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MinnesotaWriter
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Chapter 65: Testing, Testing
We didn’t enter the hospital through the main entrance. Instead, Amanda drove us down into an underground employee parking garage.
“Sarah, why don’t you stay in the car for a second and finish your Happy Meal?”
I nodded. I had almost forgotten about the meal they’d purchased for me. The nuggets and fries weren’t too hot to eat now.
Both Amanda and Jodie stepped out of the car. They were standing to the side of it, engaged in a fairly emphatic conversation while I finished my meal. I was unable to hear what they were talking about.
I had just finished putting the last fry into my mouth when Amanda opened my car door.
“Jodie needs to go talk with some sheriff’s deputies, but I’m going to stay with you until tonight.”
“Go home then?”
Amanda turned back and exchanged a silent glance with Jodie. What were they not wanting to tell me?
Amanda looked back down at me. “I wouldn’t worry about that right now. That’s what we’ll be working to figure out, OK?”
That answer didn’t make any sense. Where was I going to stay if I wasn’t going back home? But I got out of the car when Amanda asked me to, a little bit of dread building up inside at the prospect of whatever tests I was expecting the doctors to perform on me. Please let it be anything but drawing blood.
Jodie whispered one more thing to Amanda and then headed off in a different direction. I trailed slightly behind Amanda as she led the way toward the hospital entrance, still carrying a backpack she had filled up with things for me back at home. We passed a couple of women in their hospital scrubs, heading to and from their vehicles.
We were nearing a discreet entrance when a sensation in my bladder caused me to stop. Amanda continued walking for a few steps, then turned around to check on me.
I stood completely still as I filled my pull-up. With a dry diaper, an accident of that size would almost be unnoticeable, with most of the wetness being drawn away from my skin. That wasn’t the case with the pull-up. It was fully soaked. I could feel the wet urine on my skin and the tug of the pull-ups elastic sides as it sagged down between my legs.
At least there wasn’t a puddle on the floor this time. That would have been so much worse out here with everyone else who was in the underground parking garage.
“It’s OK. I can help get you cleaned up once we are inside. There’s a nurse who is waiting to see you.”
I’m not sure how Amanda knew that I had had an accident. Had the expression on my face changed? Or was it the way I had paused while walking? Was my stance noticeably different? Or had the accident actually been audible?
The pull-up squished between my legs as we entered the hospital and made our way through a narrow hallway. Nurses and doctors were eating in break rooms that we passed. There weren’t any other patients in this part of the hospital.
Amanda seemed to know exactly where she was going, choosing which hallways to turn down without pausing to look for directions. She held my hand and guided me into a family restroom.
This time I was able to do most of the cleanup myself, though Amanda wiped me a few times after I had finished wiping myself, as though she thought I had missed some areas. The dress had been a good choice since I only had to remove my shoes to get a new pull-up on.
After leaving the family restroom, we walked for what felt like forever. My feet ached badly. I hadn’t been on my feet this long since I’d been in school, and this hospital complex was even larger than my high school.
I started to trail behind Amanda again. It was hard work keeping up with her.
Amanda slowed down to keep pace with me. “You’re doing good. We’re almost there.”
Two more turns and we were in a small lobby. Amanda had me take a seat in the corner while she went to the front desk to check us in. We must be in the pediatrics wing. There were a couple of kids – both my age and younger – waiting in other chairs. Some with parents and others that appeared to be on their own.
I re-adjusted my dress as I sat in the waiting room chair. The one I picked out when Amanda had me select something from the closet was a couple of years old. It was fine for covering my pull-up while walking, but if it rode up even a little while sitting, it might reveal more than I wanted it to.
I looked over to where Amanda was standing at the front desk. She had been chatting with the receptionist for what felt like several minutes before she finally turned and waved for me to come and join her.
“Julie is waiting for you inside,” the reception said as I arrived to stand next to Amanda. She pointed toward yet another door for us to walk through. I was glad Amanda was with me. I doubted I would be able to find my way out of the hospital all on my own.
An older nurse with gray hair was waiting for us as we opened the door to yet another hallway.
Julie gave Amanda a hug. “Hi Amanda, it’s been a while.” She then turned to look at me. “And you must be Sarah. Amanda called earlier, telling me to expect you. The exam room is just up ahead.”
The exam room was a familiar sight, no different from the one I had been in when I’d gotten the physical that had been a requirement to be able to play sports.
Julie had me take a seat on the exam table, which was lined with a large paper sheet. Amanda took a seat in a chair in the corner.
“We’ve got another doctor who is going to come and check on you once he is finished with his current patient. But before that, we’re just going to do a few things to make sure that you are all healthy, OK?”
Julie began by asking a few basic questions. My full name. Age. Birthdate. The answers were a little easier to answer than when Amanda had been trying to get information from me back at home. My mind didn’t feel quite as fuzzy. Nevertheless, I was stumped when she asked for my Social Security number. That wasn’t something I had ever memorized.
I froze up when Julie asked where I went to school. Julie glanced over at Amanda, who gave her a nod as to tell Julie to move on to the next question.
Julie continued through a long list of questions. Some of them seemed silly. Some of them didn’t even make any sense as to why they were being asked in the first place. Others touched on topics I wasn’t comfortable answering.
I was able to nod or shake my head for most of the answers, except for a few that couldn’t be answered with a simple yes or no. Then I had to try to think of the right big girl words to use. Amanda was sitting in the corner. She seemed to be paying close attention to the answers I was giving to Julie, who was also taking notes on her computer.
“And has your mother ever hit you?”
The calmness with which Julie asked the question unnerved me. Her tone made it feel so casual, but from the way she was looking at me, waiting for a reply, I understood that it was actually serious.
“No, just spankings.” But that wasn’t entirely true. I paused, chewing on my lip. Julie remained silent, as if she was anticipating that I would have more to say. “She hit me in the face.”
Julie didn’t appear shocked in any way by my answer. She just continued to ask her next question. “How many times?”
That question wasn’t as difficult. “A couple times.”
“And the spankings?”
“I dunno. Lots?”
“OK,” Julie said, apparently done with questions for now. “Thank-you for telling us that, Sarah. We’ve got some tests to run now.”
I rolled up my sleeve to let her read my blood pressure, trying to relax as the device tightened around my arm. I think I could manage as long as there weren’t any needles. Julie then had me briefly get up from the exam table so she could take my weight and height on a machine in the corner.
“That looks about right,” Julie said. “Only a couple of pounds lighter than in August. And about a half-inch taller.”
I was about to sit down on the exam table again when Julie stopped me. “Not yet. I’m going to need for you to get take your dress off, just for a few minutes.”
I didn’t want to, but I complied anyway, managing to get it off without any assistance before sitting down again on the exam table.
Julie’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the pull-up, but she made no comment on it.
I looked down at myself. Both my hands had subconsciously ended up in front of the pull-up in what was a feeble attempt to obscure it from view. They were both shaking slightly, and I wasn’t sure that was entirely due to being cold from taking the dress off.
I felt Julie’s warm hand on my shoulder. “It’s going to be all right. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of. People don’t usually come to the hospital because their body is working correctly, anyway.”
Julie looked me over thoroughly, starting at my shoulders, and working her way down. Feeling my arms, legs, and back. She held a stethoscope to my chest to listen to my heartbeat, which she said sounded fine, despite the fact that I was sure it was racing at this point.
Julie then looked at the bruises on both of my knees.
“Can you tell me how you got these?”
From the corner of my eyes, I could see Amanda sit up in her chair and lean in closer toward me.
“Crawling?”
“You do a lot of crawling?”
“I only crawl at home.”
Julie paused, as if trying to figure out how to best phrase her next question. “Do you mean that crawling is something you only do at home, or that when you are home, you only crawl around all the time and don’t walk?”
“All the time?”
“That would explain how bruised they are.” Julie reached out to touch them, but despite how gentle she was, I winced when her fingers contacted my knees.
“I’m going to get you an ice pack for both of them before the doctor arrives once I finished with these notes. You can put your dress back on now.”
Putting the dress back on was more difficult than taking it off. I struggled with it for a few seconds before Amanda got up from her chair and helped me put it back on.
“You’re doing really good so far,” Amanda said. “Why don’t we take a break to go use the restroom while Julie is getting you an ice pack?”
My pull-up was still dry. And it had been a while since I’d had the accident in the parking garage. I didn’t feel like I needed to pee. But at the same time, I had drunk all the apple juice from the Happy Meal, and it had to go somewhere.
“That’s a good idea,” Julie said. “I’ll be right back when you are. The nearest restroom is just down the hallway to the right.”
Julie left to get the ice for my knees, taking a left turn after leaving the exam room. I followed Amanda off to the right. The individual restroom was only a few doors down. Amanda didn’t follow me inside.
I lowered myself uneasily onto the cold toilet seat, taking a peek at the open pull-up between my legs. There was the tiniest of yellow spots on it. I must have leaked just a little, though it wasn’t anywhere close to needing to be changed.
But as I sat on the toilet, I tried to remember what I was supposed to do. How was I supposed to tell my bladder that it was time to empty itself? Was that just something I did in my head? did I have to squeeze my muscles in certain ways? Was it a combination of the two?
Nothing seemed to be working. Like that was a big shock. I didn’t understand why Amanda was so insistent on treating me like a big girl when all the evidence stood to the contrary.
I was already exhausted from nurse Julie’s examination, and that was only the prelude to the actual doctor’s visit, which was bound to be more extensive.
A trickle sounded in the toilet. I had actually urinated somewhere other than in my pants. It was still an accident; I had given up trying to make myself pee. But it was a happy accident, for once.
---
Julie was waiting in the exam room with a pair of fancy ice wraps for my knees when Amanda and I returned.
The ice wraps fit almost like a knee brace. I shivered initially at the cold sensation, but it also felt really good.
“I was just filling in the urologist who is going to be seeing you, Jane, about everything we talked about so far. She’s absolutely amazing. I’m going to buzz her to let her know we’re ready, and then I’ll leave you in her hands.”
There was a tap on the door a few minutes later, and Julie got up to let the young doctor in. Jane was probably young enough to be the same age as Julie’s kids, if the nurse had any. Julie waved goodbye, and Jane stepped in to introduce herself to me.
“So I think Julie mentioned that I’m a urologist, right?”
I nodded.
“You understand what that means?” The word sounded familiar, like something I had come across while trying to research incontinence on the school computer months ago. But I couldn’t quite place it. I shook my head back and forth.
“It means I’m a doctor who specializes in urinary or bladder issues. I help people who have trouble with going to the toilet.”
My shoulders relaxed. I felt a bit of tension that I didn’t even realize I was holding in leave my body. I felt a bit of annoyance at Mom that I wasn’t able to suppress. There were doctors who trained specifically to deal with issues like mine?
“So, I was talking with both Julie and Amanda, and they tell me that you might be having some issues with having bladder accidents.”
It was one thing to have Lisa talk so directly about bladder issues with me. She was my age and was dealing with similar issues. It was something else to hear those same words and phrases coming from an adult.
“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Sometimes our bodies just don’t work the way that they are supposed to. That’s what we have hospitals and doctors and nurses for. But in order for me to help you, I need to understand what it is that you’re dealing with. I know it can be hard to talk about, but you’re not telling me anything I don’t hear all day long with the other patients that I see.”
There were that many people with these issues that her entire schedule was full of them?
“So," Jane said, continuing on after her short speech. “I saw from your medical records that there was a visit back when you were five, right before you were starting school. Is says there that you were still wetting the bed at that age, is that correct?”
I nodded. Despite Jane’s reassurances, I still found it hard to directly meet her eyes. I focused my gaze instead on a picture frame just to the right of her head.
“And is that something that is still happening?”
I nodded again.
Jane continued to ask for more details. It seemed like she was thinking of everything. How often I wet the bed. Whether it was multiple times a night. Was I wearing any protection for it.
“And has this been consistent, or have there been times you have been dry?”
I had to think back to when my bedwetting had finally come to a stop in middle school. I couldn’t recall exactly how old I was at the time.
“It stopped. Middle school?”
And when did it start again?
“When high school started.”
“And the accidents you’ve been having during the day. Did those begin around the same time?”
I thought back to that first time I had unexpectedly peed my pants. How I had barely managed to clean up that mess and get it hidden from mom. I nodded in response to Jane’s question.
“I see,” Jane said. She was taking detailed notes about everything I was telling her. “I would think that both the bedwetting and daytime incontinence would be related if they started around the same time.”
That made sense. That was the conclusion I had come to as well, though I had no idea what could have started it.
Jane continued. “Was there anything that happened around that time? Any other changes? Injuries. Maybe to your head or back? New diets? Anything that was different from before.”
I couldn’t think of anything that initially matched what she was describing. Mom hadn’t started feeding me anything different. I hadn’t noticed anything else wrong with my body other than the accidents I’d been experiencing. They had ramped up a little over time. But there was something, but there surely wasn’t anyway it could be related. I had taken that extremely hard fall during cheerleading practice. The one that had caused excruciating pain in my side that had taken weeks to fully heal.
But Jane had asked specifically about head and spine injuries. That didn’t really line up with what she seemed to be looking for. On the other hand, Jane had stressed the importance of telling her everything.
I told her about the cheerleading fall. Where I had landed. How much it had hurt. She pulled out a pain chart for me to identify how bad it had been. I re-affirmed that this was the only injury I had sustained during the period leading up to my bladder issues.
“It’s possible that could be a cause, but we’ll be needing to do a series of tests because there are other things we’ll need to rule out as well.”
But it wasn’t time for tests yet. The conversation drifted into topics that began to make me feel more uncomfortable. Jane continued chronologically from when my accidents had begun, inquiring both about the frequency of them, and what I had been doing to manage them and try to regain control of my bladder.
“Did your mom ever take you to see a doctor about these issues?”
“No.” Not that I probably needed to answer, anyway. I got a sense that Jane already knew the answer to the question, since she had access to my medical records.
Then there were more questions. I danced around the edge of the details. I told Jane about how I had begun wearing pull-ups, but didn’t mention how I had been taking ones from my sister. I told her about beginning to wear diapers to bed because of how the pull-ups leaked, and Jane nodded along, as though she understood how that issue could happen.
I mentioned that I had a friend with similar issues, and how she had been helping me before Christmas with different strategies to potty train. Kegel exercises, working on holding my bladder. How all those things had worked for Lisa and not me.
Jane raised her eyes ever-so-slightly at the mention of Lisa’s name. I thought crossed my mind. There couldn’t be that many doctors that specialized in urology. Maybe Lisa had been her patient as well.
I paused in the middle of answering another one of Jane’s questions.
“Do you know Lisa? She is my age, but a lot taller. She’s skinny with really long, black hair.”
The expression on Jane’s face told me that my guess was probably right, but I didn’t get any confirmation from her. “I’m sorry, but I can’t answer that question. I have to respect other patients’ privacy. I’d be breaking the law if I talked about any of my patients.”
“OK.”
“I can tell you that there are other kids your age who do get treatment for incontinence and bedwetting. You aren’t alone in that.”
Then our conversation moved to something I wasn’t comfortable sharing with Jane: everything that happened starting with Christmas break.
“I’m not saying this to make you feel embarrassed or uncomfortable, but it is something I need to know so I can figure out what is going on with your body and what treatments we might try. Amanda told me some of what happened earlier today when they visited your home.”
I turned to look at Amanda, who was still seated in the corner of the room. Even though I understood she was trying to help me, I was still hurt by the image in my head of what she would have divulged to Jane. How I had been lying in the crib wearing nothing but a diaper that was completely messed and soaked. Cleaning me up in the shower. The ensuing accident on the floor.
Jane’s next question cut through to the center of the issue.
“How long has your mother been making you wear diapers?”
Again, though, there was the assumption that the diapers had been forced on me without any say on my part.
“I don’t know. Since Christmas.”
“I see, so it’s been a little over two months, then.”
Two months. That answered a question I had pondered while lying in the crib. It was both difficult and easy to believe that much time had passed since Christmas.
“And why did your mom put you back in diapers?”
There were a lot of answers to that question. The most obvious was because I was peeing myself, but it felt like that wasn’t really what Jane was digging at. A punishment for breaking Mom’s rules. Failing to succeed at potty training. But I gave Jane the same answer I had given myself on New Year’s Eve.
“She didn’t make me. I wanted to wear them.”
The look on Jane’s face was quizzical. “You wanted to wear them? But I thought you wanted to work on potty training. You had your friend who was helping you, and you were able to go to the toilet sometimes while wearing pull-ups.”
Jane just didn’t understand. “But I failed potty training.”
“But how did you fail potty training?”
There it was. I’d talked myself into a trap I couldn’t just talk my way out of. I had tried so hard to avoid having to tell Jane – and Amanda, who was still listening intently in the corner – about the more embarrassing aspects of mom and my attempts to manage my incontinence, but there wasn’t any escaping that now.
I told her about how I had failed to hold my bladder as well as my younger sister. But that just led to more questions. Questions about Mom’s rules. Her strategy for potty training my younger sister and me. That time with the laxatives. How I’d bought pull-ups for myself.
With each new revelation, the look on Jane’s face continued to sour, until the friendly smile she had displayed toward me through most of the exam had been replaced with an angry scowl. What had I said or done wrong now?
Jane placed a hand over her mouth when I finished describing how Mom had made me stay in bed all night, not letting me get up to use the restroom until the morning.
“Sarah, I’m so, so sorry. You shouldn’t have had to go through that. That’s just awful.”
“But I deserved it. I couldn’t keep from peeing myself. That’s why I wanted to wear diapers.”
“You didn’t deserve any of it. And pretty much everything your mom was doing was only making your issues worse, not better.”
“But I can’t just pee all over the floor.”
“You’re right. But needing to wear protection doesn’t mean that you are a baby. It isn’t something that should be used as a form of punishment. It’s something that is supposed to help you be able to live a normal life, not be used to make you feel worse about yourself.”
“But how can I be normal while I keep peeing myself?
Amanda’s phone buzzed. She looked down to check the number that was calling her. “I’ve got to step outside for a few minutes to take this. You can continue. I’ll slip back in once it’s done.”
“Sarah,” Jane said. “Ccan you please look at me?”
I realized that I hadn’t made eye contact with Jane since she had first entered the exam room. I looked back up at her face. She was no longer frowning. Instead, there was a single tear running down her cheek.
“What your mom did was really, really wrong. It isn’t your fault in any way. And you absolutely can live a normal life with incontinence using protection, even if we can’t find a way to cure or treat you.”
I suddenly felt like crying myself. I didn’t want to accept what Jane was saying was true. Not because I had any reason to doubt her. But because of the implications that it carried for everything that had happened since the start of the school year.
Jane leaned in and gave me a hug. “it’s OK, we’re almost finished with the exam. You don’t mind if I share something personal with you.”
I shook my head.
“So, there were a lot of reasons that I chose to become a urologist. But one of them is that I had similar bladder problems that began when I was around your age. In my case, it was diagnosed as an overactive bladder, and I had to – and still do – wear protection to deal with it. I had a really helpful doctor who was able to get me through that, and I wanted to be able to help my patients like that.”
It didn’t hit me immediately. Then I realized it. There she was. A full-grown regular adult, with a regular adult job. And she was wearing a pull-up. I had to work hard not to look down at her waist. I at least hadn’t noticed anything off when she had stepped into the room. And I realized something interesting. Jane had worked hard to avoid saying either diapers or pull-ups. It was always protection, absorbent underwear, or disposable briefs.
Amanda slipped back into the room.
“Any news?” Jane asked.
“Nothing for now.”
“OK then,” Jane said, turning back toward me. “I’m going to have Julie come back. She’s going to take you around to do a couple of tests. There’s going to be some x-rays. We’re going to need a urine sample. And then before you go, we’re going to need a blood sample as well.”
I winced. I should have known better that I wasn’t going to be able to avoid that.
“Do I have to?”
“Yes,” Jane said. “That helps us know if there are any other medical issues going on that might be causing problems with your bladder.”
“Will you know what is wrong when that’s done?”
Jane smiled at me. “It’s going to take a few weeks for the labs to process all the initial tests. And we’ll have you back for a follow-up exam. But I don’t want you to worry about that. No matter what the tests reveal, we’ll do everything we can to help you live a normal life.”
As I followed Julie and Amanda out of the exam room to finish with the remaining tests, I still struggled to picture what exactly normal would mean for me now.
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18 hours ago, AdultInnocence said:
Good chapter. You said changed to the crib (or wall?) instead of chained.
Thanks, and good catch, got that fixed.
11 hours ago, spark said:I'm eagerly awaiting the next update, which according to Wattpad will drop at 4 PM CST tomorrow. I feel like the I'm waiting for the first Star Wars to debut. Unlike George Lucas, MW hasn't let me down yet.
Wattpad allows to set a publishing time, that isn't an option here, so posting times don't always line up.
Also, I often split up longer chapters for Wattpad. So what gets posted here today is going to be more than what will be on Wattpad today. -
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).
8 hours ago, BabySofia said:Hopefully counseling and answers. I'm glad to to see that the big her started to peek through to see the surface. Makes me think she can come out of this and have a future. I'm hopeful based on your hints here that it wasn't more than a few weeks of time. I do hope that man who was left back there lets the police in and they slap the handcuffs on her mom though!
I can promise we'll get an exact date in the next chapter.
7 hours ago, JustaFoxGirl said:As someone who struggled with their own incontinence issues, I fully understand how Sarah feels right now. It also seems like she's struggling with her own desire to be babied? If we ignore her mother's abuse for a moment, she did mention how she enjoyed the relief from stress it brought and I'm sure many here can relate to that. How much of that was a result of her mother, and how much was because she had time to really think about it, and consider how Samantha may have felt about it? The private talk Samantha and Lisa had as well, whatever Samantha had told her seemed to not only calm Lisa down, but actually convinced her to take care of Samantha herself.
It's still much too early to say, and it's entirely possible Sarah is only trying to convince herself she could have left at any time, but I'm beginning to wonder if her experiences with Samantha's reveal and Lisa have planted ideas in her mind that only recently started to really take root.
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.
7 hours ago, spark said:I think you meant Amanda here.
Thanks, got that fixed.
7 hours ago, Night Rain said:I feel like all that's gone on and everything that is happening. Has led to a point where Sarah will or might have a nervous breakdown.
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.
7 hours ago, BabySofia said:She's going to breakdown, I don't think there's a question there. She's in denial about her mom at the present, and at some point the realization of how bad everything got is going to weigh on her even more deeply. I don't think it has really hit her yet that she's been removed from her mother's custody and will probably never see her as her legal guardian again.
That's true, at multiple points she is thinking about how her mom is going to fit in with everything that has happened.
6 hours ago, JustaFoxGirl said:But either way, I maintain that she needs Lisa, Samantha and Desi to truly recover from this.
Of course, the bad alternative is she grows to hate it so much that it shatters her friendship with Samantha, and possibly Lisa (as an enabler of it) and I think we can all agree that would be an awful outcome.
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.
6 hours ago, kerry said:The way that you have narrated this story from the start, one eye on where it is going but the other firmly on how it will get there, suggested precisely what happened in this chapter. No way were we going to go quickly to a diagnosis; rather, we need to see her slowly emerging from the stupor she has been in since school restarted...and to a great extent long before that. Otherwise, nothing good can happen: Sarah needs to begin to process for herself all of the ugliness that her mother's insanity has foisted upon her. That same careful narrative structure is why we see this:
Sarah is not yet in any position to understand anything they might say even if they had a real clue what they were dealing with. That they don't is evident from their reactions. If Lisa or whoever brought them there told them about the abuse, she could not have known how bad it had gotten. She could not have known that her mother had broken her with all of this. It makes total sense, then, that the CPS people would assume she didn't really need diapers, etc. I do, however, assume that (no matter who reported it) they know that she is not normally the way she is currently coming across, and that they will immediately understand the depth of what her mom has done.
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.
5 hours ago, Lost Little Neppy said:I can't imagine them not performing any sort of test on her for her incontinence, but given how long it's been going on since she's had this start, who knows if they'll be able to fix the issue.
I also really want to see how the mother reacts to this information. That would be so nice.
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.
4 hours ago, BabySofia said:I think it's likely she had a brain injury from the event personally. It would result in the initial problem. The fact that it has gotten worse throughout the story makes me believe there won't be much anyone can do for her. Hopefully, they don't discover any inflammation. There is potential there could be a tumor or something that was also affected - maybe if they remove that, there might be success down the road. Plain and simple, though, I doubt she ever truly finds herself continent again. If nothing else, the months-long delay in treatment likely destroyed the chance of treatment.
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.
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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?
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On 1/19/2024 at 10:53 AM, AdultInnocence said:
Darn! Was hoping to have one chapter or part of one from Lisa's perspective if she does play into CPS getting involved. I do understand keeping everything in Sarah's perspective though.
You have had a very good writing style throughout the story. When this one is done the Sequel will be a pleasure to read.
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.On 1/19/2024 at 11:28 AM, AdultInnocence said:Right? We have been in single digits at night and next week looking at 50s and 60s.
I missed that part in his replies, been a lot to keep up on outside of story and sometimes I can miss something right in front of me when looking. I swear things go invisible just to mess with us sometimes. It could possibly be spring just before summer which would be plausible as the school wouldn't have gotten in any results from testing. I am not exactly sure how homeschooling works but I think they have to do periodic reports?
MW must have had a lot of fun writing the chapters knowing we would all be speculating.
On 1/19/2024 at 5:01 PM, BabySofia said:Uh... Santa Fe is at 7200 feet in elevation. Plenty of days that it's below freezing for the high there. Yes, sometimes there's a warmer winter where it's in the 50's for highs, but New Mexico is mostly higher elevations than a lot of people realize. The southern part of the state stays pretty warm, but central to northern New Mexico can have a true winter.
I had forgotten or didn't realize it was set in New Mexico...
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.
On 1/19/2024 at 11:42 PM, spark said:I don't think that is that is true. AFAIK, CPS has no legal jurisdiction, but they work closely with local with the local sheriff. FTR- calling the local sheriff meets my mandated reported requirements. The very second they confirmed that what happened, it became a crime scene. That means, other than getting Sarah to a hospital, the scene stays sterile. AFAIK, a detective will pull every source of data there is present to assist a DA. They will find those tapes and use them. Especially in a case like this, because presently Sarah isn't able to support the prosecution. Those tapes, along with Amanda's recount is more than enough to warrant a grand jury charge.
There is a section in this chapter where the 3rd voice says that they need to contact the sheriff, and I would expect a LEO would be present. In fact, in most cases, the social worker wouldn't even open an unsecured door, but maybe Amanda is more protective (read Diapers Never Lie- might not be the same character, but maybe she is)
Not the same Amanda, just me being not terribly good at randomly coming up with names for side characters.
On 1/20/2024 at 9:31 AM, Lost Little Neppy said:I keep seeing new posts here, then pouting because there's no new chapter, lmao
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.
20 hours ago, BabySofia said:Is it really something that's a tape? My personal guess is the author is using the same type of terms I use for it when I record still. Most likely everything is recorded on an SD card and either in the camera (most likely) or in the computer where she was storing it.
(Personally, I haven't used even a Mini DV tape now for well over a decade!)
It would be a mix. Older videos on tape, newer ones on an SD card.
19 hours ago, BabySofia said:It was already mentioned that would be six years in the future. Even if her mom ends up in prison, she'll be out long before then. As bad as Sarah's treatment and trauma are, she still won't end up with more than a year or two behind bars if I had to guess. If it was a longer sentence, I could see the sequel dealing with her and her mother reconnecting post-prison.
@MinnesotaWriter It's not often that I feel the same pain as my readers with cliffhangers, but to be truthful I'm feeling slightly like karmic payback is coming my way with the wait! 🤣
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.16 hours ago, AdultInnocence said:MW, In this part of the paragraph, it sounds like they do stockings then open presents, then have breakfast and finish presents. It doesn't reflect later in the chapter, that they do stockings, then eat, then do presents, then watch movies. It could be just me, but it didn't seem to flow right?
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.
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1 hour ago, Lost Little Neppy said:
Hm, judging by the fact that she needs a jacket and not a coat, it had to have been at least a month. February at the very earliest. Maybe March.
Man.
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.
1 hour ago, JustaFoxGirl said:A coat is just a longer jacket, so it's the same thing either way, really.
But yea, It's really awful for her.
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.
41 minutes ago, BabySofia said:Thank you for finally bringing her rescuers into the picture. Unfortunately, the heartbreak for the girl is far from over. You wrote her character as having very realistic reactions to her rescuers and her lack of understanding of what's going on. Knowing some of the studies of people put in solitary confinement (she's not quite as bad, but similar), it might not take that long to devolve into this state. It didn't happen overnight going into either...
Totally knew that underwear thing was not going to end well for anyone...
Looking forward to the rest of the answers and hoping she gets the help she desperately deserves and needs. (And that they catch her mom before she gets away with her sister. If she saw it, I can almost guarantee she went straight to that school, picked her up, and left town... Hope the sheriff's officers are on the A-Game!)
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.
26 minutes ago, Night Rain said:Will we get to see how the mom reacts to having the cops arrest her? I'm still waiting to see what the answers are for what Sarah's friends thought when she wasn't able to contact them.
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.
11 minutes ago, spark said:The scene where they tell them that nobody is going to make her diapers anymore was a tough one to read. Her incontinence issues throughout the story were severe and getting worse. She wasn't able to last an hour without peeing. Now she has the psychological effect. She might not even realize that her diaper needs to be changed anymore.
This is one time that I wish the full story was already published. I have so many questions, and to be honest, most of them weren't answered in this chapter.
What did CPS know about Sarah's condition? I wonder if the fact that Mom and Emilia had likely been seen, but nobody has seen Sarah since Christmas. I think that would be enough of a red flag for a wellness check, and they might not have been prepared to see what they saw if they expected it to be a standard wellness check.
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)4 minutes ago, JustaFoxGirl said:She does know when she needs to be changed, but she's been conditioned to know she'll be changed when her mother gets to it. I agree fully that it was heartbreaking to see them think the diapers were entirely punishment, and seemingly have no idea she actually needs them. At least with her accident they'll likely allow her to wear them again for hygiene reasons.
As far as a wellness check, my understanding is they would knock and attempt to see her and confirm her condition. They can't legally enter a home without cause, and they apparently kicked the door in. That tells me they had cause, but they were also unaware of her babied status. I'm very interested in seeing what they were told and with what evidence to cause them to jump straight to breaking in to rescue her.
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.
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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.-
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5 hours ago, JustaFoxGirl said:
Well this confirms a coworker didn't accidentally see the nanny cam feed, or Emilia telling someone about her "baby" sister. That leaves one of her friends to alert someone, or perhaps a teacher. I do wonder what gave them cause to break down the door though. They seemed surprised when they realized Sarah was in a crib with baby bottles, so I doubt they knew she was being babied, and they're apparently unaware of her incontinence issues.
Very interested to see the reveal later.
Sarah's inability to talk normally fills me with dread that this has been going on much longer than it seems, but we know it's still winter at least.
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.
5 hours ago, APhil said:It could be winter again...
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.
5 hours ago, JustaFoxGirl said:Even though that's possible, I want to have hope that SOMEONE, like Lisa, Desi or Samantha wouldn't wait so long before realizing something is very wrong
I think it would be hard for them not to notice that something was up, especially with Sarah not returning to school.
4 hours ago, thedman said:I feel like Sarah is going to have a long road back to getting out of diapers. Beyond the physical regression that has occurred due to what seems to have been an extended period of forced usage, she will also need to overcome whatever condition or injury that was causing her incontinence on the first place.
Beyond that, she will have to overcome whatever mental condition and regression that has occurred beyond the abuse.
Yep, but she is going to have the right people helping her with it, this time around.
2 hours ago, GQLF said:The worst-case scenario is that Sarah's bladder has already suffered mechanical damage and cannot be completely cured. Of course, none of these are important. The next few chapters are expected to be intense, and the controlling mother is likely to become hysterical as a result.
I'm a bit looking forward to Sarah and Emilia coming into a new family. At least Emilia has never subjectively hurt her sister, but she's just doing things out of her portrayed "big sister" mindset. She's still a 3-year-old child and there's no way she's wrong.
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.
18 minutes ago, spark said:Her mental condition is a shell and he wasn't allowed to communicate like a normal. There are part to her that will never go away. Her mom is so controlling that Sarah has developed this natural obedience for authority figures, which might explain why she's fallen so deep. In the recent chapters, I thought Sarah accepting her status as a baby was a survival, but she truly believes that's what she is. She can't use the potty which makes her a baby.
The mom is even sicker than I thought. There is a scene when she is babying Emilia after an accident and from it looked like the mom enjoyed it from Sarah's perspective. I think mom loved that she turned her 15-year-old daughter into a helpless baby.
FTR- I don't normally like stories in which the regressed is turned into a helpless baby who can't even speak.
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.
5 minutes ago, JustaFoxGirl said:Her incontinence is probably permanent, but the babying may stay with her as well. At the very least, she'll need time to recover and return to being a teenager. Hopefully whoever she ends up with is both capable and willing to do that for her. Perhaps someone who has done it for someone else already...
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.
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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.
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57 minutes ago, BabySofia said:
Thanks! On the plus side, there's only a semester, and whatever happened in this hell time, they have to deal with the loss of schooling during it all... She may still be able to graduate on time, depending on what happened there with that time loss. She may not have had her entire schooling ruined? Just her life and what remained of her 'normal' last years of 'childhood' as a teenager...
Thanks for the response!
You're welcome.
49 minutes ago, spark said:I'm hoping it's only a matter of weeks, but Sarah no longer being able to count the number of weekends makes me think months and not weeks.
BTW- I highly recommend re-reading the whole story once this is done. I picked up on so many things and things that I missed completely like Lisa's uncle not letting her use the bathroom, even though she had a medical issue that should let her use the toilet when she needs to. I thought the dude was a saint, but that doesn't fly with the special education teacher in me.
BTW- @MinnesotaWriter I did notice that you called Emilia on one part after Emilia gets put in diapers the first time. At least in the Wattpad version
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.8 minutes ago, JustaFoxGirl said:For what it's worth, Lisa mentions summer break several times, and I believe Sarah mentions it as well so maybe that's where it came from?
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.
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On 1/16/2024 at 9:11 PM, Lost Little Neppy said:
I'm incredibly tense about how long it's been for CPS to finally get involved. I'd like to think that Lisa came to the rescue, but I dunno.
Someone/something definitely had to have tipped them off. They aren't going to come in like that of their own accord.
11 hours ago, Lost Little Neppy said:The more I think about it, the more I can't help but make the comparison of Sarah's treatment to what children like Genie Wiley were subjected to. The silver lining is that Sarah, unlike Genie, wasn't subjected to this for most of her life before being rescued, so Sarah will hopefully be able to recover with the right treatments.
I'm hoping that Sarah and Emilia stay together and aren't separated.
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.
15 hours ago, BabySofia said:I think we're only maybe a year and a half to 3/4 through the timeline in the story though itself. I think that's part of what has made this such a well written (and painful) tale, is that it's not just a five day descent into babyhood for the rest of her life. Looking forward to some closure on it here soon though. (Tomorrow? Tonight? Please?)
55 minutes ago, spark said:I just reread the start and this started on October 1. She had the fall the next day, and that was the day of her first accident. The first baby days for Sarah was in November, but the real descent didn't start until her mom confronted her about the Pull-ups Sarah purchased.
Imagine the horror of having your child buy herself absorbent underwear to avoid wetting herself.
40 minutes ago, BabySofia said:For some reason, I thought there had been a summer break in there, but if that's right, it's really only been 4-5 months... (Hopefully this latest thing didn't go longer!)
@MinnesotaWriter I know you don't want to give away this last bit of timeline until you post the next segment. How long was the timeframe from the beginning to New Year's?
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.
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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.
19 hours ago, AdultInnocence said:I was wondering if that was the route her mom was going to go as well. We can tell some time has passed by the way the author did a clever time jump in the day after day routine losing track of time. If the proper results from work being done isn't being turned in, I would suspect they would get concerned.
Also, Lisa is good with computers. I'm not against the idea that she got access to her home network or one of them gave her access if they were ever on the wifi, and discovered the camera feed.
That's an interesting theory for how Lisa could have discovered things.
18 hours ago, BabySofia said:I had not even thought of this... though I would hazard that at least a month has passed at this point based on her comments of weekends. She's probably not always checking it now that she's sure her 'baby' is docile and staying put in her crib. I hope it's only been that long... A part of me fears several months have passed by in this state. The girl has a very uphill road to get past this trauma.
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.
16 hours ago, Night Rain said:Finally Sarah's free from the abuse that is her mother. But where's she going to go from here will Sarah stay with Lisa or will she be placed in a foster home. Will her sister be taken away as well or stay with the mom. I'm looking forward to learning how the CPS found out.
Lots of good questions, and the answers will be coming soon.
14 hours ago, erik_hamburg said:Thank you so much! Really glad about CPS now being involved.
My guess: It was Emilia. I can imagine her talking about her sister at daycare and telling the adults how her older sister is just a baby in diapers that stays home alone.
You're welcome. And that's another good theory. Kids that age aren't exactly known for their ability to keep secrets.
10 hours ago, AndTheChips said:Zero chance of sister staying with mom. No agency would let mom keep her (nor should they). I think someone earlier had said something about mom serving her time, taking classes, and maybe eventually getting Emilia back (but not Sarah obviously), and that is sad in its own way. I’d honestly prefer mom to go to prison and stay there until she rots, (Maybe in isolation like Sarah) and Emilia to find a new adoptive family that also loves and accepts Sarah despite Sarah probably going to live with Lisa… because otherwise she would likely just age out of the system eventually. Aka Emilia’s new parents would treat sarah as their daughter’s sister, a beloved and always welcome guest.
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.
7 hours ago, bubble-pop1 said:Finally, it's the salvation of hopeful light showing the end of Sarah's tunnel filled with punishment and humiliation. I'm looking forward how this incredible story concludes.
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.
6 hours ago, DiaperStoryReader said:I am looking forward to Sarah seeing a doctor and finding out just what the injury she took in that fall that started this situation actually is and what medical options are available.
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.
2 hours ago, kerry said:Most of those stories lack any effort whatsoever of realism. Yes, Sarah's mother is a monster, but you carefully led us to understand what kind of monster she is, and it is clear here that she has fallen into her own delusion of what is "best" for her daughter. Sarah's breakdown, because we see it happen slowly, is entirely believable.
Thanks!
2 hours ago, AdultInnocence said:I really hope her sister goes with her to Lisa's house. Her sister needs to also unlearn that Sarah is a baby because she has to wear diapers. Emilia is going to need therapy and work to undo the effects brought on by all this.
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.
2 hours ago, JustaFoxGirl said:There is something about her mother than I don't think anyone has mentioned. Throughout the story, we've seen her be incredibly strict and rigid, the earliest chapters show Sarah being spanked, but it's something she expected to happen, which tells us it's a common occurrence. Even something like Christmas follows her exact specifications. I think part of the reason Sarah has accepted being a baby is because it's the only time her mother has shown anything resembling love and affection, even though her mother is only doing it to humiliate her. But it doesn't change the fact that the level of care required to infantailize a teenager is immense. Even with the recent chapter and leaving her alone most of the day, she still uses her lunch break to come home and change/feed Sarah. Of course, this isn't REAL love, it's abuse and she's only doing it to punish Sarah, but to Sarah's broken down mind it's the love her mother seemingly never gave her.
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."
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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.3 hours ago, spark said:I knew it!
I'm sure you'll explain in the coming chapters, but I wonder how they found out. I think the red flag was pulling communication from Sarah, which put Lisa on alert and then disenrolled her in school.
It didn't appear that Mom did anything about homeschooling. Homeschooling requires parents to register with a district, and the district is responsible for showing evidence that education is happening.
Great chapter! It's heartbreaking to see how much Mom destroyed Sarah's will and turned her into a pathetic character.
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.
2 hours ago, BabySofia said:Thank God!!!!! Finally!
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.
2 hours ago, kerry said:All I can say is: Thank goodness!
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.2 hours ago, JustaFoxGirl said:Been reading this for a while (without an account) and feel like now is a good time to chime in with my thoughts.
Firstly, I'm glad that Sarah will finally be away from her psycho mother. Hopefully she can begin healing now, but I know this kind of abuse stays with a person. That being said..
The second thing is, speaking as someone who is incontinent, her acceptance of diapers is a good thing long-term. Despite all her best efforts in potty training, anytime Sarah made it to a toilet it felt more like she got lucky than anything. It seems pretty clear that she is, for all intents and purposes, incontinent. Being able to accept that and her needs is healthy, even if it came from a place of abuse.
Thirdly, once again trying to see a positive in the nightmare, perhaps Sarah will understand why Samantha likes being babied now. Even though she was forced and abused by it, and a lot of what she was thinking was a result of that, I can see her having a better understanding of how her friend feels. I recall it was something Sarah struggled to understand at the time and more or less went along with it because that's what friends do. Although after all this, I also wouldn't be surprised if Samantha is shocked out of wanting to do it anymore after learning about what happened, but will Sarah let her? It's going to be an interesting dynamic going forward.
I'm looking forward to how this story finishes, and hopefully there is some good to come from all this for Sarah.
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.2 hours ago, spark said:Great thoughts!
@MinnesotaWriter did you do any research on types of incontinence that Sarah would have? I don't do deep research, but I do check if there is a condition that could explain the issues.
The abuse broke Sarah. The passage of time is intentionally vague, which makes sense given what Sarah has gone. I sense that it is months rather than weeks because she lost track of the weekends.
She is in a worse place than Lisa ever was,
I hope there is an update soon.
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.
45 minutes ago, TheJ said:If I remember correctly from a Last Week Tonight episode, the requirements vary from state to state. Some states have almost no supervision on homeschooling. It's unfathomable that is allowed in a developed country.
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.
24 minutes ago, spark said:Sadly, you're right. https://hslda.org/legal
I based that on what I know about California's rules.
I could see the Mom going with homeschooling, but I didn't think she would ignore Sarah's schooling.
Ever since I finished this chapter I've had this vision of what this poor girl must have gone through. Endure weeks and weeks confined to a crib for most of the week with no real human interaction. I'm sure the only interaction she had was when her sister played with her and she wasn't allowed to fully communicate because of the forced baby talk rule.
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.
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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.
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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.
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21 hours ago, Night Rain said:
Sarah still has to deal with whatever is going to happen once she runs into her friends again when school starts.
But when Sarah get's older she's going to have a lot of emotional baggage. Or might even have thoughts of trying to harm herself.
The story won't end before there's a chance to delve further into how all of this has impacted Sarah.
20 hours ago, WehavePi314 said:Girl. Get thee to a mandated reporter. Tell them everything she did over break. If possible, provoke your mother into administering a spanking that leaves obvious bruises first so there is evidence. But run to the counselor.
Hard to feel the need to tell someone else when you're convinced that you are fully deserving of what is happening to you.
12 hours ago, Jayme said:Stockholm syndrome and cult like programing have hit Sarah hard. I'm wondering if her friends are seeing this or have caught glimpses of it before?
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.
11 hours ago, Kahlez said:There are two interesting things for me this chapter.
First her mother, I think she she was really hoping that Sarah would proof she is a big girl again, since my guess is that Sarah´s mother is frustrated more than anything with her. She feels like a mother who is not very flexible, Rules are the rules and life has a certain order. Sarah is the oldest daughter who should help her by now and instead she begins to beliefe Sarah maybe even wants to be babied. The last accident maybe even enough "proof" for her that this is the case.
Secondly Sarah...yeah i guess that looks really bad for her now. Her feeling relieved wearing diapers again because she believes she needs them makes the situation even more complicated. First of it could give her mother an additional proof she wants to be babied by not fully understanding why her daughter wants to wear them. Secondly the chances that Sarah is telling anyone about the abuse case are getting very slime now. If i had to guess unless something else big happens in the last chapters there is a 90% chance Sarah will not report this or tell everyone she wants/need it. Therefore chances to helping her are getting really low here. Unlike in Europe in the US you are allowed to home school so if her mother choosing this option, it probably would end every bit of chance left for Sarah to escape it.
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.
4 hours ago, nadine_enough said:Just getting caught up again, thanks for continuing to create and share this story!
I've not been too interested in litigating all the ways when or how Sarah should talk to a mandated reporter. That will probably happen at some point, so to me it's honestly like whatever, who cares. (or, unlikely outcome, potentially that never happens, at which point the story stops being satisfying, like one of those old "bad end" ABDL stories)
No, the more interesting development to me is this:
Between this, and Sarah lisping in the previous chapter when given a chance to speak, this trajectory makes total sense narratively. Her responding to "do you want to be a big girl" with "wes mommy" was a sign to me that she may have only been days away from giving up and accepting babyhood as her true status. I believe she said as much that she was no longer trying to hold in her bladder at the tail end of her diaper punishment, so this conclusion was inevitable.
Personally I think this path is way more interesting to read and these ideas way more interesting to explore than just rushing Sarah towards CPS.
Thanks! I'm glad you're enjoying it. There are some more developments in store for Sarah still.
3 hours ago, kerry said:Pardon me, but this is really giving that abusive bitch of a mom more credit than she deserves. There is absolutely no scenario that could justify her actions.
As for the potential ending: we've come a very long way since the cheer accident that resulted in Sarah's problems, but I think it would be wrong not to take her to a doctor who could actually diagnose her correctly. So, my probably-wrong predictions for the remainder of the plot:
- Mom continues to be abusive.
- Sarah, in diapers at school, either decides on her own to report things or, more likely, is compelled when either her friends find out or she is discovered by an enemy.
- CPS removes her from her mom's clutches along with Emilia. Sarah opts to live with Lisa instead of whatever relative takes her sister.
- At a court-ordered doctor appointment, Sarah's bladder injury is discovered and she remembers the cheer accident.
- Her mom, charged with abuse, goes into counseling, which may eventually allow her to get Emilia back...though not Sarah.
As I said, it's probably all wrong. But it would be highly satisfactory. It even manages to help that abusive, twisted mom.
Appreciate the thorough predictions. My lips are sealed for now.
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2 hours ago, Babytom948 said:
Welcome to the dark side
I think the story has been a bit dark for a while now.
1 hour ago, BabySofia said:Now, unfortunately, what else is mom going to do...? I think we're at four more chapters...? I don't remember? Either way I doubt this is going to be a giving her the thing she needs moment. (I really hate her mom)
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.
44 minutes ago, spark said:Making Sarah stand in a cold shower is beyond emotional abuse. Mom set her up to fail for some reason.
I see it as more as the mom being completely incapable of understanding why Sarah isn't succeeding, and lashing out at her.
38 minutes ago, BabySofia said:She's psychotic? Definitely diagnosable with something...
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.
2 minutes ago, GQLF said:Sarah has fallen, and sadly, it was her own choice. The last time she wet her pants was the last straw, and her self-esteem has completely disappeared. Since she accepted the fact that she really needed diapers, she had no ability or reason to resist.
However, we can also see from Sarah's inner confession that this is a relief for her own spirit. The pressure of concealing her urinary leakage from everyone for several months has already made the 14-year-old unbearable. If being forced to wear diapers by her mother as a baby is the dark end, then Sarah voluntarily becoming a baby wearing diapers is a "good end" for herself in a sense.
I'm not referring to returning to her original life, but becoming a baby represents the disappearance of all stress, which is a great relief for Sarah.
We'll have to see how those theories hold up in coming chapters.
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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.
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On 1/7/2024 at 12:16 PM, kerry said:
I hope that we'll get a look at just how something like this could have happened and why it doesn't have half the country or more in open revolt...but that is to come.
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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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19 hours ago, AndTheChips said:
It’s such a good story and I can say that because I’m sick to my stomach reading it. It’s so cruel… if you! That I’m emotionally invested and so sad that she’s now stuck between two sucky endings. I mean really it’s more one because you are a more realistic writer 🤔. A) mom makes her a baby and “homeschools” her which is just a horrific result for this character or B ) which it has to actually be: she/someone else report the abuse and mom is jailed and both children are taken away from the only parent figure they’ve ever known and even though it was clearly often twisted, the only parent they know who does also seem to actually love them in her own twisted way (okay well at LEAST the lil one).
ughhhh why must you torture me so with your well-written story
Thanks!
3 hours ago, Lost Little Neppy said:While parents abusing their children for their own sick fun is something that we don't like to think about, it is something that happens, which I find to be worse than "well, I was spanked/diapered/made to do this or that or whatever when I was a kid and I turned out fine" despite how incredibly annoying and outright wrong that statement is (for someone who turned out fine, they're certainly defensive, aren't they?).
There's no "good" way of looking at this women, because she's definitely psychotic in the sense that she lives in this little bubble world of hers where what she does is right and if anyone disagrees with her, they are wrong, the end, oh and she lives for Christmas and only Christmas, and she will absolutely discipline her daughters when it comes to potty training when accidents are expected. Even the most stubborn of people of any generation would look at her and tell her tone it down.
I'm so, so curious about the missing father here. I have a few theories, but I'm keeping them to myself for now, bwahahaha.
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.
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11 hours ago, Night Rain said:
The question to be seen is can Sarah make it in her big girl training.
We'll find out the result of that on Tuesday.
10 hours ago, BabySofia said:I give her just one trip of success unless she games the system by getting her sister to drink more fluids… even then that might backfire if they both have an accident. Mom is clearly playing her cards to get her daughter to sympathize with her punishment now. Problem for her is biologically she can’t make it. Now after two weeks of not trying at all I bet it’s worse than when she was trying before.
My heart goes out to this poor girl with every chapter.
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.
9 hours ago, spark said:Her mom is not only horrible, she is negligent. WTF is she thinking? She forces Sarah to be a baby for two weeks, even though Sarah's immaturity is because is so parentified that she manages her incontinence issues on her own, and then mom does a full 180. Not to mention Sarah has an extremely active bladder and her bladder voids every hour. AFAIK, most 3-year-olds don't need to pee every hour. Sarah might be in trouble.
@MinnesotaWriter You've promised a good ending, and I trust you. With that being said, I don't want Old Yeller ending, and I don't even want a Breaking Bad ending. I want an El Camino ending. Yeah, I'll think about Emilia if she stays with the evil bitch, but it's been 3 years. I just want Sarah to be in a good place.
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.
7 hours ago, Allman90 said:These last few chapters have me rethinking my theory.
For a while I thought this was just a well written story. Specifically one that keeps itself well-grounded in reality, and not in cartoonish absurdity that is so frequent in this interest...
But then I began to think MW was subtly attempting to write a mom-punishes-with-diapers story but one that doesn't delve into the usual goofiness that then begins to call upon suspension of disbelief.
Recently I've begun to suspect this actually a story about the mother. It's not about Sarah or her adventures in diapers; it's about the mother and how she's a complete psycho.
It's just told from Sarah's perspective.
The more I think about it, the more things agree with it. The intro paragraph mentions the mother first. And the title itself doesn't even name Sarah or mention diapers. The title states the subject is the mother and her rules.
And it's true. Nearly every aspect of this story and what happens in it has been directly influenced by the mother and her rules. I think this is intentional, and MW has very cleverly disguised this as a (very well written) fairly trope-ish teenage diaper story.
In any case, this has proven to be some amazingly good writing.
The above also supports a theory I have about the ending, but I'll keep it to myself.
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.
6 hours ago, Bonsai said:If I were Sarah, I would start to encourage Emilia to drink more, maybe using special drinks as a coaxing method.
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.
5 hours ago, Kahlez said:I am feeling less sure how evil her mother really is to be honest. At this point I would not even be surprised if she really believes Sarah likes being a baby but dont want to say it. This chance from her perspective is absolute fair given that she believes Sarah can fully control her bladder. So if Sarah keeps having accident it would confirm in her mind Sarah wants to be a little girl instead.
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.
4 hours ago, Lost Little Neppy said:I wouldn't say it's fair. I would say this punishment is being taken too far, and beating your child with a paddle is absolutely no way to discipline, not to mention forced diapering just because the girl has been buying pull-ups behind her mother's back (the horror!).
Now, it could be worse than it is. And I do think that her mother is doing this either because she experienced something similar growing up and thinks this is the best way to parent, or because she has some twisted sort of justice when it comes to raising her daughters. We do know that her mother had diaper punishments given to her in the past. Maybe she has/had a sibling who had it long-term and it warped her mind somehow. That's the best explanation I can give to this woman, since she's not doing this out of pleasure, but because she thinks it's the best way to raise her daughters.
Probably also explains why Dad is no longer in the picture, too, sadly.
The mother definitely believes that what she is doing is right, which makes the situation more messed up, not less.
4 hours ago, Kahlez said:dThe fair part was just the big girl training sorry if it was not clear. Sure the punishment itself is way over the top and here in Germany and other parts of europe spanking a child (with or without a paddle) is abuse and can get you even prison time. So I was just meaning her chance to be a big girl again (from the mothers view) seems relative fair.
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.
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Really enjoying the start to this story. Am looking forward to seeing what direction you take this in.
On 1/5/2024 at 7:25 PM, Chels in Ribbons said:“I know, you want to be a teacher, but I just don’t…well…you can’t be a teacher for another nine years, what if by then they don’t let women be teachers anymore?”
Definitely getting some Handmaid's Tale vibes.
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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.
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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.
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All My Mother's Rules (Ch. 70 & Epilogue - 2/13/24)
in Completed Stories
Posted
Yeah, I re-worded that so it matches the earlier chapter.
Thanks, was trying to find the best way for the nurse and doctor to be able to re-assure Sarah about her issues.
No worries. I'd rather have someone say something if there is a continuity issue than nothing at all. Went and made those fixes quick.
It does feel good to begin answering a lot of questions. Both for the reader and also for things we know (or suspect) but Sarah hadn't learned yet.
It does work well for posting the whole chapter here. With Wattpad, the way their algorithm works is pretty funky, but from what I've read, it tends to reward more frequent, consistent posting and is generally best with chapters that are shorter than 3,000 words.