MinnesotaWriter

Appreciate all the comments. Trying to respond to some from everyone. As far as story timing goes. We still have four chapters left, I think. The last two weren't in the outline, but it felt like it made sense to include them once I got to that point (I've done that quite a bit throughout the story). I can promise we'll get an exact date in the next chapter. I think the overall goal with this chapter was to both show some growth with Sarah getting back out into the real world, but also to demonstrate how she still is very confused by everything that has happened, especially since the start of Christmas break. There isn't going to be an immediate, quick-fix happy ever after for her. Thanks, got that fixed. I think the challenge will be when Sarah is going through the hospital tests as well as more rigorous questioning that the police and CPS would want to do to get to the bottom of what has happened. That's true, at multiple points she is thinking about how her mom is going to fit in with everything that has happened. We'll be seeing her friends soon enough. I was almost tempted to have one of them on the bus, but I figured that would be a bit much. That's a good point on how the CPS is behaving, obviously, they show up because they believe something is wrong, but they don't have all the information. Will be interesting to see what they have been told and by whom. There most certainly will be a bunch of tests, both incontinence and otherwise, CPS/doctors will want to make sure Sarah is OK. We'll get a diagnosis about her condition at some point. To clarify the injury, Sarah landed extremely hard on her side, so looking more at something internal that got messed up, rather than any type of brain injury.

Chapter 64: The Wheels on the Bus The wet pants accomplished what I hadn’t been able to find the words to say. I wasn’t potty trained and had no business wearing big girl underwear. From the looks on their faces as they both stared at the puddle on the floor, Amanda and Jodie both now realized that not allowing me to wear a diaper had been a big mistake. I didn’t find myself being embarrassed by the accident. It had been completely expected, as odd as that is to say, about something called an accident. I was more embarrassed by the lack of any protection and the ensuing mess but not by the act of peeing itself. At least they didn’t make me take another shower to get cleaned up. I laid down on the bed as Amanda wiped me clean with a wet wipe. They’d found the changing pad for me to lie on as they cleaned me up. They should have put me in a diaper right then and there, but instead, Amanda grabbed a pull-up that must have been left in the underwear drawer. “Why don’t we try this instead?” Amanda said. She stretched out the pull-up to slide it up my legs and around my waist. “That’s it. I’m sure you’ll have better luck next time.” The only true thing about that statement was that the only way I was going to make it to the toilet on time was if there was a lot of luck involved. I acquiesced to their desire to have me wear a pull-up. At least the next time I wet myself, it wouldn’t result in a puddle all over the floor. The next question was what to wear over the pull-up. I got up from the bed. Walking felt more comfortable now that there was at least some padding between my legs. Amanda led me to the closet. “Why don’t you pick out something that you would like to wear?” My eyes immediately went to a knee-length dress. Long enough to be warm for the winter weather, but it would make changing a lot easier. I struggled with taking my shirt and hoodie off for a moment, and then Amanda assisted in pulling it over and off of my head. Jodie found a pair of knee-high socks and helped me into them. I was nearly set to venture outside. At the front door, Amanda slid a jacket over me, tugging the hood over my head. I shivered as I stepped outside and breathed in a breath of crisp air. The yard was covered in sporadic patches of snow. I could see my breath as I walked down the driveway. There were two cars parked outside. One that Amanda and Jodie had come in, and another for the man who was staying behind at the house. Maybe he would let Mom know where I was, once she got home. Amanda and Jodie had said something in hushed tones to him before they took me outside. The last time I had been in a car had been that trip to the mall before Christmas. And I had been seated in the passenger seat, not the back one. I completely forgot about needing to buckle my seatbelt. Jodie ended up doing that for me. Then we were off. My stomach felt a little uneasy around some of the sharper turns, and I occasionally had to keep my eyes focused on the interior of the car to prevent myself from feeling sick. How far away was the hospital, anyway? I couldn’t recall. I hadn’t gone there very often. An empty sensation in my mouth made me realize that I was missing something. My paci. How had I not remembered to bring that with me? I was beginning to suspect that Amanda and Jodie wouldn’t have prioritized bringing it with them as they grabbed some extra clothes and things to bring along to the hospital. They had packed a few changes of clothes and some pull-ups and had even included two pairs of underwear but had failed to pack a diaper. My thumb found its way into my mouth almost automatically. I didn’t realize it was there until I had already been sucking on it for several seconds. Amanda was focused on the road, but I caught Jodie taking a peek at what I was doing in the mirror. I didn’t remove the thumb even after I saw a look from her that seemed quite close to disapproval. I wasn’t concerned with any disapproval from Amanda or Jodie. They didn’t understand what I needed. But Mom did. What was she going to do when she came home from work to find me gone? What was the man going to tell her? And what would she say when she found me wearing a pull-up when we were reunited? “McDonald's or Burger King?” The question they were asking may as well have been in a foreign language. I turned my attention to the front of the car and shrugged my shoulders. “Alight, if you don’t have a preference, McDonald’s it is,” Amanda said, turning on her blinker and making a right turn toward McDonald’s. My stomach rumbled as we pulled into the drive-through. There were a few cars ahead of us waiting to place their orders. “What do you want to eat?” Jodie asked. I took my thumb out of my mouth to answer her question. “Dunno.” Jodie sighed loudly. Amanda looked over at Jodie. “I think it’s easier for Sarah if we just give her some options.” Amanda leaned over and peered at me through the gap in the front two seats. “Chicken nuggets or a hamburger?” “Nuggies.” “Alright, nuggies it is.” When we finally arrived at the place to place the order, Amanda ordered a happy meal with apple juice for me, an iced coffee for herself, and a soda for Jodie. I reached into the bag to grab a nugget. Hot. I let it slip from my grasp and back into the bag. I would need to wait at least a few minutes before they had cooled off enough to eat. I slipped my thumb back in my mouth, sucking on it to cool it down. We were back on the road again, headed to the hospital with no further detours planned. The car slowed to a stop at a red light. A yellow bus pulled in alongside us. I peered up out the window at the faces in the vehicle next to me. A few were looking at me at first, then lips were moving, fingers were pointing, and more and more faces began to appear in the window, glancing down in my direction. There were kids. Slightly younger than me. Some of them were staring at me. None of them had pacifiers. None of them had their thumb in their mouth. A wave of memories came roaring back. Early morning bus rides to school. Classes. Homework. Cheerleading practice. Eating lunch in the cafeteria with my friends. Playing Fortnite with Lisa. Sleepovers. Game of Truth or Dare. Shopping trips to the mall. I looked down at my hands. They were both on my lap, right above where the pull-up was beneath my dress. I licked my lips. My thumb was no longer in my mouth. Something was wrong, but I couldn’t put a name to it. I didn’t belong in that world anymore. I’d made that decision the day before this year began. I chose diapers. What was it that the woman had told me back at home when they had been getting me cleaned up and ready to go? They had said that how Mom was treating me wasn’t right, as if everything that had transpired had been Mom’s fault, as though I was a literal baby, lacking any agency over my life. But that wasn’t true. Was it? Mom hadn’t kept me locked inside the crib or chained to a wall. The baby monitor would have done nothing to prevent me from leaving and being long gone by the time she noticed and was able to get home from work. With my bike, I could have gone anywhere I wanted. I could have left at any time, and yet I chose to stay. And what about before then? There was nothing Mom could have done to stop me from telling Samantha and Desi the truth. There was nothing Mom had done that made me push Lisa away instead of asking her – the only person I knew who had been through anything similar – for help. There was nothing that Mom could have done that would have stopped me from telling Mr. Higgins or going down to the nurse’s office. Nothing that would have stopped me from picking up my cell phone and calling CPS myself. Exit signs had been present at each point along the way, and each time, I had willingly passed them by. Why had that been? Was it because of a determination to handle all my issues on my own? Was it the shame and embarrassment of having my friends find out what I had been through? Was it the fear that any act of defiance wouldn’t be enough to get away from any consequences that might be awaiting me from Mom? Or, at some point, had I already begun to subconsciously accept my fate? Had I known, deep down, with each ensuing accident, where everything was going to lead? That it would end with me knowing that I deserved, needed, and wanted diapers. I’d spent the past who knows how long staying in a crib all day long, pissing and shitting in a diaper because I had chosen to do so. I couldn’t blame Mom for it. I could have ended it at any time if I had chosen to do so. I dared another glance up toward the school bus. Only a couple faces at the window now. The rest had moved on from the spectacle, now that the older girl in the car was no longer sucking on her thumb. That had been me in the bus, not long ago. And I’m sure I would have called Samantha and Desi over to gawk out the window had I seen a fellow teenager doing what I had just been doing. But why had I pulled the thumb out of my mouth? And why wasn’t I able to bring myself to put it back in? A tiny bit of shame was gnawing at the back of my mind. I didn’t know any of those kids. They were young enough to be in middle school. From the name of the school on the bus, it wasn’t the one that I had attended last year. Yet, the discomfort at the idea of them seeing me behave like a baby was enough to prevent me from doing so. Why? Was I just being self-conscious? Or did I actually have something to be ashamed of? My mind kept replaying the reactions of Jodie and Amanda to finding me wearing a diaper and lying in the crib. The shock and discomfort on their faces. But also compassion and empathy. But all those emotions stemmed from the firm belief in the wrongness of what they were seeing. When I decided that I wanted to wear diapers, had I made the wrong choice? But if Samantha could choose to wear diapers, why couldn’t I? Would Amanda and Jodie consider Samantha’s decision to be just as wrong as mine? Or were both Samantha and I right? Or were the circumstances between myself and Samantha too different to be compared? The light turned green. Our car accelerated faster than the bus, leaving the school kids behind. With their eyes no longer on me, I slide a hand under my skirt, feeling the front of the pull-up. Dry still, but not that much time had passed since I had made that puddle on the hallway floor. I tried, for the first time since failing at potty training, to get my bladder to tell me something, anything, but it refused to give me any sense of its condition, whether it was nearly bursting or still in the process of filling up, I didn’t know. And that is where I was stuck, between this growing sense of wrongness in the back of my head and the practical reality that I had no idea of what was going on in my bladder. Between wanting to wear a diaper and wondering how I would be able to get through life at this point without one. Between the comfort of no longer fighting against my condition and the shame of seeing myself contrasted so sharply with my peers. Between the acceptance of what I'd allowed Mom to do to me since the start of the year, and the insistence of the social workers that it all was wrong. The hospital building loomed on the horizon with the sun setting directly behind it. I shielded my eyes as we entered the parking lot. I remembered the plethora of tests that Lisa had described undergoing as doctors worked to diagnose her own continence issues. How I’d attempted to bluff my way through a conversation with her by saying that I’d been through similar examinations. I recalled how I had snuck onto a computer at the school library, all the medical terms and theories about incontinence that I’d read. But I hadn’t undergone a single medical test since my issues had begun. The closest to a medical attempt Mom had made to treat my sister and I had been the laxatives, and there must have been some truth to that strategy as it had appeared to help my sister. The car came to a stop. Amanda turned off the ignition. Was I going to be poked, prodded, examined, tested? What could they tell me that I didn’t already know? What was going to be waiting for me in the hospital?

Yeah, I very much prefer to writefirst-person perspective only. And I'm not nearly good enough to switch between two different characters in the same story like that. (In fact, the only time I've seen an author do that is Robin Hobb in one of the later Farseer books, and it was pulled off perfectly.) That said, we'll get a good explanation for what went down and why with CPS. Though it might be a couple chapters out. I only mentioned it a handful of times at the start. I think I probably just threw a mental dart on a map to select a warmer state than Minnesota. I wouldn't get too caught up on what the exact temperature is. Not the same Amanda, just me being not terribly good at randomly coming up with names for side characters. One way to check is that I always update the title of the story with the new chapter and date within a few minutes of posting the next chapter. It would be a mix. Older videos on tape, newer ones on an SD card. I think you understand how much fun it is to write cliffhangers, though. But don't worry, another chapter is coming later today, but I can't promise that it won't have another cliffhanger. Thanks for catching that, I'll need to take a look at it later this afternoon and see if it needs to be re-worked for continuity.

Not quite, depends on the part of the country. The story is set in New Mexico (Don't ask me why I picked that when I started writing over three years ago, but I did, for reasons long forgotten). So, the winter weather isn't as harsh as what we've had this past week in Minnesota (-30 wind chill) for example. The main thing I was trying to imply was that it wasn't spring/summer yet. But as it started at the beginning of January, that still gives Sarah a bit of time to be babied. Yes, it's nice to move on from writing about all the possible ways the mother could punish Sarah. My initial plan was to pick up with Sarah at the hospital, but decided to add this chapter to give a glimpse of what was happening right at the moment she was being rescued and demonstrate just how far she had regressed during her latest time being treated as a baby. We're going to stick to showing the story strictly from Sarah's perspective, so not likely to get a viewpoint directly into what happens to the Mom, though Sarah will no doubt be informed of it later. That would be nice if it was fully written by now as well. But alas, I think I have more to write than expected. I think I'm going to hit the over on the projected number of chapters left that I made a while back. The sequel will be released all at once (provided that I finish it on time, and I'm making good progress) I think it is understandable that the diapers were viewed as a punishment, it certainly isn't expected that an otherwise healthy teenage girl would need them. And from their perspective, the CPS agents were being compassionate in they way they were trying to help Sarah realize it was OK to wear underwear again. As for why the urgency for the wellness check. There is a reason for that. But that is coming in later chapters.

There are a couple of easy explanations. The first involves modern disposable diaper companies and the fact that they are not incentivized to help with potty training. The companies that make baby diapers, Kimberly-Clark and Procter and Gamble, have no incentive to make potty training easier for parents. There is constant pressure from shareholders for companies to increase their profits year over year (Why the infinite growth model of capitalism is horrible for an environment with finite resources is a lengthy discussion for a whole other thread, but I digress). One easy way to do so is to increase the number of people using their products. And if kids are in diapers longer and longer, you have more customers. Modern disposables are so comfortable that kids don't get the same signals from having accidents in them as they would from cloth diapers, and that no doubt plays a role in delaying potty training. If wetting your pants isn't uncomfortable, why bother with learning to go to the toilet? Disposable training pants are an example of a product that pretends to be making potty training easier, but in reality, probably does a lot more to extend it. Parents would be better off either skipping training pants altogether in many circumstances, or switching over to cloth ones. That isn't to say that there aren't valid uses for disposable training pants, but most parents would be better off not primarily using them for toilet training. The push to "wait until the child is ready" has really gotten misconstrued as well. It's not about waiting until the child wants to toilet train, but waiting until they have the physical ability to do so. If a three-year-old doesn't want to go to the potty and would rather pee in their comfortable disposable diaper, they still need to be toilet trained, so long as there isn't any medical reason preventing it. There are plenty of skills that kids simply have to learn to function in society, and it's up to parents to give children those skills whether or not the child wants to learn it at the moment. But it's safe to say that "Big Diaper," if we want to go with that moniker, shares some blame for pushing that wait for the child approach as well. --- Beyond the diaper companies, you have some other factors. You have more dual-income households, with parents needing to work multiple jobs to get by. With both parents working, it can be more difficult to deal with toilet training. While a fully potty-trained child is more convenient to care for than one that isn't, the process of toilet training is far from convenient.

Yep, adding the jacket wasn't important to give some context for how long. We'll get an actual date in a chapter or two. And of course, some more details on why CPS got involved in the way that they did. That would be an excellent twist, but I'm not being anywhere that evil to Sarah, and that would be pretty bad if things went that long without her friends managing to help. I think it would be hard for them not to notice that something was up, especially with Sarah not returning to school. Yep, but she is going to have the right people helping her with it, this time around. I doubt CPS would be inclined to let the mother have any further interaction with Sarah at this point. They've got plenty of evidence that things aren't right. But yes, we will also find out what happens with Emilia in this scenario. In the beginning of the story, the Mom is passing off most of the parenting duties to Sarah, with Sarah having to do all the potty training and diaper changes. I think that the Mom does want both her daughters out of diapers. She was quite happy to have Emilia fully toilet trained. Sarah is very much being punished for what the Mom views as extreme acts of disobedience. We'll have to see what the answers to both those issues are. Sarah at least is going to get professional help now that she's been rescued by CPS.

Chapter 63: Rescued I closed my eyes as tightly as possible and curled up on my side with my head buried in my arms. Multiple voices were talking now, two, maybe three people. I caught only bits and pieces of a hushed conversation that was now happening in my bedroom. They were all talking about me, glimpses of shock in their whispers. I opened my eyes, but only slightly. Two women and a man wearing blue jackets huddled together in the middle of the bedroom. I closed my eyes again when the one woman facing me made eye contact. That was followed by footsteps that stopped right next to the crib. I opened my eyes again. A woman was standing next to the crib, peering down at me. “Everything is going to be all right. We’re going to get you out of there.” I shifted to the far corner of the crib, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her now that I could see more clearly with the flashlight not shining in my face. “Hey, my name is Amanda. What’s your name?” The word stuck in my throat for a few seconds until, at last, I could whisper it out. “Sarah.” “We’re going to get you out of here, Sarah.” Amanda stood over the crib, attempting to figure out how the sliding door worked until she flipped the right latch and pulled it open. “Why don’t you sit here on the edge for a second?” I complied with the request, even though it meant sitting on my now messy diaper. Amanda placed her hand over her nose as she leaned in toward me, feeling both of my arms and my legs with her hands. She turned to speak to the two other people in the room. “Minimal bruising. No broken bones. Doesn’t seem malnourished. Just…” She let her words trail off as she looked down at my diaper and then back at the bottles and pacifier in the crib, as if at a loss for how to describe what she was seeing. “Is that what I think it is?” the woman behind Amanda asked. “Is it what, Jody? The man asked. Jodie was pointing to something on the dresser. The baby monitor. The man walked over to the baby camera that was on top of the dresser, pointed down directly at the crib. He picked it up and shifted it in his hands for a few seconds before pressing a button that turned it off. “We need to figure out who was watching this right away,” the man said. “They’re going to know that something is off, even if they hadn’t already seen us.” “Would it be her parents?” Jodie asked. “No, it’s just the mother,” Amanda said. “Then we need to figure out where she works and contact the sheriff’s office. Can’t risk her getting on the run. Not after this.” I was still sitting on the edge of the crib, watching their discussion, their attention momentarily diverted from me. My pacifier must have been kicked out behind the crib when I had sat up, so I placed my thumb into my mouth instead. “Are we going to need an ambulance?” “I don’t think so; she seems more or less fine physically; we can get her to the hospital in one of our vehicles.” “But we can’t do it like this. Let’s help get her cleaned up first.” The man turned back to look at me briefly. “How are we going to manage that?” “Probably best to get her cleaned up in the shower. We passed one on the way to the bedroom. I’ll go and get it started.” “Yes, you two can help the girl with getting cleaned up. I’m going to get in touch with the sheriff’s office and the hospital. They need to find her mother ASAP.” Amanda walked back over to me and then crouched so that her eyes were level with my own. “We’re going to take you to the hospital, but you need to get cleaned up first. Can I help you up?” I nodded, and Amanda slid her hands under my armpits and helped me to my feet. Amanda held my hand as I toddled alongside her to the bathroom. Jodie was in the middle of adjusting the shower temperature. I hadn’t stepped into a shower since that day when I had failed potty training when Mom had rinsed me clean from my accident with frigid cold water. Since then, Mom had given me baths, sometimes with Emilia’s help, but it was hard to ascertain how frequently I had been cleaned up like that. “Should be all set now,” Jodie said. I held my hand out tentatively, stretched out nearly enough to touch the water, but not quite there yet. “It’s OK, you can go ahead and touch it. It’s all nice and warm.” Amanda pulled up her sleeve and held her hand in the water, keeping it under the shower stream. I put my hand in next to hers. The water was just right. Warm, but only gently so, not anywhere near so hot as to scald me. “Here’s what we are going to do,” Amanda said. “We’re going to get this off of you, wipe you up some, and then we’ll finish cleaning you up in the shower.” She looked down at me as if she was expecting a response. “Can we do that?” I didn’t understand why she needed my permission to change my messy diaper or why she seemed so hesitant to call it what it was, but I nodded up and down, anyway. Her fingers fumbled around on the diaper tapes for a few seconds, unsure exactly what to do. Then she ripped them off one by one, keeping a grip on the diaper so it didn’t immediately drop down to the floor once all the tapes were off. Then the diaper was off, and with it, any remaining barrier preventing the smell of what I had done in it from escaping. The odor wasn’t pleasant in any way, but I was much more used to it than the two women who were helping me get cleaned up, both of whom appeared to be stifling the need to gag. One woman held the diaper beneath me while the other ran cold, wet wipes along my bottom, depositing them into the diaper. After a dozen wipes, she rolled up the diaper and tossed it in the trash. “There has to be an air freshener somewhere,” Jodie said as she turned on the bathroom fan and opened several cupboards. She found the can she was looking for and made a few broad, sweeping sprays across the bathroom. “Just one more thing to do now: we need to get you in the shower.” Amanda placed a supporting arm around me as I stepped into the shower. The warm, pounding water caressed my skin as I stood with my back to the shower. Each woman grabbed a washcloth and began to wipe me down, both around my waist and then my arms and legs, everything except my hair, which they had done up in a bun to avoid it getting wet. Had they said they would take me to the hospital after this? But why? I wasn’t sick. Even Amanda had admitted that I appeared healthy? Everything in my mind still felt a bit fuzzy. I was struggling to make sense of what was going on. I shivered as the water was turned off abruptly, and then a large towel was draped around me as Amanda helped me out of the bathtub. “Sarah, can you tell us where your mom might be?” “Work.” “And where does your mother work?” I shrugged beneath the towel. “I dunno.” “And your little sister? What about Emilia?” “School.” The brief interrogation ended as they finished drying me off and led me back to the bedroom. I laid on the bed out of habit, even though they hadn’t placed a changing pad onto the sheets. There was a raised voice coming from somewhere else in the house. But just one person. It sounded like the man was yelling at someone over the phone. The women looked at each other. “I’m sure there have to be clothes for her somewhere,” Jodie said. They went over to my dresser and pulled open nearly every drawer before selecting an outfit for me to wear. I held my arms up as the women slid a t-shirt and hoodie over me. But seeing the next item of clothing they wanted to put on me caused me to cross my legs and shake my head from side to side. Amanda was holding a pair of underwear that she must have found in the dresser. “You can do it,” she said, holding the underwear out in front of me. “No one is going to make you wear diapers anymore. You can put it on yourself if you want to.” What was she talking about? Being made to wear diapers? That wasn’t true. I wanted to wear them. I wanted to wear them because I wasn’t capable of being potty trained. “But I wanna wear diapies.” Jodie sighed softly and sat down on the bed next to me. She placed an arm around my shoulder. She waved her other hand around the room. At the crib. At the stacks of diapers in the closet. At the diaper changing supplies sitting atop the dresser. “None of this is right. You’re a teenager. And it wasn’t right for your mom to treat you like this for so long. It’s OK for you to want to wear underwear again.” I looked back and forth between the two women. They didn’t get it. Maybe Mom could explain it properly to them in a way I couldn’t, not with baby words. I tried to think of some big girl words that might do the trick, but they all seemed to elude me. But if there was one thing that Mom had fully ingrained in me, it was being obedient to authority figures, so I let the women dress me how they wanted to. After I uncrossed my legs, the women continued dressing me, getting the underwear on and then pulling on a pair of leggings and socks. I still felt naked as I got off of the bed. Walking felt unnatural with the absence of a diaper and the way the padding between my legs would impact my gait. I waddled a little as if there was an imaginary diaper still between my legs. At least the yelling off on the other side of the house had stopped. “Jodie, can you go find a jacket for Sarah? It’s getting pretty cold out right now?” Jodie hurried off ahead while Amanda walked slowly beside me, holding my hand. I didn’t really want to go to the hospital. But I didn’t want to not comply with these nice ladies, either. “Where’s mommy?” “We don’t know where mommy is right now. But I think it’s best to have a break from seeing her.” I paused a few feet from the bedroom door. My voice quivered slightly. “But…” Amanda took hold of my hand. “We’ll get a nice warm jacket on you before we get out to the car. And then, we can stop and get something to eat on the way to the hospital. Does that sound good?” I was hungry. It had to be close to when Mom would come home with Emilia. I let Amanda lead me out of the bedroom. I took three steps into the hallway, and then everything was warm and wet in my pants. Only I didn’t have a diaper on, so the wetness spread out, running down the legs of my jeans and dripping into an ever-growing puddle between my feet on the floor. There is a reason that only big girls are allowed to wear underwear.

You're welcome. All of the story versions should be consistent as of last weekend when I finished with editing. The only difference is for Wattpad, for example, I will split up a chapter into 2-3 parts sometimes when they are longer. As for the uncle. I think it is clear from the other instances where we see him interact with Lisa that he is respectful of her issues. For that classroom scene in chapter 3, I'd chalk it up to more of an attempt to treat her like any other student, knowing that an accident would be covered because she had protection on. Not the right way of handling it, but he wasn't intended to be anywhere similar to what Sarah's mom was. I went and did a word search for summer, I think all the references are to the previous summer break that would have happened before the start of the story.

Someone/something definitely had to have tipped them off. They aren't going to come in like that of their own accord. We will have to see if the authorities decide that is for the best. Might be hard for Sarah to have that reminder of what she's been through. Yeah, so the story takes place over one school semester, starting in September and going through the end of Christmas break. I played a little fast and loose with the amount of time that passed between key holidays like Halloween/Thanksgiving/Christmas, there were definitely some extra days thrown in there to line up certain events with certain holidays. And then of course there is the to be revealed amount of time that Sarah is being homeschooled/babied by her mother.

Thanks for all the comments. Lots of intriguing theories for how CPS got involved. We'll have an answer by the end of the story. That's an interesting theory for how Lisa could have discovered things. We'll get a sense for the time span soon enough. I left it pretty open-ended intentionally, trying to give a sense of how Sarah has gotten lost in the role of being a baby rather than having her counting out the days like someone who is trapped in a prison cell. Lots of good questions, and the answers will be coming soon. You're welcome. And that's another good theory. Kids that age aren't exactly known for their ability to keep secrets. I think that's a given. Going to stay mum for now about what happens to both of the sisters, but there isn't any scenario where the mom gets them back. Yes, it was a long time coming, but that doesn't mean that Sarah is necessarily going to have an easy time the next few chapters. We will get a doctor's visit, and some information about what is causing Sarah's bedwetting/incontinence and what can or can't be done about it. Thanks! What happens between Sarah/Emilia was a difficult decision to arrive at. How to say how much exactly she'll even be able to consciously remember from that age, even if she is still impacted subconsciously by what she went through. I think that the initial scene where the mom humiliates/spanks Sarah for the bad grade is a good intro into how messed up the relationship is between Sarah and her mother. It's clearly wrong and unfair, even compared to real-life examples of a teenager being disciplined for poor grades. It's really meant to show that Sarah accepts this type of abusive behavior as normal and goes along with it unquestioningly. It sets the stage for how Sarah complies with punishments that are progressively worse, until she is being babied full-time during Christmas break. I wouldn't say that Sarah views the babying as proof that her mom loves her, though she does believe that her mom loves her. Sarah isn't wanting to be a baby because of any of the affection she is getting from her mother. She wants to be a baby because she believes she is a baby, because she has been unable to successfully get past any of the mother's tests/rules that would prove she is a big girl. Her initial reaction to the babying was very much in the "I deserve this punishment" mindset, which, with that last failure of potty training changed to "I want to wear diapers because I'm incapable of controlling my bladder."

It's been a long time coming for this chapter. I mean that quite literally. I've gone through and re-edited the whole story over the past couple of weeks and added up the word count in the process. It's 194,000 words through 62 chapters. And, with "Diapers Never Lie," there are another 32,000 words. Between the two combined, this will likely be at 250,000 words when I'm finished. I really do appreciate everyone who's gotten this far through the story. According to Wattpad (which does tend to overestimate in my opinion), the reading time is about 14 hours long right now. We'll see how things break down in terms of the number of chapters and word count when I'm finished, but it will be about four to six chapters left to get things wrapped up. Endings are hard, because there is a balance between not saying enough and stretching them out for too long. I think I've got a good mix of that. There is some good news, though. I've been working concurrently on a sequel set about six years in the future, which should be finished as this story wraps up. We've got a lot more to cover in Sarah's journey. I wouldn't interpret the lack of information about how the mother setup the homeschool to imply that she didn't follow whatever processes, whatever they might be in this circumstance, but yes, there is a lot to be explained in the next few chapters. I know. I think as a writer it is a lot easier for me to put Sarah through some of the things she went through, because I was aware of where things were going to end. It was getting hard not to say anything anytime someone brought up the need for CPS to be involved. I know. Toward the end, I was worrying that I was dragging it out a little too much, but there were specific scenes I wanted to write, and I wanted Sarah to get to the point she was at before being rescued. There are a lot of stories about people being forced back into diapers/babyhood, and I feel like there are a lot of times, especially when it's parents/kids like this story, where the protagonist accepts it too easily without it being portrayed as the traumatizing experience that it would be. I wanted to delve into how it was impacting her mindset, but also with how it affects her having been suddenly brought out of it. Welcome! That's pretty cool that this is what got you to make an account. In the final chapters, we'll definitely get into how she comes to better understand her incontinence, as well as how this experience has shaped things with her friends. Like I mentioned above, I'm also in the process of writing a sequel that will fast forward about six years. It's focused on the lingering effects of what Sarah had endured, and how it impacts her life and relationships. I have some thoughts on the causes of her incontinence. I promise we'll a good in-story explanation, same with the amount of time that has passed. It really is. I remember that episode. Was actually homeschooled for a couple of years myself. It was done well, in my case, but even done well is rarely as good as in a public school, and I'm aware (from interaction with other homeschoolers) that there are plenty of cases where the educational quality is very subpar. And, of course, it makes it way too easy to hide abuse. I can see there being a case to be made for homeschooling being acceptable under certain rare circumstances (health issues, bullying, learning disabilities that require specific care, or other unique circumstances, like being a child actor or athlete) but not because you are anti-science and want to indoctrinate your kids into believing the world is flat. I know a thing or two about homeschooling. Let's just say I know the name of that acronym without needing to look it up.

Chapter 62: Three Letters I was awake before Mom had come to get me out of the crib and change me. If not for the fact that yesterday had been New Year’s Day, I wouldn’t have a good sense of what day it was. Christmas break had been a blur, but I as laid in the crib, I was reasonably certain that today was the first day back in school. Mom had not addressed the topic of school, not since two days ago, when I had proven once and for all that I wasn’t capable of being a big girl. The preschool Emilia was graduating into this January when she turned four didn’t take kids that weren’t potty trained. Why should the standards for a high school be any different? And did I even want to go to school? The thought of having to face Samantha and Desi again, and Lisa, after what I’d said and done to alienate them, terrified me. The only justification for my behavior that I could give was the one thing I could never allow them to find out about me. After being put back in diapers following my failed foray into wearing underwear, I had paid no attention whatsoever to my bladder or bowel functions. If I needed to go, I went. And I often went without realizing that I needed to go. There was no longer any question that the diapers were sorely needed. The pacifier Mom had placed in my mouth after tucking me in had fallen out to the side of the crib. I picked it up and put it back into my mouth, focusing on the soothing sensation of my lips and tongue on the rubber nipple. My diaper was soaked, but at least Mom had put pajama pants over it the other night, which both kept my legs warmer and prevented the diaper from getting too saggy. The sun inched higher in the sky, a few rays peeking into the bedroom from the gaps in the blinds. Across the room, Emilia was still sound asleep in what had used to be my bed. It was still far too big for her. She was practically swallowed up by all the blankets and sheets. Creaky footsteps in the hallway. I closed my eyes, pretending that I was still asleep. The door inched open. Mom always got Emilia up first, making sure to remind her to use the potty before sending her along to the kitchen where a bowl of her favorite cereal had already been poured for her along with a glass of milk. Before two days ago, it would have greatly irritated me if Emilia had been around during the morning diaper change, and I would have been grateful to see her leave the room before Mom moved on to getting me up for the day. Now, I wouldn’t have cared if she had stuck around. Our roles were fully reversed. She was the big girl; I was the baby. Mom sometimes changed my diaper before breakfast, but other times she would wait until I had finished eating. I was already picturing how nice a fresh diaper would feel against my body when I felt her hands on my shoulder, gently stirring me awake. “It’s time for a baby to have her breakfast.” That’s fine. I could wait until after breakfast for the diaper change. Mom opened the sliding door to the crib and helped me out. I got down on my hands and knees without needing to be asked. Babies crawl to where they need to go. That was the other reason I was glad to have pajama pants on, as that helped cushion my knees as I trailed behind Mom to the kitchen. Once in the kitchen, I stood up, but only briefly, as I got myself into the old wooden highchair. Emilia was too busy trying to trace a maze on the back of the cereal box to give me any attention. Some dirty plates next to the sink told me that Mom had already gotten her breakfast before getting us out of bed. I opened my mouth complacently as she spooned in cereal. She hadn’t bothered to put on a bib, as I would be changing out of my pajama shirt, anyway. There were dribbles of milk all over the front of it. It was only baby talk for me so far. Lots of trains and airplanes and bumblebees all making their way into my mouth as Mom lifted the spoon to my face. Nothing yet about what was going to happen for school after breakfast. I belatedly realized that I hadn’t done any of the assigned readings for the break. That meant I’d have to suffer through some pop quizzes and hope that I could make the right multiple-choice guesses. I opened my mouth wide for the last bite of cereal as Mom made train noises while sliding the spoon into my mouth. My diaper was likely at its breaking point now, judging from how much warmer it felt compared to when I had first sat down in the highchair. There was another journey along the hallway floor as I went back to the bedroom. Mom had everything prepared for the diaper change on Emilia’s bed by the time I arrived. That answered one question. I would be wearing a diaper today. But it left many more, and I would need to wait until Mom provided an explanation. Something was off about the diaper as I stood up, ready to lie down on top of it. In the middle of the diaper, on top of its padding, was another long strip that looked to be made of the same absorbent material inside the diaper. A booster pad? That was all I could think it would be. These diapers were already incredibly absorbent. With a booster pad, I could probably stay in one diaper the entire school day without changing. That answered another one of the questions swirling in my mind. At least I wasn’t going to have to worry about rushing to get the hall passes. But I shuddered involuntarily at the thought of what my diapered bottom might look like by the time I was in my final class of the day. At least it was extremely rare for me to poop during school. I’d somehow mentally trained my body to not need to do that when I was away from home. As I settled in on the diaper, it took a second to adjust to how it was going to feel to have the extra padding between my legs. I wasn’t going to be running around a lot, either. Mom applied the baby cream, and then a thorough sprinkling of baby powder as well. She had only used both before at night, another sign that I should expect to be in this diaper for a long time. I felt Mom’s fingers press firmly against my waist as she ensured the plastic tapes were snug. What was she going to put on me? Had to be a dress. Anything else either wouldn’t fit over the diaper or would obviously expose it to my classmates. My pajama shirt with the milk splatters on it came off, tossed successfully into the hamper. But it was replaced, not with a dress, but with a short-sleeved t-shirt, and Mom helped me off the bed without putting anything else on me. She had held me out of school before, but only for a day at a time, when I had been wearing diapers for a day as a punishment for having too many accidents in my pull-ups. Is that what was happening now? I looked up at Mom quizzically. But to ask the question I wanted to ask, I’d need to use big girl words, and, as far as I knew, those were still off limits. The crib door was still open. The blankets had been straightened out and pulled to the side, ready for me to lie down. “It’s time for a baby to lie down for a nap.” Mom held my hand and led me to the entrance to the crib. I wouldn’t have to go to school. I wouldn’t have to do any homework. I wouldn’t have to face Samantha, Desi, and Lisa. I crawled into the crib without some difficulty, as it was hard to do so with the thicker diaper. But then I was on my back. Mom pulled the blanket over me. But I was missing something. It took me a second to realize what it was. My mouth felt empty. “Mommy. Paci.” My high-pitched whine echoed in the bedroom. A moment later, a pacifier was in my mouth. “Mommy is going off to work now.” She was standing next to the crib, having shut the door. “I’ll be back during lunch break. I’ve told the school you are being homeschooled for this semester. That will end when you decide you want to be a big girl again.” The pacifier spared me from making any response, even if there was little that could be expressed with baby talk. I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to be a big girl again. I needed my diapers. I couldn’t imagine being able to live without them. “This,” Mom said, as she set something on the dresser, “is so you don’t get into any trouble until I am back home.” I looked closely at what Mom had placed on the dresser. It was a nanny cam. The one she had used to monitor Emilia when she was a baby. It connected via the internet to Mom’s phone, so she could watch it from anywhere. I felt a twinge of annoyance. Not because Mom was monitoring me, but that she somehow still didn’t trust me. Didn’t she understand that I knew now that I was a baby? That I knew that I wanted to wear diapers? Mom left the bedroom without saying anything else. I wondered if that was going to be it before she came back for lunch. Instead, she returned with two baby bottles, both filled with apple juice. She set them inside the crib. That would be more than enough to make sure I didn’t go thirsty until lunch time. And, with the extra padding in the diaper, there would be no issues with any leaks until I was changed again. But I wasn’t thirsty quite yet. Not with all the milk I’d had with my cereal for breakfast. I kept the pacifier in my mouth and closed my eyes, not even opening them as Emilia darted into the bedroom and Mom got her dressed for preschool. I shouldn’t have been tired, but something about laying back down in the crib with the pacifier in my mouth was making me sleepy. My diaper was wet by the time I drifted off to sleep. --- Wake up. Breakfast. Diaper Change. Nap. Diaper change. Lunch. Play time. Diaper change. Nap. Diaper change. Dinner. Playtime. Diaper change. Bath. Bedtime. Repeat. Repeat. And repeat some more. What day was it, anyway? The weekends helped. Sort of. Though the routine for them often ended up following a similar pattern, anyway. How many weekends had even passed since Mom had pulled me out of school with the excuse of homeschooling me? Was it even January still? I didn’t know. Mom still asked me occasionally about whether I was a big girl or a baby. The answer was always the same. I was a baby. The evidence of that grew day by day. But none of those questions really mattered. Those were things a big girl worried about. I was a baby who still wet and messed her diaper, and I needn’t concern myself with any of those things. I hadn’t realized how much stress I had been under the past several months until I had finally experienced what it was like to not being dealing with any of it. All the anxiety from what I had to do to manage my bladder. Being depressed about my failures to re-potty train myself. My jealousy both at Lisa’s successes and Samantha’s ease at accepting her own strange need for diapers. Everything that had combined to make that first semester of school a complete hell for me. There was no stress for me now. Not as I lay in my crib in a wet diaper with a pacifier in my mouth. Babies don’t feel stress. Babies don’t make decisions. Babies don’t have any rules to follow or punishments for being disobedient. Babies don’t need to do anything for themselves. Babies simply exist. Did I even miss anything from my former life? Did I miss school? I couldn’t say that I was feeling any strong urges to do math homework or sit through boring classes. And I was sure my former friends were getting along just fine without me. I’d done enough to alienate them. I doubted any new messages were arriving on my phone, which probably hadn’t been powered up in who knew how long. No, this situation was better, especially for a girl who wasn’t potty trained. How would I even go about wearing a diaper at school in the first place? Or explaining how I had made a stinky mess in it during the middle of math class. I couldn’t clean that up by myself. I don’t think the nurse was paid enough to do that for me. There was a rumbling sound in my stomach, a tightening sensation in my abdomen. Then it was gone, followed a few seconds later by a hint of a pungent odor emanating from the diaper. I was no longer bothered by messing myself. That’s just what babies did. My body told me that I needed to poop and so I did, right then and there. That wasn’t to say that the sensation of a messy diaper wasn’t uncomfortable. But once I had come to accept that everything was now outside of my control, a messy diaper wasn’t anything to worry about. There was a routine to follow. I would be changed when I got changed. I think it was now in the middle of the afternoon. Probably. There was one empty bottle in my crib and another one that I had barely begun to drink. I held the tip of the bottle to my mouth and suckled softly on it. I wasn’t all that thirsty. I was drinking more out of habit for something to do before I closed my eyes to continue the nap. I wasn’t even paying any attention to my bladder as the diaper gradually expanded, this time from a warm stream of urine. The booster pads Mom placed in the diaper while I she was off at work had proven to be extremely useful, especially with how much she often left for me to drink. I was halfway through the second bottle when I heard the front door slam open. I wasn’t able to see the clock from the crib, but even though the curtains and blinds were down, there seemed to be more light coming in than there should be by the time I was expecting Mom to be home with Emilia. There was a voice, or maybe voices, coming from elsewhere in the house. Maybe Mom was home early. Or perhaps it was the weekend after all. I didn’t let the noise distract me any further. I put the bottle back into my mouth. I would be the perfect image of a baby when Mom stepped in to check on me. The bedroom door swung open. A woman stepped through, scanning the room with a flashlight in her hand. I was able to make out three letters on her jacket before I averted my eyes from the light. CPS.

The story won't end before there's a chance to delve further into how all of this has impacted Sarah. Hard to feel the need to tell someone else when you're convinced that you are fully deserving of what is happening to you. Before Christmas break, Lisa was pressing Sarah pretty hard about if there was anything going on. And of course there was Sarah's blowup at Lisa at the mall later on. This last chapter took place on New Year's Eve. We'll find out about what happens regarding school in the next chapter. That should be out around Monday/Tuesday. Thanks! I'm glad you're enjoying it. There are some more developments in store for Sarah still. Appreciate the thorough predictions. My lips are sealed for now.

I think the story has been a bit dark for a while now. I'm counting five to six more chapters, albeit all fairly long ones. I'm a habitual offender for underestimating the amount of chapters remaining in my outline, so we'll see. I see it as more as the mom being completely incapable of understanding why Sarah isn't succeeding, and lashing out at her. I'm sticking with narcissism for my diagnosis, but I'm not a psychologist, so I'm sure her behavior might fall under some other categories. We'll have to see how those theories hold up in coming chapters.

There was something I noticed on the second read-through. There's nothing noted yet about whether Rei is wearing a pull-up at all. I get the sense, especially from the section where she describes how her classmates are in diapers or pull-ups, that perhaps Rei isn't in pull-ups yet since nothing is mentioned about there. But I'm curious about that.

I didn't like The Handmaid's Tale when I first read it back in high school. The main issue I had with it at the time was that the way society had so quickly shifted against women in the U.S. in that story was unbelievable. My view on that definitely has evolved over the years. Especially with learning about what happened to women's rights in Iran and with events in the U.S. since 2016. The Handmaid's Tale is still an extreme dystopia, but not so far outside the realm of possibility that I once viewed it as. As for a diapered version of it, I'm looking forward to more worldbuilding.

Chapter 61: The Kool-Aid I missed my potty-training watch. That this thought had passed unbidden through my head was borderline heretical. Back when Mom had been making me wear that stupid watch, pink with the picture of a kid’s toilet seat for the watch face, I had been both humiliated by the sight of it every time I glanced at my wrist and greatly annoyed at the sing-song tune it would play to remind me to go to the toilet every thirty minutes. I kept glancing at my bare arm, as if between looks, it might magically appear on my wrist. As much of a nuisance as the watch had been, I had benefited from both the predictability and frequency of the toilet breaks it had directed me to take. It was basically impossible to wet my pants when I was sitting on the toilet two times an hour. To be fair, as I had later learned from Lisa, going to the toilet that frequently, while useful for avoiding accidents in the short term, could cause issues with being able to hold one’s bladder for longer periods of time. But I wasn’t concerned with long-term consequences at the moment. I just needed to get through this later toilet training challenge. I could work out how to deal with whatever came next when it was time to deal with it. I was sitting on the couch. I had tried to sit on the floor in front of the coffee table, but my bottom, absent the thick padding of the diaper, wasn’t comfortable in the least, even though the room was carpeted. The couch was a slight improvement from sitting on the floor. Yes, my bottom was appropriately cushioned by the leather couch beneath me. But with only a skirt on over my regular cotton underwear, there was not much to protect me from the too cold feel of the leather. I couldn’t take my eyes off of my sister. With the new potty-training rules that Mom had in place, she was the key to everything. How often did my three-year-old-soon-to-be-four-year-old sister need to use the toilet? One would think that after being stuck at home with her for two weeks during Christmas break that I would have managed to make at least some observations about her toileting habits that I could recall, but I was clueless. I knew that there would still be times where she would get up from whatever she was doing and rush off to the toilet. And on other occasions, mom would need to give her reminders so that she would make it to the bathroom in time. That wasn’t a good sign for me. If Emilia was constantly waiting until the last moment to use the toilet, that only meant that I would be needing to wait longer to go as well. But if I had to guess, I didn’t think that there would be many times when Emilia would go longer than an hour without using the toilet. If that proved to be the case, I felt reasonably confidence in my chances of success. Emilia was watching classic cartoons this morning. They really didn’t make them like they used to. Tom was running around trying to catch Jerry. It was hard to pull my eyes away from that entertaining chaos, but I had to. I couldn’t allow my mind to wander today. I couldn’t allow myself to get caught up in any distractions that might cause me to ignore a signal from my bladder. Even if Mom had allowed me to no longer be grounded from using my phone and my computer, I would have still ignored those devices today. I felt that the greatest danger to failing to complete this potty training challenge was not from being unable to hold my bladder in while I was aware that I needed to go. No, the biggest problem for me was what happened more rarely: the completely unexpected accident. The times where I would wet my pants completely out of the blue without any forewarning from my bladder. Looking back, I found that the common denominator for those situations was that it was most likely to occur when I was either intensely preoccupied by another task or in a situation where I was under a lot of stress. I would allow no distractions today, so I focused my eyes on Emilia, watching for any hint that she was perhaps ready to get up and go to the toilet, while at the same time listening for any of the subtle clues that might be coming from my own body. How long had it been anyway since she had last used the toilet? It hadn’t been an hour yet, but it must be getting close. I glanced at the clock on the wall. It told me that about forty minutes had passed since Emilia had last gone potty. A flicker of motion in the corner of my eye brought my gaze back to Emilia. Had I imagined it, or had she begun to squirm ever so slightly? But there was also a tension beginning to form in my own bladder. Which wasn’t good, but at the same time, I was faint enough that perhaps if I hadn’t been paying super close attention, I would have missed it. How much longer did I have? Back when I had been tracking my toileting training stats with Lisa, one of the things I had considered most important was seeing how much longer I could hold my bladder after I first noticed that I needed to pee. The numbers weren’t all that encouraging. The results varied. Sometimes, I could only make it another five minutes. At the upper end, thirty minutes was the result I had achieved on two occasions. But the average was more like fifteen minutes. Mom had provided an addendum to my instructions once I had finished with starting my laundry. I was not permitted to tell Emilia or otherwise encourage her to use the toilet. In Mom’s view, that was tantamount to cheating. And anyway, with Mom reading a book in her chair, I wasn’t going to have any opportunity to prompt Emilia to take a potty break. As a precautionary measure, I crossed my legs and held my knees tightly together. I didn’t even dare look over at my sister. I couldn’t be concerned about the state of her bladder when my attention now needed to be solely focused on mine. The Tom and Jerry theme music blared in the background as one episode finished, and another began. I allowed myself only the occasional glimpse upward as the tension in my bladder gradually increased. It was one of those episodes where Jerry had a baby mouse to care for. Of all the things that had to be on TV right now. It was one of those old timey cartoons. The design on the baby mouse was a cloth diaper fastened with a diaper pin. I tore my eyes away from the cat and mouse hijinks, rudely reminded of the modern diapers that would be in store for me if I couldn’t last until it was time to use the toilet. Another few minutes passed by. I had successfully avoided any further glances at the TV, but the clock on the wall was a different matter. I think on occasion I had glanced up at it three times before the second hand had completed its three-hundred-and-sixty degree loop. This was stupid. Emilia was right there. She might have squirmed a couple of times or perhaps I was just mis-attributed any of her movements to the potential need to pee. But either way, she had shown no difficulty making it this far without peeing herself, I should at least be able to match her. It wasn’t as if I’d had significantly more than her to drink this morning. In fact, now that she was in the habit of drinking the milk out of her cereal bowl, I’d be willing to be quite a lot that my little sister was, in fact, more hydrated than I was. The second hand finished another loop around the clock. The situation was growing more desperate. I peaked under my skirt. Completely unnecessary, but it was a leftover habit from the urge to check my pull-ups. Of course, my underwear was still dry. There wouldn’t be any way I could escape noticing if I were to wet myself now. Emilia was beginning to squirm enough that I was certain that I was not imagining things. A sudden thought crossed my head. What if Emilia peed herself? Mom seemed confident that this wasn’t going to happen. As far as I knew, she had tossed all of my younger sisters’ pull-ups and diapers out. At the same time, Mom wasn’t so confident that she wouldn’t give Emilia reminders when it appeared like the three-year-old girl was on the verge of having an accident. It frustrated me that my sister was afforded a level of grace in regard to her own toileting that Mom had failed to provide for me. In my case, the rules were black and white, etched in stone, and the consequences for failure were dire. I slipped one hand and then another between my legs. I didn’t dare glance over at Mom. I couldn’t bear the idea that she might, even now, be watching my struggle. But there was the major question she was going to have to answer. The longer Emilia held off on going to the toilet, the more likely it was that I would have an accident. But failing to remind Emilia might result in my sister peeing herself. Emilia seemed absolutely enamored by the cartoon she was watching. It wasn’t out of the question that she might be so distracted as to have an accident. My body was now in a constant state of motion, shifting back and forth, ever so slightly, praying desperately that Emilia would get up an rush to the bathroom. Surely, she had to be ready to go at any moment now. The clock said that I’d been waiting for twenty minutes since I’d first felt the urge to pee, meaning a whole hour had passed since my last trip to the toilet. “Emilia, time to for a potty break.” Emilia looked back at Mom. It almost seemed like she would begin to protest. But even at three, my sister knew better. She might be able to get away with a few more things than me, but there wasn’t any circumstance where she would get away with talking back to Mom like that. Emilia immediately trotted off to go to the restroom. I stood up, careful to maintain my tenuous control over my bladder. “Not yet,” mom said. “But you said I can go once she is done.” “I did, and once she comes back, you can head over to the bathroom.” So not fair. That added maybe another minute to how long I was going to need to wait to go to the toilet. That might not have been much, but it could be the difference between success and failure. I was now doing a full on potty dance. I turned around, so I didn’t have to face mom. Please Emilia, please hurry up. I was counting the seconds in my head for how long she had been gone. Thirty seconds. Forty seconds. Sixty seconds. Ninety seconds. Oh god, I hope she didn’t have to wait and do number two as well. That would be the end of me. A pitter patter of bare feet running down the hallway when my count has just passed one hundred was the sign that relief was in sight. I raced down the hallway to the toilet, not bothering to wait for an OK from mom. I made it with no additional time to spare. Thank goodness I had been smart enough to put on my shortest skirt. The joy of success was diminished by the realization this potty training challenge was going to be far more difficult than I had anticipated. --- Holding my bladder and going potty successfully on the toilet for the first time in two weeks should have made me happier. Instead, I was back to sulking on the couch. Mom had turned off the TV. Finally, in my opinion, as Emilia was allowed to watch it far more than I had been allowed to do so at her age. My little sister was playing with the new doll house Mom had gotten her for Christmas, which only served to remind me of the pathetic gifts I had received. At least she hadn’t asked me to play with her. As far as I knew, the rules requiring me to obey my little sister were still in place. I had grown sick of that stupid doll house the past few days. I was fifteen years old. Emilia was three. I knew for a fact that there was no physical way that our bladders could be the same size. Mine had to be capable of holding so much more than hers. So why was I struggling so much more than her to wait for the toilet? Mom’s taunt kept coming back to me. “Prove that you don’t want to be a baby.” Was there something wrong with me on the subconscious level? Was I somehow unknowingly sabotaging myself in the back of my mind? Was it something along the lines of what Samantha had meant when she explained in that heartfelt outburst during the sleepover about how she had this uncontrollable desire to wear diapers and be a baby? I would be a nightmare of a client for a psychologist, not that I would ever dare express those thoughts out loud to anyone under any circumstances. I was almost bored enough that I considered sitting down next to Emilia to play with the dollhouse. Almost. I checked the clock. Lunch wouldn’t even be for another hour. And that still left the rest of the day. I probably had close to another dozen trips to the toilet ahead of me before it was time to get a diaper on for bed. A dozen chances to fail, and I couldn’t afford to slip up even once. The sound of the washing machine finishing its load in the basement at last gave me something to kill the time. I leaped off of the couch the second I heard the noise. Best to try to stay on Mom’s good side today. She greatly preferred that I do my chores without needing to be prompted. I trudged all the way down the stairs to the basement. It had been what, ten minutes now since the last time I had used the toilet? I leaned over the washing machine, pulling the damp clothes out one-by-one and tossing them into the dryer. I didn’t hurry through the task like I normally would have. After sitting on the couch for most of the morning, this typically boring chore was a welcome reprieve. I turned on the dryer after tossing in a sheet. At least I’d have something to look forward to doing in about an hour. Mom wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room when I made it upstairs. I wasn’t sure what she was up to, but it was nice to not feel like I had her eyes watching me all of the time. As I sat back down on the couch, careful to make sure I was remaining attuned to my bladder, Emilia a “Play with me!” Not even polite enough to phrase it as a question. “I’m the mommy.” Emilia picked up two tiny plastic dolls, handing me the smaller of the two, a miniature baby complete with a diaper on her bottom. “And you’re a baby, so you have the baby.” “That’s silly. I’m not a baby.” “Yes, you are.” I rolled my eyes, and pulled back my skirt a few inches, enough to make clear to Emilia that I was no longer wearing a diaper. My younger sister was less than impressed by my recent change of undergarments. “Nuh, uh, you’re a baby. Big girls don’t wear diapers at night.” I sighed. I knew where she got that phrase from. Arguing with her was pointless, especially when Mom had made it clear that I need to do what my sister said. That didn’t mean that Emilia might not be immune to some prompting. I wasn’t going to risk reminding her to go to the toilet. I wasn’t sure she would even obey me at this point. I and couldn’t have it getting back to Mom that I had attempted to circumnavigate her rules like that. I think I had a way around that problem, though. If I could make sure that Emilia was staying extra hydrated today, that would increase how often she was going potty. I peeked down the hallway, making sure Mom was still out of sight. “Hey, Emilia, would you like apple juice or Cool-Aid to drink?” I knew how to best phrase questions to preschoolers. If you gave them two options, rather than giving them a yes or no question, they were more likely to accept whatever it was you were attempting to prompt them into doing. In this case, I was pretty sure I knew which of the two drinks Emilia preferred, but having Kool-Aid compared to the lesser option of apple juice was only going to make that option more appealing to my sister. “Kool-Aid!” Emilia shouted at once. I wanted to hush her, but I couldn’t. I needed to get her started on her drink before Mom wised up to what I was doing. I tip toed down the hallway to the kitchen. Still no sign of Mom. I retrieved a half-full plastic jug of blueish liquid from the refrigerator. Emilia still used sippy cups, which was good because Mom allowed those to be in the living room. I grabbed the largest sippy cup I could find from the top shelf in the cupboard and filled it to the brim. This would have Emilia going potty again in no time at all. Emilia smiled as I handed her the sippy cup. I even got a brief “thank-you” out of her this time. She hadn’t entirely forgotten her manners. She sipped away at it, downing a few ounces quicker than I expected. I didn’t think she was old enough to process the connection between drinking liquids and the later need to pee. I dutifully played my role as the baby in Emilia's silly makeshift game of house. Every few minutes I would give Emilia a slight hint that she should be drinking more from her sippy cup. I could pull this off a few more times today. There wasn’t any reason to believe that my underwear wouldn’t still be dry come tonight. “What do you have there?” Mom’s voice cut into the playtime, bringing it to a temporary halt. I turned to look at her, but the question had been directed at Emilia instead. “Kool-Aid!” Emilia answered. “You aren’t supposed to get that from the kitchen yourself.” “I didn’t. Sarah got it.” If there was one thing I could always count on Emilia to do, it was to tattle on me to Mom. Not that Emilia would have realized that I had possibly done something wrong. Mom took a close look at the now nearly half-empty sippy cup. “That isn’t going to do, Sarah.” My heart sank, wondering what punishment would be in store for me if Mom thought I had been attempting to cheat. “If you are going to be showing that you are as potty trained as your sister. You need to be drinking the same amount as her as well.” That wasn’t where I had been expecting Mom to take things, but it wasn’t good, either. Mom went off to the kitchen, and it was obvious what she was going to be returning with. When Mom came back from the kitchen, she handed me an identical sippy cup, filled completely with Kool-Aid. “I expect you to be finished with this by the time Emilia is finished with hers.” “Yes, Mom.” I answered dutifully, taking an obedient, but small sip of the cold, blue-raspberry flavored liquid. It wouldn’t do me any good to hold off on drinking the Kool-Aid. If I saved it all until the very end, I’d almost certainly be dooming myself to having an accident. The only way forward was to try to pace myself as evenly as I could and hope that Emilia wasn’t as thirsty as she seemed. I had vastly underestimated how much a thirsty preschooler could drink. Ten minutes later, Emilia was already three-quarters of the way through her sippy cup, and beginning to squirm almost uncontrollably. Meanwhile, I was about a third of the way through mine, but it had only been about thirty minutes, and I really wasn’t feeling the need to pee all that much yet. I didn’t think that would take too long to change. “I need to pee,” Emilia announced out of the blue as she leapt to her feet and ran down the hallway to the bathroom. My plan was backfiring. I didn’t really need to pee at all right now, but I certainly was going to need to go urgently in a half-hour or so. The timing of Emilia's potty trip couldn’t have been worse. Emilia returned to the living room fast enough that I questioned whether she had taken any time to wash her hands. At looked over at Mom. She nodded at me, giving silent permission to go and use the toilet. I didn’t dash off to the bathroom this time. I walked at an even pace. I strained for several minutes, but all that came out were a few brief tinkles. This was bad. Really, really bad. I thought through how much I had just drunk. The only thing going for me was that Emilia was still also quite hydrated. I just had to hope her next bathroom trip arrived soon enough. Emilia had lost interest in her dollhouse by the time I was back in the living room. She had her coloring book out and was drawing with crayons on the coffee table. Her sippy cup thankfully didn’t show any signs that she had made much more progress drinking it. I took my place once again on the couch. At a glance from Mom, I took another small sip of my own cup. With Emilia’s thirst now apparently sated, I would have time to slowly finish the remaining half of the Kool-Aid to not overwhelm my bladder any more than it already was. Five minutes. No need to pee yet. But Emilia had taken another sip from her cup, forcing me to do the same or risk Mom’s wrath. Ten minutes. Maybe I was imagining things again. It was hard to tell. I was trying so hard to catch any signals from my bladder that perhaps my mind was filling in the blanks when there wasn’t anything there. Could I actually be feeling the need to urinate again after having just sat on the toilet ten minutes ago? Emilia didn’t seem to be experiencing any issues yet. My younger sister wasn’t showing the faintest traces of any unease from her bladder. Fifteen minutes. Nope, I had not been imagining things. The urge to pee was there, and it was real. I hadn’t realized how poor my bladder control was until I had been forced to compare it to my sister. Emilia was still contentedly playing with her blocks. She stood up. Was it time to a quick run to the toilet? No, she was just going to grab her sippy cup from the other end of the coffee table. Which she downed the rest of in a dozen large gulps. Not fair. I briefly met Mom’s eyes, and I knew what she was expecting me to do. I still had a third of the sippy cup left. It took me almost a minute to drink the rest of the Cool Aid. The entire time the sweet liquid was going down my throat, all I could think of was how much liquid was in my bladder at the moment. I crossed my legs again in a feeble attempt to fight off the urge to start squirming. Twenty minutes. Emilia now appeared to be affected somewhat by the amount of Cool-Aid she had drunk, but if there was anything I had learned about my sister today, it was that she was going to wait until the last possible moment before she raced off to the toilet. At least Mom wasn’t watching me squirm this time. She was off preparing lunch in the kitchen. The confidence I had when I first handed Emilia the sippy cup was now completely gone. It was tempting to blame Mom for making me drink the Cool-Aid as well, but that wasn’t really fair. It wasn’t as though she was making things any harder for me than they were for Emilia, and my sister, despite the slight fidgeting that was beginning, was doing quite fine. Twenty-five minutes. As the tension in my bladder turned to a blaring pain, I didn’t want to face the truth that I might not be as capable of using the toilet as my little sister. “Lunch time.” Mom called. “Go use the potty and get washed up before you eat.” Saved by the bell. --- I held the fork loosely in my hand, almost as if I had forgotten how to use it. It was the first meal I’d eaten with any silverware since my punishment began. I had been forced to either sit patiently as Mom or Emilia spooned food into my mouth, or, just as bad, eat sometimes incredibly messy meals with my bare hands. The only thing I had going for me was that this leftover casserole wasn’t as difficult as something like spaghetti. Since I was seated at the kitchen table, I had even been given a regular sized cup. I handled it cautiously, not just because I was leery of what the additional liquids would do to my bladder, but I couldn’t afford to clumsily knock it over. I suspected that I was going to need to do more than just use the toilet to get Mom to believe that I really wanted to be a big girl. I somehow managed to finish the meal without spilling any food on my shirt, which was a good thing, as I hadn’t been supplied with a big, either. The consequences from the Cool-Aid I drank before lunch were still reverberating in my bladder as I returned to the living room after cleaning up my plate and depositing it in the sink. I could only hope that Emilia was feeling the same way. If I thought having to load the washing machine was bad for my bladder, being forced to immerse my hands in warm soapy water to scrub dishes would be an even more difficult challenge for my bladder. But dishes were a chore that was typically assigned after dinner, so I had another six hours or so before that became something I needed to worry about. The previous two attempts to hold my bladder in had been close calls, but what I was feeling now was somehow even worse. My insides hurt so bad I wanted to lie down on the floor and curl up into a ball. It almost felt as though it would be worth it to just pee all over the couch, if only to be done with that intensive discomfort. Please Emilia. Please just get up and go use the potty. But I could no longer spare any attention to my sister. Every thought was bent toward one goal, making sure not a single drop of pee escaped my bladder. Emilia didn’t verbally announce her need to go to the toilet this time. But the sound of her footsteps racing away was the only confirmation that I needed. I stood up from the couch, not too swiftly. Any sudden movements at this point would be risky. I took one step toward the hallway. I needed to be in position to make a go for the toilet as soon as Emilia returned. “Sit!” I dropped back down onto the couch at the sound of Mom’s stern yell. “You can go to the toilet when your sister returns.” I strained my ears for the sound of the toilet flushing in the distance. Nothing but silence. The floodgates opened. And I experienced the full devastation of a bladder accident without there being anything to contain it, even partially. The puddle of urine spread out beneath me on the couch, soaking through my underwear and then my skirt, spreading downward into the gaps between the couch cushions. Warm liquid streamed down the front of the couch onto my legs and socks. Was the couch ruined? If not, it was going to take a lot of work to get both it and the carpet cleaned up. “You didn’t just fucking do that.” Mom’s recliner creaked as she stood up from it. My hands were wet as well. I had shoved them between my legs as a last-ditch attempt to stop from wetting myself. Mom leaned down over me. I couldn’t meet her eyes. “Really, Sarah? That’s just so disgusting. I can’t believe it.” Unfortunately, I was more than capable of believing it. Mom sat down on a dry spot on the couch next to me. What was she doing? Wasn’t I going to be hauled off to the bedroom to be put in a diaper? Then she grabbed me by the shoulders and hauled me across her lap. Oh, that’s what she was doing. My face rested on the side of the couch that was dry, but my bare legs were laying directly in the puddle I had left behind. The side of the couch with my face didn’t remain dry for long, as teared streamed out, dampening the leather surface. How could I have been so delusional to think that I could actually have succeeded? Mom pulled my skirt up but didn’t remove my wet underwear. I would have preferred that, even if it would have meant receiving a bare-bottom spanking. The first smack of her hand landed directly on my wet underwear. While that damped the blow, it only added to my awareness of how I had peed myself. The next few smacks stung, but I gradually grew numb to the pain. I hoped Emilia hadn’t come back yet to witness this. I blinked rapidly every few seconds in a pointless attempt to clear my eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. And I somehow thought I deserved to ever wear big girl underwear again. I waited for another smack of Mom’s hand on my bottom. But it didn’t come. I took a deep breath. My first thought was to wonder how long it would be until I got another opportunity to work on potty training. My next thought was to wonder whether I even wanted to make another attempt. Mom shoved me off of her lap and I stumbled onto my feet in front of the couch. Without saying another word, mom grabbed me by the wrist and marched me down the hallway and into the bathroom. “There,” Mom said. She pointed to a spot for me to stand on the bare tile next to the bathtub. Mom gripped the waistband of my skirt and underwear. She tugged them a few inches below my waist and let them fall to the floor by my feet. Next was my shirt, the only item I had on which hadn’t gotten a single trace of urine on it. She then had me lift my legs, removing the socks that had gotten pee drizzled on them, tossing all the clothes out of the way into the corner. “Get in the shower.” I hesitated. The water wasn’t even on yet. “I said get in the shower. Now.” I stepped over the edge of the tub. I nearly tripped and fell when Mom turned the water on. It was like jumping into a lake late in the spring before the water had warmed up. The water gradually made it to a lukewarm temperature, but I was shivering crazily before then. Mom detached the shower head and sprayed me all over, not bothering to use any soap. At last it was done, and I stood shivering and soaking wet as Mom patted me down with a towel, before leaving to go to my bedroom and motioning for me to follow. I attempted to dry myself a little further as I wrapped the towel around my chest and followed after mom. What happened next was no surprise. I stood and watched as Mom set up the changing pad on my sister’s bed once again, along with everything else she would need for diapering me. I was already in motion to lie down on the bed before she had a chance to tell me to do so. There had to be a big sister and a little sister. That was the proper equilibrium. There wasn’t room for equals. With Emilia haven proven herself yet again to be fully toilet trained, I knew where that left me after this most recent failure. I couldn’t lodge any complaint about how Mom had treated me. None of the rules had been any different from what my little sister had gone through. And I knew that if Emilia had broken the rules as I had, she would have faced the same consequences. “This,” Mom said, as she placed the last tape in place on the diaper, “is what you get since you keep choosing to piss your pants.” I couldn’t blame the rules Mom had put in place for me today. I have failed each and every variation of potty-training rules she had installed for me over the past few months. I’d had to cheat and lie just to trick Mom into thinking that I had succeeded. Mom’s rules had defined nearly every aspect of my life since I was old enough to be able to follow them. But while it could sometimes feel as though I was trapped in the web of all my mother’s rules, what the rules had done today hadn’t trapped me so much as revealed a truth I had not yet been willing to admit. I looked back down at the diaper. The four tapes that secured it to my waist. The wetness indicator running down the middle. The crinkle as I shifted my weight. The mass of absorbent padding preventing me from closing my legs. I deserved the diaper. No, that wasn’t right. That carried the implication that it was something being forced on me against my will, that I wouldn’t accept willingly. That was no longer true. I needed the diaper. Now, that statement was closer to the truth. My inability to control my bladder was undeniable. But there still was more to it than that. I wanted the diaper. My desire for it wasn’t the same as what Samantha wanted. There wasn’t any compulsion or urge to actually be a baby, but I knew now exactly what it was that I wanted. No more puddles of pee on the floor. No more mad sprints to the toilet. No more potty watches. No more underwear. No more pull-ups. No more counting how many accidents I’d had. No more needing to keep careful track of all the liquids that I drank. No more hiding who and what I was. I was a teenage girl who couldn’t help but keep pissing herself. And I wanted to wear diapers.

Thanks! Unfortunately, there's not going to be any grand surprise about that father. That character's absence is more of an oversight from this being the first story I started writing. That said, I will include a brief explanation later on when it makes sense to in the story. But I can safely say that he won't be showing up.

We'll find out the result of that on Tuesday. That analysis makes sense, if Sarah were to fail the challenge, especially when it's been presented to her as something that should be so easy a three-year-old could do it, that would mess with her mindset. Especially because she's been drifting more toward feeling as though she deserves how she is being treated over the past several chapters. Narcissists view themselves as the center of the world. Everything, in some way, is actually about them. To the mother, Sarah's accidents can't be something that is a result of an unfortunate medical issues, no, it's her daughter actively defying her, choosing to be wet herself and be a baby. Interesting analysis, I have lots of thoughts about ABDL tropes and what I'm trying to convey in this story. But that will need to wait until this is all over to share. That would certainly make things easier. We'll have to see how liquids are handled under these new potty-training rules. Biting my tongue right now to avoid some spoilers. I think it is fair to say that, at least for the daytime accidents, the mother is in denial of Sarah having a medical issue. She's been so focused on rules, discipline, and punishment throughout Sarah's upbringing, that her mind immediately goes to the idea that Sarah is in fact actively defying her. The mother definitely believes that what she is doing is right, which makes the situation more messed up, not less. One thing to consider, since the story is set in the U.S., is that views on spanking (and what it is defined as) vary widely. For some people, spanking is a few wacks on the bottom with a bare hand. For others, it's a paddle, or something worse, like a switch (a smallish branch), and to the extreme, something that can extend beyond just hitting the bottom. I'm definitely of the mindset that spanking, in any form, is not a productive means of disciplining a child, something that is well-backed by scientific studies.

Really enjoying the start to this story. Am looking forward to seeing what direction you take this in. Definitely getting some Handmaid's Tale vibes.

Chapter 60: Big Girl Duties It took a moment before the reality of Mom’s new rules sunk in. My mind arrived at the worst possible conclusions when she mentioned that I would have to follow different toilet training rules. But this, this was something I thought I could manage. All I would have to do would be able to do would be to hold my bladder as long as Emelia did. Piece of cake, right? But something was nagging at me in the back of my mind. It wasn’t the new rules that Mom had pronounced, but the way she had said it that was bothering me. “I’ll believe you actually want to be a big girl again.” To her, it wasn’t a question of whether I could make it to the toilet on time. She fully believed I could do so, and the only thing holding me back was some desire to be a baby. It was ridiculous. Couldn’t she see how stressed out I had been over my accidents the past few months? But there wasn’t anything I could do to change her mind. Well, almost nothing. The only option was to prove myself worthy through this next challenge. “I can do that!” I said, trying to muster up as much enthusiasm as possible. I couldn’t have Mom thinking I wasn’t fully committed to getting out of diapers. “We’re going to start right now,” Mom said. “Wait here. Let me get your sister and have her use the toilet.” I laid still on the bed, naked from the waist down, as Mom left to get Emilia. I could hear her calling faintly to my sister, and the growing crescendo of pattering footsteps as Emilia immediately obeyed Mom’s call. The bathroom door slammed shut. That was followed a minute or so later by the sound of the toilet flushing and water running in the sink. Then it was my turn. “Emilia just went potty,” Mom said. “You need to go sit on the toilet now.” Mom hadn’t offered me anything yet to cover my bottom. But I didn’t care. I wasn’t passing up the first chance to sit on the toilet in over two weeks. The sensation of setting my bottom down on the plastic toilet seat felt foreign to me after having not done so for so long. I wasn’t even sure that I needed to pee. I couldn’t even recall the last time that I had done so. Had it been before, after, or even during the time that I had messed my diaper a short while ago? My body felt confused as I attempted mentally strained to get something, anything to come out of my bladder. One minute passed. Then two. I had to do something. The last thing I needed to happen was to find myself desperately needing to pee in another twenty minutes. I had to assume that I would need to hold my bladder in for at least another forty-five to fifty minutes. Emilia had begun to be able to go a bit longer without using the toilet than the initial thirty-minute timer she had been on while potty training. As I shifted, I seemed to be finally working the correct muscles in my body. A short, warm stream of urine dripped steadily into the toilet. Finally, success. Still, I waited another minute to be sure that was the last of it. Cleaning myself with toilet paper also felt odd. I missed the baby wipes, despite how annoyingly cold they sometimes felt. I had one foot out into the hallway before remembering I was supposed to wash my hands. Another toilet-related habit that had fallen by the wayside over the past couple of weeks. I counted to twenty as I scrubbed my hands and fingers under the warm water. Mom was waiting for me back in the bedroom, and it wouldn’t be unlike her to make note if she thought I had rushed through washing my hands without taking the time to make sure they had gotten properly cleaned. I expected Mom to be waiting for me in the bedroom with a pull-up and some baby powder. I wouldn’t have complained about it in the slightest. That would have been a massive step up from the diapers I had worn constantly over the past couple of weeks. Instead, as I stepped into the bedroom, Mom was holding a pair of underwear in her hand. “This is what big girls wear, right?” she asked. “Wes Mommy.” “If you are going to wear big girl underwear, you need to talk like a big girl, not a baby.” I bit my lip. This might be just as difficult as the potty training was going to be. I had grown so accustomed to using baby talk that speaking in that nonsensical gibberish was almost second nature. Mom tilted her head at me. Right. She still wanted the correct response. I had to stop and think a second before I responded. “Yes, Mom.” “Much better. Now come here and put these on.” Mom handed over the underwear to me. She wasn’t going to put them on herself. I was allowed to dress myself for the first time since this latest punishment had begun. The underwear felt so light in my hand. In the months leading up to Christmas, I only wore underwear when I had no other choice, such as the brief time between getting out of the shower and when Mom would put a diaper on me before bed. As I felt the soft material in my fingers, I realized I had forgotten how much I missed how it felt. There was a downside to this as well. The potty-training stakes had just gotten higher. An accident wouldn’t just mean going back to diapers; my inability to control my bladder would be on a full, humiliating display. I slid my feet through the holes and pulled the underwear up to my waist. What was more noticeable than what the underwear felt like was what it didn’t feel like. The material was loose around my body, not hugging it almost suffocatingly. There wasn’t any bulky material forcing my legs apart. And as I walked, there was silence, not a single plastic crinkle. I wanted to stay in underwear so badly. Surely, I could do it, right? Emilia was only three. No matter what may have happened to my bladder, it still must be able to hold more urine than hers. But what if I succeeded? I felt reasonably sure I could avoid accidents at home if I put my full effort into it. But school started again in two days. It wasn’t like I could ask Mom to go out and buy pull-ups for me. I shook my head. I wouldn’t worry about that right now. I would figure out how to handle that problem like I always did. “You’re still grounded.” I looked back at Mom. I had gotten so lost in the thoughts about underwear and toilet training that I almost forgot she was here. “That means,” Mom continued. “No electronics. None of your regular TV shows. And Emilia is still in charge, so if she wants you to play with her or help her with anything, you need to do it. Is that understood?” “Yes, Mom.” That was a bummer about being grounded. I supposed it was too much to ask for to get everything back to normal all at once. Still, I had done a good job not reverting to baby talk like before. “But other than that, you are to behave like a big girl today. That means you need to dress yourself. And you need to do your laundry.” I nodded, showing Mom that I understood her request. But seriously, it was just my luck to get back all the responsibilities of being a big girl without getting any of the fun parts. Mom left the room, leaving me to gather up my laundry by myself. Since she had already finished doing her laundry, I’d have the washer and dryer to myself this morning. I looked down at my waist, confirming once again that this wasn’t some strange dream, that, yes, I was actually wearing underwear. Then I looked down at my bare legs. I wouldn’t be running around the house in only my undies. Yes, that was what Emilia often had done during her previous potty-training phases. However, I still felt the desire to somehow differentiate myself from her. While it certainly was warm enough to be in this state of undress, I wanted to at least look the part for the big girl role that I was now being allowed to reclaim. Jeans would have been my choice under normal circumstances during this time of year. But the success of potty training today could come down to the last second. I didn’t want to get caught frantically attempting to undo the buttons on my jeans while squirming in front of the toilet seat. I couldn’t be taking any chances with my outfit for today. I grabbed a skirt, the same one I had worn when going to the mall on Black Friday. I couldn’t recall the last time I had worn a skirt by itself while I had underwear on. I felt almost naked, but that just meant that I would be able to access the toilet as quickly as possible when the time came. Still, the less material in my way when using the toilet, the better. This was the best balance between maintaining some dignity and making potty training as easy as possible. Most of my clothes were already in the hamper, save for the few Mom had tossed in that direction that had been off-mark and had landed on the floor. It was heavy. Mom had neglected to do my laundry for a while. No wonder she had been so eager to hand that chore off to me. I had a sneaking suspicion that this wouldn’t be the last chore she would assign me today. Should just change my name to Cinderella. I wondered what those chores might be. Dishes, probably. Maybe some cleaning or vacuuming, or perhaps even some help with beginning to put Christmas things away, a task that would last well into January. I checked my bedroom and closet carefully to ensure I had collected every item that needed to go into the wash. It wouldn’t do me any good if Mom were to get on my case for missing anything. I couldn’t even lift up the laundry hamper, which was practically overflowing. Instead, I dragged it down the hallway and through the kitchen. It went thunk, thunk, thunk down the stairs, and I made my way to the laundry room. I turned the washing machine on, set the water temperature to cold, and poured a cup of detergent. I unfolded all my clothes as I tossed them into the washing machine. I hadn’t paid much heed to the sound of water streaming into it until I noticed I had subconsciously begun squirming. I dumped the rest of the clothing from the hamper into the washing machine without bothering to make sure nothing was inside out, closed the lid to the machine, and raced back upstairs to where the noise of the rushing water couldn’t reach my ears. The squirming ceased. Everything was back to normal, and I wasn’t feeling any need to pee. I lifted up my skirt to examine my underwear once I was safely back in the confines of my room. All dry. It was probably good that Mom wasn’t allowing me access to electronics today. I realized now that I had to avoid any possible distraction, any potential trigger that might cause me to forget about my bladder or temporarily lose control of it. I couldn’t let the urge to pee slip unnoticed to the back of my mind. With my underwear confirmed to be dry, I returned to the living room. My knees ached, but at least they might be feeling better by the end of today. And who knows, maybe I’d even get my big girl bed back again. Either way, I needed to be more careful the rest of today. That had been a close call. Too close.

All the stories I've written so far have been exclusively first person. I've tried a few times to write in third person, but it never felt as natural. I like being able to dig deep into the protagonist's thoughts and perspectives. The challenge with that, of course, is making sure that the protagonists from different stories have distinct voices. That's been tricky to manage and would be the only reason I'd consider switching to a third-person perspective, if I could find a way of writing it that I liked. As a reader, though, I don't have any preferences. Most stories I read end up being third person, simply because I often go for Fantasy/Sci-Fi stories that have a vast number of characters. Though several of my favorites are told from a first-person POV. I'm curious about what everyone else's preferences are, either as a reader or a writer.

The mother certainly has an understanding that what she is doing is wrong, or at least wouldn't be accepted by the rest of society. So that does make school an interesting situation. I would look at how the mom phrased the new potty-training rules. It's pretty telling for how she views the situation. There is no question that Sarah is going through a lot right now. We will get a good look at how it continues to impact her. She should, but without access to a phone or other methods of communication, that would be difficult even if she decided she wanted to.

Chapter 59: New Rules The pyramid block went into the triangle hole. The cylinder block went into the circle hole. The cube went into the square hole. Each plastic block landed with a clank in the plastic tin I was depositing them into. With all the blocks having been put through their proper holes, I flipped open the latch on the box and let them all tumble softly onto the carpet. The repetitive task was mind-numbingly dull, but I would do anything to distract myself from the obnoxious characters in the TV show my little sister was watching. Life lessons thinly disguised behind a bunch of incessant blabbering. And those theme songs. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to get them out of my head after this. What I would give to have a pair of headphones on right now. But headphones were off-limits. Same with my phone, computer, and any item that wouldn’t be age appropriate for a baby. Today was New Year’s Eve, and I was still grounded. In this case, that meant literally, as I was no longer allowed to walk anywhere in the house. I had thrown a bit of a tantrum the day after Christmas. I’d broken character and used my big girl words, asking Mom to let the punishment end. That had been a mistake. I knew better. Asking Mom to relent was only likely to make the punishment last longer. After a spanking with a paddle on my bare bottom, I was given an additional rule to follow in being a baby. I would now need to crawl around the house. I had considered myself fortunate that mom hadn’t implemented that as part of my punishment earlier in the week. With a wood floor in the majority of the home, my knees were constantly aching. I had tried to scoot around on my well-padded bottom on one occasion, but Mom had immediately put a stop to that. Something about how I was violating the spirit of her rules. So this morning, like the past five mornings since Christmas, I had slid to the floor after mom after mom had finished changing my diaper and dressing me in leggings and a t-shirt, only to have to crawl all along the floor in a painful and painfully slow journey to the living room. With all of my big girl items off limits, that left me to play with all the baby toys Mom had given me for Christmas. She’d repackaged a bunch of things that Emilia had outgrown. It wasn’t enjoyable, but it beat watching my sister’s shows or staring blankly off at the wall. I still didn’t know if any regular presents awaited me when this punishment was over. I hoped so, but, if that were the case, Mom hadn’t given any indication of that being her plan. I was stuck in the living room. Mom didn’t let me go anywhere where I would be out of sight of either her or Emilia. The only item I was allowed right now was my pacifier. But by allowed, that meant that Mom wouldn’t allow me to take the pacifier out until she had given me permission to do so. That, sadly, was a rule Emilia was also aware of. I had suffered the consequences of her tattling on me for taking the pacifier out on one occasion, so if there was any time when I would take it out of my mouth for a short break, I had to be sure that she was focused enough on her TV show that she wouldn’t turn around and catch me. I’d lost track of how many times I’d fit the blocks back into their box. I’d been mindlessly repeating the task since Emilia had sat down to watch TV after breakfast. I wasn’t sure if we were on the third or fourth episode. I could do this in my sleep with my eyes closed. Considering that, it was surprising that these blocks hadn’t appeared in my dreams over the past week. My dreams had lately become stranger than usual, which was a high bar to cross, considering some of the things my brain could come up with while I was fast asleep. Most of them centered around me wearing diapers. In one, I watched in horror as Mom took a pair of scissors to all of my panties, chopping them up before tossing them in the trash bin. In another, I had been sitting in class at school, but only, instead of wearing jeans or even a dress as I had taken to lately, all I had on other than my hoodie was a diaper. I was forced to come to the front of the classroom to answer a question, but I had to do so with baby talk as my classmates sat in their seats and laughed. Playing with the toys had left me with no time to do anything but think. New Year’s Day fell on a Monday. School was supposed to promptly resume on Tuesday. I hadn’t had a chance to finish any of the readings I was supposed to have done over Christmas break. I would have to hope I could wing it on any pop quizzes I might receive if Mom didn’t give me time for homework. But that would mean access to my computer, which I wouldn’t get until Mom determined I wasn’t grounded anymore. It was New Year’s Eve. That reminded me. I was supposed to hang out at Lisa’s house this evening with Desi and Samantha for another sleepover. We had planned to stay up and watch the ball drop. For us, that meant 10 p.m. to watch the scene in Times Square. Yes, we would stay up to midnight and do our own countdown then, but the TV channels never did anything quite as exciting for our time zone. We talked about staying up till 1 a.m. to see what happened on the West Coast, but that would have to wait another year. I highly doubted that Mom would let me stay up so late tonight. What would my friends be doing? Were they talking about me? Did they care? Had they moved on? What would happen on Tuesday morning when I stepped onto the bus with Samantha and Desi already in their seats? The lights on the Christmas tree still flashed in the corner of my eye. The Christmas tree wasn’t coming down until the sixth of January, once the twelve days of Christmas were all over. What day was it anyway, today? Was it seven swans or six geese-a-laying? And who gave stupid presents like that, anyway? That would be even worse than receiving a bunch of second-hand baby toys. I squirmed slightly in my cross-legged position on the floor. I had been needing to go number two for the past hour. I had held off the initial urge to poop, managing to suppress it for a while. With Mom down in the basement, it would not be easy to get her attention immediately to let her know I needed to be changed. Asking Emilia to do that for me was a possible solution. Still, I couldn’t bear the thought of hearing her shrill voice from all the way in the basement, yelling at Mom to tell her that I had made a poopie in my diapie. I would at least need to get to the top of the stairs to get Mom’s attention. I didn’t care for how it felt to crawl with a bunch of shit stuck to my bottom. I pressed a hand against the front of my diaper, feeling how squishy it had become. Even without messing myself, the diaper was getting close to needing to be changed. I shifted enviously in my position on the floor, trying to find a way to sit down that would allow me to hold off on messing myself for a while longer. The pounding sound of shoes on wooden stairs told me that Mom was coming up from the basement, where she had been doing a morning load of laundry. I’d like to think that I could have waited another twenty minutes or so before the need to shit myself became too unbearable to resist. But with a diaper change in sight, I shifted my feet so that I was sitting on my knees. In that position, I was able to lift my butt up slightly. With the urgent need to go, I filled my diaper effortlessly. There was a slight delay before the smell reached my nostrils, which I attempted to wrinkle shut. There was a slightly more significant delay before the smell made it six feet across the room to where Emilia was seated closer to the TV. My three-year-old sister turned around to look at me. “Diapie check!” She got up from her empty bowl of cereal and walked over to me. I didn’t do anything to hide what had happened in my diaper. Mom had been extremely clear as to the fact that I should obey Emilia as long as my little sister’s requests weren’t contravening any of Mom’s rules. I remained in the same position I had been in when I had messed the diaper. Nothing was worse than having to sit down in a messy diaper, so the longer I could keep my bottom off the ground, the better. Emilia knew from her own experience what a diaper change entailed. She walked behind me and pulled the rear waistband of my diaper back. “Yucky!” That was as appropriate a description as any for the current contents of my diaper. Emilia ran down the hallway, presumably to Mom’s bedroom, where she was likely folding laundry on her bed. If there was one upside to being forced to behave like a baby the past two weeks, Mom hadn’t required me to do any of my typical chores. I hadn’t had to do a single load of my own laundry. That also meant no dishes to wash or bedroom to tidy up. At this point, any of those tasks, which I usually hated doing, seemed highly appealing. What I would give to be folding my own laundry rather than playing with these stupid blocks. Mom arrived in the living room less than a minute after Emilia had run to fetch her. My little sister settled down in front of the TV without another glance in my direction. She had sometimes helped Mom with diaper changes, but never the messy ones. “Uh oh.” Mom reverted to the sing-song voice she used when talking to me. “Did someone make a messy in her diapie?” A silly question to ask. As if she couldn’t smell the contents of my diaper from where she was standing a few feet away. Nevertheless, Mom went through the whole song and dance of checking my diaper. First, by patting my bottom. Too firmly, in my opinion, as it caused the mess in my diaper to spread further against my skin. But that wasn’t enough. She pulled back the rear waistband of my diaper, just like Emilia had done. “Yep, let’s get your stinky bottom all cleaned up.” When it was just a wet diaper, Mom was willing to change me in the living room, laying the diaper mat on the floor to get me cleaned up. That wasn’t the case with messy diapers. I suspected she wanted to avoid dealing with having that lingering odor in the room. Had I been a real baby, I, of course, would have been carried off to the bedroom to get changed. Mom had attempted to lift me up on one occasion but hadn’t been able to. That meant I was forced to crawl back to my bedroom. I had hoped to be given a short reprieve from my rules and be allowed to walk. Mom sometimes allowed for that, but I wasn’t granted that option today. I was only allowed to stand when I got up from the floor and onto my bed. I still considered it my bed, even though Emilia had been sleeping in it for the past two weeks while I had been relegated to her old crib. The changing pad was already on the bed when I crawled onto it. Wipes, baby powder, and bay lotion were set up to the side, along with a can of FeBreeze, to remove the smell from what was about to happen. Mom didn’t seem to have gotten a fresh diaper for me yet. Mom pulled down the front of the diaper after untaping it. “Oh yes, someone really did make a big stinky, didn’t she?” I tried to shut off my brain during diaper changes. Mom always gave detailed commentary about the condition of my diaper and how I was such a baby for going potty in it. My face burned in contrast to the cold wipes Mom was running along my bottom. I tried to steady my breathing. I had burst into tears on more than one occasion when Mom changed one of my messy diapers. That only resulted in more babying from Mom, as she mock comforted me. I held the tears back this time, if only just barely. With my bottom thoroughly cleaned, Mom rolled up the dirty diaper and disposed of it in the bin. I waited expectantly on the bed, ready for Mom to slide a clean diaper under my bottom. “Does someone want to be a big girl again?” My mouth dropped open, and the pacifier fell out. Mom didn’t reprimand me for that. Clearly, she expected an answer, but the question was so out of the blue that I was too shocked to respond. “Well, do you want to go potty in the big girl potty rather than your pants?” This time, I was ready to provide an enthusiastic response. “Wes!” I couldn’t believe that it was finally happening. Before Christmas break, the thought of opening and wearing pull-ups around Mom had been highly humiliating. Now, it came as a welcome relief. I was perfectly OK with wearing pull-ups, even with all the things that came along with that, the constant checks, the potty alarm, not being able to cover up the pull-up so that Mom could always ascertain whether it was wet or dry. Even the other rules that came with potty training seemed milder now. Two accidents in one day would mean a return to diapers for the next day, but even the threat of diapers for a day was nothing compared to what I had just gone through. “The rules are going to be different this time.” That was a bucket of ice-cold water dumped over my delight. What could that possibly mean? “You get to go to the toilet every time Emilia chooses to go. If you can show that you are as potty trained as your little sister, I’ll believe you want to be a big girl again.”

We'll have to see what happens with the video. I think it is one of those frogs in a slowly boiling pot of water situation for Sarah. Her mom has slowly taken more and more control as Sarah's bladder situation and attempts to hide it have gotten worse. If this treatment by mom had happened immediately after the first accident mom caught Sarah having, her reaction might have been different. We'll have to see what comes of the video. I'm still very happy with how this story ends. And very eager to get it published. The next chapter should be out on Thursday. The long-term implications of this for Sarah are something that we will get into before this is all finished. Thanks! I'm glad you are enjoying it. We're building up slowly but surely to the conclusion.