table, sipping a beer on a stool, unable to completely close my legs. Sigh. I got home and planned to change then, but my daughter beat me once again, this time commandeering our ensuite shower, which is what left me hanging out with my wife in a diaper that looked like it had a blower running under it, keeping it inflated. Then came the soggy bottom comment.

I would say the legs under my ABDL table, in terms of routine, are: - Always wear a diaper - Change it when it needs to be changed or when it gets uncomfortable - Thou shalt apply diaper cream at every change - Thou shalt shower daily, more so if something egregious happens in thy diaper - Treat diaper rash seriously and immediately Everything else is the sauce and the side dishes; the steak, for me, is wearing diapers. I wouldn't enjoy sleeping with a pacifier if I didn't also have a diaper on.

Very cool!

The money part of this has come up, but it's not, I suspect, the core of my wife's general lack of enthusiasm for having a husband who wears diapers all the time, everywhere. She has commented on occasion that I have more than enough of them in stock (I probably have 13+ cases right now), and she told me at one point that I should turn off "automatic reordering" because she thought that was what was happening when a case of diapers showed up on the porch every couple of weeks. I've explained that I double down when they are on sale, so my inventory of baby pants is actually saving us money, and also, that ABDL diapers are cheaper to wear in the long run, because they are so much better than all but the best medical diapers - I can wear 2-3 ABDL diapers a day, whereas I would be burning through probably 6 cheap diapers at least, and also doing more laundry. However, ultimately it comes down to a question of what we each want to do with our share of our money. First of all, I make most of it, but I don't every really pull out that card - she does a lot of stuff for the kids, for example, that you can't really put a dollar value on, that I don't have time to look after - God help me if I ever have to go shopping for dance tights or makeup or bras. But, she also buys cushions for the outdoor furniture, or she buys a new lamp for a spot where the current lamp has been working just fine, or she buys 10 X as many shoes as I do, or she wants to go visit her parents in Florida and take the kids, etc. So if she starts hinting about wanting to audit my diaper expenditures, I say, okay, no problem, bust out the credit card bills and let's drill down on what we're spending.... except she knows from previous exercises in this vein that inevitably the forensic analysis is going to come back showing she spends 4 X what I do every month. So, hey, maybe I don't need Baby Panda diapers in my arsenal, but maybe the colour of the linens in the guest room is fine, and the goddamn table cloth print doesn't need to reflect the season... oh, it's okay if I buy Baby Panda diapers? Okay. Thanks.