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What happens when a twelve-year-old boy suddenly starts wetting his pants again? Mark Davidson is twelve years old and just finished the sixth grade. He is leaving elementary school and will soon be a teenager. Sure, he had some toileting problems when he was younger, but he has long since outgrown that, or so it seems. The Background One of my earliest memories is a tantrum I threw when I was four and a half. I wanted to play in a playroom, but I couldn’t unless I was potty trained. I still wore diapers and wasn’t potty trained. I saw kids younger than me playing and started to cry. My mom got frustrated with my tantrum and said, “Big kids don’t wear diapers!” After we got home, Mom said “I’m disappointed with you. You acted like a baby and threw a tantrum. You can’t be a big kid if you are not potty trained.” She took away most of my ‘big kid’ privileges and treated me like my little sister, who had just turned two. At the time, there wasn’t a whole lot of difference. Mom still put me in a stroller, and there were rails on my bed to keep me from falling out. All she had to do was pull up the rails to convert my ‘big kid’ bed into a crib and bring out a second highchair. I also had to use a sippy cup, but I used to spill a lot. I don’t think it worked very well because it took another year to get out of diapers. Yes, I didn’t get out of diapers until I was five and a half! My little sister was now three and had just become potty trained. I didn’t want to be the only one in diapers, so I started to use the potty as well. Even so, I still had accidents, and sometimes needed diapers. My mom had a different approach than most parents. She wanted us to take care of the potty by ourselves, although she still helped my sister with some of the details. She was only three, so that made sense. Mom wanted me to do everything by myself. She would take me to the bathroom when we were in public, but that’s about it. I had to wear Pull-ups if I had an accident. I didn’t get to wear underwear until I stayed dry for three days. If I had two accidents in my Pull-ups, it was back to diapers. I stayed in diapers until I proved that I was ready to use the potty, which usually took about a week. My mom treated me like a big kid when I wore Pull-ups. I even got to do things that some of the older kids didn’t. However, I lost all of those privileges when I wore diapers. Diapers were for babies, so I was treated just like a baby. I slept in a crib, sat in a highchair, and rode in a stroller when we left the house. I think my mom preferred the stroller because I didn’t wander away. It wasn’t just the highchairs and stroller, little kids aren’t allowed to open doors, and I wasn’t either. I had to wear diapers at night until I stayed dry for five nights in a row, which didn’t happen until I was eight years old. I got to wear underwear after keeping my Pull-ups dry for five nights, but it was back to diapers if I had three accidents in my Pull-ups. Since diapers were for babies, my bed was left in the crib position when I slept in a diaper. My mom changed my diaper just after waking me up when it was dry, but when I woke up in a wet diaper, she waited until I ate breakfast. Diapers are for babies, so I had to sit in a highchair for breakfast. My sister was out of diapers by my sixth birthday, which was when she was three-and-a-half. I don’t think she had very many accidents after that. However, when she was older, she would occasionally wet her pants. It didn’t happen very often, but mom made her wear Pull-ups when she did. She was nine years old the last time it happened. We had to wear a diaper at night if we wore a Pull-up during the day, so Emily ended up sleeping in a diaper for about three weeks that year. It was harder for me. I wore diapers pretty much all the time while I was in kindergarten. I occasionally got to wear Pull-ups, but I always had accidents and went right back to diapers. Things got a little better for me in first grade, when I was seven. I still had accidents, but I usually could go back to underwear before I had to wear a diaper. I only had to wear diapers a couple of times that year. However, we lived in Asia, and we went back to the United States in the summer. I had a series of accidents that summer and was put back in diapers. My mom didn’t want to deal with potty training while we were traveling, so I stayed in diapers for six weeks. I wasn’t potty trained again until we got home. That didn’t happen until my birthday, so I was still in diapers on my eighth birthday! I guess that helped because I stopped having accidents after that, or at least mostly stopped. I only had a few accidents in third grade. I even started to stay dry at night, and my crib was finally converted back to a bed. I only spent two weeks in diapers that year, and that was on purpose. I wet my pants on purpose because I wanted to wear diapers again. It happened during school breaks, so I wouldn’t have to wear diapers to school. I did it again in fourth grade, during spring break. My mom never got mad about it. She just said, “I guess you’re not ready to be a big kid,” and put me back in diapers.

Summer with Aunt Amanda by Spark Part 1 My mom was deployed to the Middle East the summer after I finished eighth grade. My mom was a single parent, so I went to stay with my Aunt Amanda for the summer. She lived in this remote mountain town, and I didn’t know any kids my age who lived near her house. I was fourteen, which made me too young to get a job, and too old for summer camp. I would spend all summer with my two younger cousins. Scott was seven years old, and Debbie was five. In truth, I liked my aunt, even though she still treated me like I was a little kid. For some reason, she didn’t realize I was a teenager and didn’t need to be supervised all the time. My mom warned me, “Tommy, I know it feels like Aunt Amanda treats you like a kid, but if you can show her that you’re mature, she promised to give you some more freedom and responsibility. But that means that you have to be helpful and respectful. You might need to help with your cousins and, of course, clean up your messes.” The truth was, despite being fourteen and entering high school, I acted more like a kid. My mom still had to remind me to brush my teeth and tell me to take a shower at night. She constantly had to tell me to put away my things, and I never did any chores without being told to. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, but I just never thought about it unless she asked me. I also would pout and whine, and even tantrum, when I didn’t get my way. I don’t think I was a bad kid, but I was just really immature for my age. I’m not completely sure, but I think my mom hoped time with my aunt would help. My mom and aunt met halfway between their houses. Scott and Debbie were in the car with my aunt, and I noticed a diaper bag in the back of the car. That surprised me because I thought Debbie was already potty trained and figured Scott was too old for diapers, at least during the day. We did our goodbyes, and I took a seat in the passenger side next to my aunt for the three-hour drive to her house. Now, despite my mom’s warnings, I overindulged in chips and soda along the way, and my stomach was already rumbling when we got on our way. I figured it wasn’t an emergency yet. I didn’t want to ask my aunt to stop because she already warned me before we left. She asked, “Tommy, it’s a long drive, do you need to go potty before we leave?” That annoyed me and I replied, “I’m not a baby! I can hold it.” Aunt Amanda noted my sharp tone, “Ok, but remember, you can’t ask me to stop unless you go potty now.” The pressure grew and I tried to fart a little to relieve it, but it wasn’t just a fart. I felt something come out, and it wasn’t just a small leak. It was enough that I could feel it in my underwear, and it wasn’t long before I started to smell it. I was fourteen years old, and I just pooped my pants! I wanted my aunt to see me as a teenager and not just some little kid, but that wouldn’t be possible if she knew that I pooped my pants. I tried to be discrete, but Aunt Amanda noticed the odor. She asked, “Scotty, did you poop?” “No.” Aunt Amanda then asked, "Debbie?” “No, Mommy. I’m a big girl.” “I know you are, honey. It smells like somebody pooped, so we’re going to stop.” We pulled into a rest stop, and everybody got out. My aunt checked Scott and Debbie first. Scott didn’t poop, but he wet his Pull-Up and his mom said, “Scotty, that’s your second accident. That means that you need to go back to diapers. We’re going to take a break from potty training.” I tried to sneak off as she was dealing with Scott, but she saw me. “Where do you think you are going?” “I need to go to the bathroom?” “Not yet; I need to see if it was you.” “WHAT! Don’t treat me like a baby. I didn’t poop my pants!” My aunt shot me a stern look, “Do you need to go to time-out?” I shook my head and meekly said, “No.” “Ok then. I understand that you want me to treat you like a big kid, but I can’t treat you like a big kid unless you act like one. Do big kids throw tantrums?” “No.” “That’s right, and you just threw a tantrum, didn’t you?” “But …” I didn’t get a chance to finish my protest. “Did you just shout at me and cry that you didn’t poop?” I nodded. “If you didn’t, let me check.” “Please! Let me go to the bathroom. I’ll clean it up.” “Was it you?” I blushed and cried, “Only a little bit.” “So, it was you; why didn’t you say so?” “I was embarrassed.” She placed a change pad from the diaper bag in the back of her SUV and said, “Hop up so I can take care of your mess.” “Um. What? Can’t I just go to the bathroom and clean myself?” My aunt shook her head, “I’m afraid not, Tommy. I need to make sure you’re properly cleaned.” I protested, “I can do it myself. I’m not a baby!” I hoped that would make her realize that I didn’t need her to clean my butt, but she just rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Really? Do big kids poop their pants?” “It was an accident!” “Yeah, it was, and I need to make sure it won’t happen again.” “It won’t happen again, I promise. I’m not a baby; I’m fourteen years old.” By this point, I was whining and begging. Aunt Amanda shook her head and said, “Tommy, if you want me to treat you like a big kid, you have to act like a big kid. So far, I’ve seen no evidence that you can do that.” “What? I am a big kid. You can’t do this.” “Do big kids poop their pants?” I shook my head. “Do big kids pout and whine?” I cried, “I’m not pouting!” By this point, Aunt Amanda was tired of it, “Look! If you’re going to act like a baby, I’m going to treat you like a baby. I can’t potty train you if you’re not cooperating.” “I am potty trained. It was an accident.” She laughed and said, “I certainly hope so. I’d hate to think you did that on purpose. However, at my house, an accident means that you have to wear Pull-ups until you can show me that it won’t happen again.” She took a pacifier and ordered, “Open up.” I asked, “What’s that?” and as I did, she plopped the pacifier in my mouth. “That’s a pacifier. That’s what you get when you whine too much in my house. Keep that in your mouth until I take it out. Now be a good boy and lie down on the mat.” I resigned myself to having my aunt clean my messy bottom but pleaded for more privacy. In a muffled voice, because of the pacifier, I cried, “Can’t we do this in the baffroom?’ “I’m sorry honey, but you’re too old to take into the women’s bathroom. We have to do this out here.” “But you’ll see my --,” I was too embarrassed to say it in front of my aunt. Aunt Amanda grinned, “Honey, I’ve changed lots of little boys. I’ve even changed your diaper a few times.” I closed my eyes and let her lift my legs and clean my bottom, just like I was three years old. She finished wiping my bottom and then praised me, “You’re being such a good boy for me. It is so much easier when you’re not squirming.” She put my legs through a Pull-Up and then told me to lift up, so she could finish putting the Pull-Up on me. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” “I guess so.” I suddenly realized that everybody would see me in just the Pull-Up when I got up to put on my shorts. I asked, “Can you help me with my shorts?” “You want me to help you get dressed?” “I don’t want anybody to see me in just the Pull-Up.” She nodded and then said, “Let’s see what you have in your bag. You can’t wear the ones you were wearing because they need to be cleaned.” After she finished, she helped me up and asked, “Are you going to be a good boy?” I nodded, and she took the pacifier out of my mouth and said, “Ok, that’s good. Keep this in your pocket to remind you what happens when you pout.” She then pointed to the package of Pull-ups and said, “These are just in case. You still need to use the potty. If you can use the potty for three days, I’ll let you wear underwear again. But, if you don’t, you are going to stay in diapers until I can potty train you. Scotty is going back to diapers because he wasn’t using the potty, and the same thing will happen to you.” Part 2 I realized that my aunt was crazy! She was completely nuts, but at fourteen years old, I didn’t have any recourse. I was in the middle of nowhere and couldn’t run away. I couldn’t fight back and change her mind. I could only stay out of her way and not rock the boat. Fortunately, I wasn’t going to keep pooping my pants and I hadn’t wet the bed since I was ten. My aunt promised to let me wear underwear again if I could stay dry for three days, which seemed easy. I expected my mom to flip out when she found out what my aunt did. It was a Monday, and my mom promised to call me on Wednesday after she got settled at her base. I just had to make it until then, and this would all be over. I felt sorry for Scott, especially when I noticed how his mom was treating him. She treated Scott like he was two years old. He had to stay close to an adult all the time and he didn’t have the same privileges that Debbie or I had. In fact, he had to sit in a highchair for dinner. I wasn’t sure if he could help it when he peed, and I wondered if he really did need diapers. I didn’t notice much at first, other than my aunt putting him in a diaper after she put me in the Pull-Up. He and Debbie both sat in car seats. He was kind of a small kid and still fit in a car seat, so that made sense to me. I remembered that I used a car seat when I was his age. He also had a sippy cup in the car, but Aunt Amanda would probably make me use a sippy cup as well. It wasn’t until we got to their house that I noticed anything. First, Aunt Amanda told me, “Tommy, you’re wearing Pull-ups, but I expect you to use the potty like a big kid. Do you want Auntie to help when you go potty?” I was trying to hide my annoyance, but my tone didn’t do much to hide it. “I can do it myself!” Aunt Amanda rolled her eyes and remarked, “Ok! Just remember to tell me when you go potty.” “WHY?” “Don’t yell at me. It’s not my fault you pooped your pants. Remember, if you want me to treat you like a big kid, you have to show me that you’re a big kid.” I huffed, “Fine! But why do I need to tell you when I go to the bathroom.” “I need to make sure you’re using the potty like you should.” I gritted my teeth and said, “Fine!” I needed to pee, and I had no intention of wetting the Pull-Up, not that I felt that was likely. I tried not to sound snarky, which is difficult for an annoyed fourteen-year-old. “Can I use your bathroom?” Aunt Amanda smiled, “Of course, honey. Remember, this is your house for the summer. It’s right down the hall.” I did my thing, and when I came out, she asked, “Did you go?” I rolled my eyes, “Yes.” “Did you pee or poop?” “I peed.” In a falsely excited voice that you would use if I was just learning to use the potty, my aunt cried out, “GOOD JOB! I’m so proud of you. Now, did you wash your hands?” In reality, I pulled my pants down low enough to aim (albeit my aim wasn’t all that great), zipped up, and left. I didn’t wash my hands, which was normal for me at the time. I replied in a halting and questioning tone, “Yes?” It sounded more like a question than a response, and I think my aunt knew I was lying. She looked at me and asked again, “Are you sure?” I gave away my deception with my stammer, “Um, uh.” “Why don’t you go wash your hands again? Remember, it’s very important to wash your hands after going pee-pee and poo-poo.” While I hated being talked to like I was a three-year-old, I knew that protests would get me nowhere. What I didn’t expect was that I would receive praise when I complied with my aunt’s absurd request. Aunt Amanda praised, “Thank you for being such a good boy; I’m glad you washed your hands.” I know this sounds strange, but I didn’t get much praise from adults back then. My mom tended to criticize me most of the time. She didn’t like my grades; she got mad when I played video games for long periods, and she was mad when I didn’t put away my things. It felt like anything I did was going to make her mad, and when she wasn’t mad, she ignored me. Even my teachers got upset with me, and when I was praised, it was backhanded praise. It was always something like; “See, look what you can do when you apply yourself.” Suddenly my aunt praised me twice in just a few minutes. Ok, it was for peeing in the toilet and washing my hands, but she sounded genuinely proud of me. My aunt changed Scott’s diaper in the living room, right in front of everybody. It seemed weird to me, but my aunt is crazy. It wouldn’t be unusual if he was only three years old, so my aunt didn’t think it was unusual now. At least, she acted like it was normal. Scott seemed resigned to his fate, although he begged me not to watch. Unfortunately, I couldn’t turn away. After his diaper was changed, Scott returned to his cheery self and asked, “Can Tommy and I go play in the yard?” They had a neat playset that he was excited to show me. My aunt shook her head, “I’m sorry, honey. Mommy has to put stuff away, and you need somebody to watch you.” He immediately protested, “But Debbie is playing outside.” “Debbie is a big girl, and big kids can play outside if they are careful.” “I’m a big kid.” Scott’s voice was more of a whine than a true protest, and I’m sure he knew what his mom would say next. “Do big kids wear diapers?” Scott smirked, “Sometimes?” “No, they don’t. Big kids use the potty. When you use the potty, you get big kid privileges.” I felt bad. A few years ago, Scott was still in diapers, but my aunt let him go outside as long as he stayed with me. I figured the same thing still applied and I said, “I can watch him.” “Sorry, but I don’t think so. You haven’t shown me that you are responsible enough yet.” “WHAT?” Aunt Amanda shot me a disapproving look and remarked, “Maybe if you can show me that you can handle responsibility, I’ll let you watch Scotty. But not yet.” She then looked over to Scott, whose face was disappointed, and said, “I’ll tell you what. Jessica is next door, and maybe she is willing to watch you while I get dinner ready.” Jessica looked close to my age. Based on her looks, I figured she was in middle school. Aunt Amanda asked Jessica, “Can you do me a favor? Scott wants to show his cousin the playset outside, but he’s been put back in diapers and doesn’t have big boy privileges.” Jessica smiled, “More accidents?” “I’m afraid so. He wet himself twice on the ride to pick Tommy up.” Jessica nodded and agreed to take us outside. It felt like she was babysitting me as well, which was strange. Jessica asked, “You look old enough to babysit; how old are you?” Now, I was somewhat embarrassed, but maybe I could impress her if she knew I was in high school. I guessed she was in eighth grade, and she might think it’s cool to date a kid in high school. That’s what boys my age should do, and I hoped that she could be my girlfriend for the summer. This summer might not suck so bad if I had a girlfriend. Unfortunately, I had no idea how to get a girlfriend, and I only wanted one because that’s what I thought every boy my age wanted. I confidently gloated, “I’m fourteen. I’m going to high school next year.” Jessica didn’t seem all that impressed with a fourteen-year-old who wasn’t even allowed to watch his younger cousin for a few minutes. “Really? Why didn’t Mrs. Whitmore let you watch Scott?” I shrugged and said, “I don’t know; I think she is mad at me.” “Already? What did you do?” I hoped that sounding like a bad boy would help my cause and responded, “She talked down to me, and I don’t let people do that. I’m not a little kid, so you got to treat me with respect.” “I see.” She smirked with a kind of mocking tone, and replied, “Well, I’m younger than you. I’m only thirteen, and I’m going into eighth grade.” She then noticed the elastic band of my Pull-Up peeking above my shorts. “Is that a Pull-Up?” My eyes grew big, and I tried to hide it, but I am terrible at lying. Everybody knows when I’m lying. “NO! Do you think I’m wearing Pull-ups?” “Whatever, dude. It looks like you are wearing Pull-ups.” “Well, I’m not.” “If you say so. Just remember, if you are, you still have to use the bathroom. Your aunt is really strict about that.” I shook my head and turned my attention to Scott. They did have a cool playset. It had a jungle gym, a tire swing, and a teeter-totter. If I was still a little kid, I would probably think it was the coolest thing, but I wasn’t supposed to be impressed with stuff like that at fourteen. Scott whined when his mom pulled out the highchair. “Please, Mommy. I don’t want to sit in the highchair.” Aunt Amanda put a pacifier in Scott’s mouth and said, “That’s enough whining out of you. If you want to be a big kid, you have to use the potty. If you keep whining, you are going to sit in your playpen until everybody finishes dinner.” While I did feel sorry for Scott, I knew it was a bad idea to argue with my aunt. I ate in silence, hoping to avoid making her mad. Fortunately, Aunt Amanda left me on my own, but she did have to remind me to clear my plate when I was done. I guess my mom was right; I wasn’t very responsible. We finished dinner, and Aunt Amanda announced, “Ok, kids, it is time to get ready for bed. Tommy, go take a shower and then put on your PJs.” “What? It’s only seven o’clock.” “Yes. It’s almost bedtime. Go shower and put on your pajamas.” Her tone was getting more and more insistent. “I don’t wear pajamas. I don’t have any.” Aunt Amanda looked disgusted. “You don’t. That’s not going to work. It’s too late tonight, but tomorrow we need to buy you some pajamas. I guess you can wear one of Uncle Ron’s tee shirts tonight.” She waved her hands and warned, “Now take off your clothes, and go take a shower. Don’t make me ask you again!” I knew it was a bad idea to test Aunt Amanda any further, so I stripped down to let her inspect my Pull-Up. She praised, “It’s still dry; that’s good. Hopefully, you’ll stay dry for three more days, and you can get your big kid underwear back. Now it’s time for you to take a shower.” “But it’s early,” I complained. “No, it’s not. It’s almost bedtime. Maybe I’ll have to give you and Scott a bath together.” “I don’t take baths.” “Then go take a shower.” Once again, my attempt to establish independence failed miserably. Scott was getting his diaper changed on the floor when I came out. I didn’t have any clothes with me, so I wrapped a towel around my body and asked, “Where is my underwear?” Aunt Amanda pointed to a tee shirt and said, “I’ve got a shirt for you to wear, but I need to put a diaper on you first.” “What? I don’t need diapers.” She asked, “Are you sure about that? You pooped your pants today.” “I don’t wet the bed anymore, I promise. You can even ask my mom.” My case wasn’t helped by the fact that Aunt Amanda knew I wet the bed until I was ten years old. Aunt Amanda was unswayed and simply replied, “I’m sorry, but no. If you need Pull-ups during the day, you have to sleep in a diaper. That’s our rule. That way, you don’t have to worry about staying dry at night until we know you are potty trained during the day.” She was crazy, but I couldn’t do anything about it. I remarked, “I’m going to tell my mom.” Aunt Amanda was unimpressed and scoffed, “You are? Are you going to tell her you pooped your pants? Your mommy told you to follow our rules, right?” I nodded. “And in our house, big boys don’t poop their pants, do they?” I nodded. “Until I know that you can use the potty like a big boy, you need to wear a diaper at night. Now lie down, so I can get you ready for bed.” She held a pacifier in her hand and ordered, “That’s enough pouting. Now, open up.” I obliged and allowed my aunt to plop the pacifier in my mouth, and reluctantly laid down on the mat. I was trying to hold back cries and sobbed, “Why are you punishing me? It was an accident; I didn’t do it on purpose.” Aunt Amanda hugged me and said, “Honey, I’m not punishing you for pooping your pants.” “You aren’t? It feels like it.” “Well, I’m not. Do you think wearing glasses is punishment?” “No.” “Well, it’s the same with diapers. I don’t want you to pee in your sleep, and the diaper protects it.” “But I don’t pee in my sleep,” I cried. “And if you can show me that’s true, you won’t need diapers anymore. Ok, it’s getting late. I’m going to read you guys a story, and then it’s off to bed.” My uncle’s shirt fit me more like a dress than a shirt. It dropped down to my knees, which made it look like I was wearing a nightgown. Aunt Amanda asked, “How does that feel, sweetie?” “I don’t like it. It feels like I’m wearing a nightgown.” “I agree, but it’s all we have tonight. We’ll get some pajamas for you tomorrow.” We snuggled up next to my aunt, and she told us a story of a boy in a magic land, which was kind of like Jack and The Beanstalk, but her original version. That’s what my dad used to do before he died, and I missed hearing his wonderful stories. After the story, my aunt took us to our rooms. Debbie’s room was a little girl’s room with a lot of pink, and there was a princess bed in the corner. Then we walked into a room that looked like a nursery with two cribs. Aunt Amanda said, “Tommy, you’ll sleep here with Scott.” I cried, “That’s a crib!” She calmly remarked, “Yeah, fortunately, Debbie has a big kid bed, so you can use her old crib.” I cried, “I can’t sleep in a crib. I’m not a baby.” I wanted to avoid the pacifier and stay calm, but it made no sense. I’m fourteen years old; it’s still daylight and I’m being sent to bed; I’m wearing a diaper, and now she is making me sleep in a crib! Aunt Amanda countered, “Little kids sleep in a crib.” “But I’m not a little kid, I’m a teenager.” “Big kids don’t wear diapers.” “But I don’t need a diaper.” “Did you poop your pants?” It was a vicious cycle. When I reminded her that I wasn’t a baby, she told me that big kids don’t wear diapers. I whined that I didn’t need the diaper, but she reminded me that I pooped my pants. I needed the diaper because I pooped my pants, and I needed to sleep in a crib because I was wearing a diaper. I tried more tactics to delay my bedtime. I said, “I’m not tired; it’s too early to go to bed.” Aunt Amanda countered, “You’re pouting, and you’re cranky, so I can tell you are tired. It’s time for bed.” “I’m thirsty.” She pointed to a baby bottle. “There is a bottle for you to drink.” She then warned, “Scott already knows this, but I want to make sure you know. Stay in your crib until I get you.” I suddenly found a flaw in her plan. I can’t pee in the toilet if I’m stuck in a crib. She had to lower the rails. “What happens if I wake up and need to pee? If I use the diaper, you’re going to think that I peed in my sleep.” She paused a second and then said, “Scotty sleeps through the night, so usually that’s not a problem. But there is a baby monitor on, and I can hear when you cry. Just remember, if I take you to the potty, you better pee.” In reality, at that age, I rarely woke up in the middle of the night. I usually slept until the morning, and peed after I woke up. I got in the crib, and I have to admit it felt nice when Aunt Amanda tucked me in. She calmly said, “Good Nite.” It was strange; I hated all the baby treatment, but the attention felt good. I never got that attention at home. Part 3 After his mom left, Scott asked “Do you wet the bed at home?” I replied, “No, I don’t pee at night.” I could have left it at that, but I felt an odd sense of companionship with Scott. I shared, “But I used to.” There was a sense of relief in Scott’s voice. He knew he wasn’t alone in his plight. “Really! How long did you wet the bed?” “I wet the bed until I was ten.” “Oh, did your mommy make you wear diapers as well?” I answered, “No. I used to just wet the bed, and then my mom would get mad.” Scott replied, “Mommy makes me wear diapers, but she doesn’t get mad if I’m wet. Debbie used to wet the bed too, but she stopped. Mommy told me that I’ll get a big kid bed if I can stay dry three times in a row.” I asked, “Do you wear diapers during the day all the time?” Scott said, “No, only when I have too many accidents. When I have accidents, I have to stay in diapers until Mommy can potty train me. Sometimes I even get to wear real underwear like other big kids, but then I pee my pants and have to wear Pull-Ups.” “How long will you have to wear diapers now?” “I don’t know. A few days. I can’t use the potty until Mommy lets me.” Aunt Amanda chimed in on the monitor with an annoyed tone. “It’s bedtime. No more talking!” My aunt is crazy! Scott is going to be treated like a baby until he stops wetting his pants, and it might be three more years until she lets him sleep in a real bed. That’s what would have happened to me. If my mom acted like Aunt Amanda, I would have slept in a crib until I was ten, and I used to wet my pans as well. I might have had to wear diapers during the day! At least I knew this wouldn’t last forever. I hoped my mom would make Aunt Amanda stop and everything would be back to normal. I thought about making my aunt wake up in the middle of the night to take me to the bathroom. I figured it would be a good punishment for doing this to me. However, there weren’t any clocks in the nursery. It was just a night light and curtains. Even if I woke up in the middle of the night, I wouldn’t know what time it was. I ended up falling asleep and slept until my aunt woke me up. “It’s time to wake up. I want to check your diaper.” She put her hand on the diaper and said, “Good, it’s still dry.” In a smug voice, I chimed, “See, I told you. I don’t wet the bed.” Aunt Amanda grinned and said, “We’ve got to make sure you are potty trained during the day before we can worry about nighttime.” She handed me a new Pull-Up and said, “Try to keep these dry, remember to use the potty.” I protested, “I don’t have accidents!” Aunt Amanda replied, “You did yesterday. If you stay dry through Thursday, I’ll give you big kid underwear on Friday.” “WHAT? It’s only supposed to be for three days. That’s the day after tomorrow!” Aunt Amanda shook her head, put the pacifier in my mouth, and warned, “Stop whining. Yesterday doesn’t count because you had an accident.” Scott sat in his highchair for breakfast, and then Aunt Amanda got ready to take us to Reno, which I think was to buy me some pajamas. I guess they had to buy some other stuff as well, but I didn’t pay too much attention. I just followed along. Other than the thick padded underwear that I was wearing, my aunt didn’t treat me much differently than I got from my mom. She even let me go into the men’s bathroom by myself, which shouldn’t have sounded like a big deal, but it was. On the other hand, Scott was pushed in a stroller, and Debbie kept close to her mom the whole time. Debbie might have technically been a big kid, but she was still only five years old and didn’t have much independence. I got into a small tussle with my aunt at the store. I wanted to buy something from the men’s section, but my aunt knew those clothes were too big for me. At the time, I wasn’t quite big enough for men’s clothes, but baggy clothes were more popular. I pointed to the men’s section and whined, “I want to go there.” “No, Tommy. Those are too big. You still need boy’s clothing.” “But I like them big.” “I’m not buying clothes that fit you like a dress.” I stomped and huffed, “It’s not fair.” I had a sour demeanor and didn’t like anything that my aunt showed. She eventually got tired of it and just picked something out herself. To my dismay, most of the pajamas had themes that were for younger kids. Things like Pokémon or Power Rangers. She remembered that I liked airplanes when I was younger, and she found a pair that had airplanes on it. She showed them to me and said, “How about these? You like airplanes, don’t you?” These would have been the pajamas that I would have picked if I was younger, and I really do like airplanes. If I had to get some pajamas, they wouldn’t be so bad. I held back my excitement and answered, “They are kind of babyish.” “Well, I think they look cute. Go try them on.” By the way, fourteen-year-old boys do not like ‘cute’ things. “Do I have to?” “Yes, you do; I want to make sure they fit.” Fortunately, Aunt Amanda didn’t make me parade out of the dressing room, and I got to take them off once she knew they fit. She didn’t make Scott sit in a highchair at the In-n-Out. I guess she didn’t think that was necessary, and it saved Scott a whole lot of embarrassment. Other than making me tell her when I went to the bathroom, she left me alone after we got home. She was concerned that I hadn’t pooped and wanted me to try and poop when we got home. No fourteen-year-old boy wants to discuss bowel movements with his aunt, but she reminded me that I was supposed to tell her when I used the potty. We followed the same routine that night, which included me having to strip down to let my aunt inspect my Pull-Up. She noted that it was dry and praised me for it. “Good job. You get a smiley face. Only two more days until you earn your big kid pants.” I mumbled something under my breath, and she chastised me for being a sourpuss. I was once again back in the nursery, sleeping in a crib and it was still light outside. Part 4 I was dry again in the morning, and I made sure to gloat when Aunt Amanda woke us up. She said, “You’re dry. Do you need to go pee-pee?” I nodded and smugly said, “See, I told you.” My aunt remarked, “First, we need to make sure you stay dry during the day.” I wanted to tell her that I was already potty trained, but I knew it would just put us in a vicious cycle. I did my business in the bathroom and then took a seat next to Scott in his highchair. My aunt looked at me and asked, “Did you pee, or did you poop?” I tried not to sound snarky, but I probably did. “I just peed.” I was a little more excited when I added, “And I washed my hands, too.” Aunt Amanda smiled and said, “Good job, and you did it without being reminded.” I couldn’t tell if she was genuinely proud of me, or just being snide. It didn’t matter at the time; I was too excited about the phone call from my mom later that morning. All I needed to do was let my mom know what my aunt was doing. There was no way my mom would let Aunt Amanda keep treating me like a baby. My mom was always telling me that it was time to grow up, but that wouldn’t be possible if I was literally treated like a baby. The call was just before lunch, which was nighttime at my mom’s base. She wasn’t allowed to tell me where she was, but it looked like just another Army base. I have to admit, it was kind of cool seeing her. It had only been two days, and even if I wouldn’t admit it, I missed her. However, I had business to conduct. I had to let her know what my aunt did. The first thing I said was, “Mom, can I go somewhere else for the summer?” My mom shook her head. “I’m afraid not, honey. Aunt Amanda is the only person who can watch you this summer.” “But Aunt Amanda is crazy!” “Why do you say that?” “Mom! She is making me wear Pull-ups, like the kind that little kids wear.” I figured that would get her attention, but Mom didn’t seem surprised. “Aunt Amanda told me that you pooped your pants in the car on Monday.” I tried to think of an excuse, “Yeah, but.” “She wants to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” “Mom, I’m fourteen. It won’t happen again.” “It’s only been two days; how do you know it won’t happen again?” I cried, “It was an accident.” Mom countered, “Isn’t that what the Pull-ups are for?” I smirked, “If I was three.” Mom was not impressed and said, “You pooped your pants, and you’re fourteen. What does that say about you?” It wasn’t going how I expected. “Mom! She is making me sleep in a crib, and I have to go to bed at eight o’clock. It’s not even dark yet!” I could have told her about the diapers, but I didn’t want her to know about that. My mom was undeterred, “Tommy, I told you before you left that you’re going to have to follow Aunt Amanda’s rules.” “But.” My mom interrupted me, “I know that I did things differently when you were little but let me ask you this. Are you going to poop your pants again?” I immediately shouted, “No!” “Are you going to wet the bed?” “NO!” “Good, then it’s working. You know that Scott still has problems making it to the potty, just like you did.” My mom liked to remind me about my potty issues when I was little. “Scott has to wear Pull-ups when he doesn’t make it to the bathroom, and she has to treat you the same way. It’s only fair, right?” I guess I was supposed to nod in agreement, but I just rolled my eyes. Mom continued, “Look, I don’t expect you to have any issues. It’s just three days, and then everything will be back to normal. You’ll get your own room, and you can stay up as late as you want. She will leave you alone and let you do whatever you want, within reason.” My mom saw the disappointment on my face and scoffed, “Tommy, don’t give me that look. You’re a lot older than Scott, so I expect more from you. Pooping your pants is just not acceptable. At the very least, you should have to follow the same rules.” I shook my head, but Mom ignored it. “Maybe if I made you wear Pull-ups and diapers when you were younger, you wouldn’t have kept wetting your pants.” I sulked in protest, “I’m not a baby!” It was supposed to sound defiant and strong, but it came off more like a whine. My mom rolled her eyes and gave me that disapproving look that only a mom can give. “Tommy Michael Montgomery,” she used all three of my names, and any kid knows that’s never good. “Aunt Amanda told me that you’ve done nothing but pout and sulk. If you don’t get your way, you pout and throw a tantrum. I already told you that if you want Aunt Amanda to treat you like a teenager, you have to act like it. You have to be mature and responsible. You have to help around the house and do your chores without being asked. Don’t whine, don’t pout, and don’t throw tantrums when you don’t get your way. If you keep acting like a baby, you should be treated like one.” That conversation didn’t go as well as I hoped, and I fought back the tears when we hung up. I didn’t mean to cry, but I felt hopeless. I was stuck living under my aunt’s absurd rules for the whole summer. Part 5 After my mom failed to come to my rescue, I sulked for the rest of the day, which I guess kind of proved her point. I didn’t get my way and just moped around for the rest of the day without talking to anybody. In my mind, it was safer to stay silent. If I did talk, my aunt would just make me suck on a pacifier to keep me from pouting. I kept to myself, read some books, and looked at my phone. I wanted to go to my room, but my room was the nursery with the crib in it. Fortunately, my aunt left me alone. She asked me to do some minor chores, which I complained about until she said, “Tommy, don’t you want me to treat you like a big kid.” Oddly, I wasn’t treated like a baby during the day. It was nothing like how she treated Scott, who wasn’t allowed to do much of anything. Scott had to stay close to an adult, or Jessica at all times. He had to take a nap after lunch, and there was the highchair and sippy cups. He also didn’t have any chores, short of putting the toys back. I wasn’t even treated like Debbie, who technically was considered a big kid, but she was still kind of little and needed to be watched closely. She still took a nap, but she slept in her own bed. Other than the Pull-ups, my aunt didn’t treat me that much differently than I hope she would have. My aunt didn’t even have a problem letting me explore the property near their house, which was something that my mom didn’t always allow. Things always took a drastic turn after dinner. That’s when I had to take my shower, get diapered for bed, and then put in a crib at a ridiculously early hour. From dinner till morning, I was just a little baby who wore diapers and slept in a crib. Complaining about it didn’t do any good, and I didn’t hate all of it. To be honest, I really enjoyed our story time when we would cuddle up next to my aunt and listen to her wonderful stories. I kind of wondered what it would feel like to pee in the Pull-up. It’s no secret that I wet the bed, and even had accidents during the day when I was younger, but my mom stopped using diapers and Pull-ups after I started school. She said, “You’re a big kid and big kids don’t wear diapers.” I wished I could just go back to diapers and not wake up with pee all over me. Especially because my mom would yell at me, and I was still crying when I got to school. I asked Scott, “What happens if I accidentally pee in my Pull-up?” I had to do that on the sly, because I didn’t want my aunt or Jessica to know what I was thinking, nor did I want anybody to think that I really needed them. Scott answered, “Mommy just helps me change, and then reminds me that big kids use the potty. Mommy puts me back in diapers if I do it again.” I asked, “Does she get mad?” My mom used to get furious when I had an accident. Scott shook his head, “No. Mommy never gets mad. Even when I have to wear diapers. She says that I’m just not ready, and that’s why I still need diapers.” I knew that was true. I never saw Aunt Amanda get upset about changing diapers, nor did she say anything mean. She had a really strict ‘no teasing’ policy in her house, so I didn’t even have to worry about getting teased. I could wet myself one time, and nobody would say anything. However, I didn’t want to give Aunt Amanda the satisfaction. I wanted her to know just how ridiculous it was to put a fourteen-year-old kid in a Pull-up and make him sleep in a crib like a baby. I used the bathroom and didn’t have any accidents. Aunt Amanda inspected my final Pull-up Thursday night after dinner, and upon seeing that it was still dry, put a third smiley face on my chart. “That’s three smiley faces in a row, do you know what that means?” I smugly replied, “It means I don’t have to wear these stupid Pull-ups anymore.” My aunt didn’t like the tone of my reply and shot me a terse look, “Is that what you say Tommy?” I immediately shrank back down and meekly mouthed, “Sorry.” I couldn’t risk giving my aunt ammunition to extend my time in Pull-ups. She nodded, and so I answered more appropriately, “It means that I can wear underwear tomorrow.” Aunt Amanda nodded and announced, “Yes, Tommy has proven that he is ready for big boy pants. No more Pull-ups for Tommy!” My cousins both raised their hands and shouted, “Hooray for Tommy!” She had the nighttime diapers laid out and I asked, “What about those, why do I still need to wear diapers at night?” Aunt Amanda kept telling me that we were only concentrating on my daytime potty training, so I should have realized I would have to wear a diaper for a few more nights. “Now that we’ve taken care of your potty training during the day, it’s time for you to show me you can be dry at night.” I pouted, “That’s not fair! I haven’t been wet all week. Why do I still have to wear diapers?” Aunt Amanda rolled her eyes, grabbed a pacifier, and ordered, “Open up.” I started to protest, but she plopped the pacifier in my mouth and said, “We don’t whine in this house. Go stand in the corner and I’ll get you when I finish with Scotty.” I stomped to the corner and sulked as my aunt took care of Scott. I heard her giving Scott loads of attention. I once saw a kid getting treated like a baby by his mom and it was so different than what my aunt was doing. That kid’s mom was mean and making fun of him, while my aunt didn’t even seem mad. Part of me was mad at her. I couldn’t believe my aunt was doing this to me, but another part of me was mad at myself. I knew I wasn’t helping myself by throwing tantrums. Things were so much easier for me when I just let her do her thing. What if she decided I wasn’t a big kid yet, and made me wear diapers all the time? Aunt Amanda didn’t seem mad when she came to the corner. I mouthed, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get mad.” My aunt hugged me and said, “I know honey. You’re just over-excited and tired. Let’s get you diapered and ready for bed.” I had tears in my eyes and asked, “Do I still have to wear Pull-ups tomorrow?” She had a confused look and remarked, “Of course not. You earned big boy pants, remember?” “But I threw a tantrum.” “That’s not good, but if you don’t make it a habit, we won’t worry about it.” I asked, “How much longer do I need to wear diapers at night?” Aunt Amanda replied, “Now that we know that you are potty trained during the day, it’s time to see if you can stay dry overnight. If you are dry three nights in a row, you can move to Pull-ups.” “Will I have to sleep in a crib after that?” Aunt Amanda shook her head and reminded me, “Big kids sleep in a bed. You’ll get to sleep in the guest room. That’s where you were going to sleep until you pooped your pants.” “What about my bedtime?” “You’ll be a big kid, so you should get a big kid bedtime. You’re fourteen, so this summer will be a good chance to show that you can manage your own bedtimes. First, show me that you are ready, and I’ll treat you like you’re in high school. Does that sound good?” I had time to think after my aunt finished her story and tucked us in our cribs. I allowed my aunt to put me in a diaper and make me sleep in a baby crib, even though I didn’t wet the bed, and then she made me feel guilty when I complained about it. She wasn’t only crazy; she was evil. I did the math in my head. Three nights would take me to Sunday morning, which was a week after I got here. I wondered if this was all part of an elaborate plot my mom concocted to get me to grow up. Maybe she planned this whole thing! I get treated like a baby for one week just to make me realize I shouldn’t be acting like a child. I thought about punishing my aunt by using the diaper, but based on how she treated Scott, it didn’t seem like much of a punishment. She didn’t seem to think it was a big deal to change his diaper, even when it was poopy. I would just have to wear diapers a while longer. Aunt Amanda would wake us up around seven o’clock, which was much earlier than I wanted to get up. However, my bedtime was so early that I wasn’t groggy in the morning and didn’t get cranky. My aunt praised me when I was still dry the next two mornings. She then removed the diaper, wiped the area, and let me get dressed in the bathroom. She typically waited until Scott had breakfast before changing his diaper, so he ate breakfast from his highchair while staying in his soggy diaper. For me, everything was normal during the day, just like it would be if I never had to wear Pull-ups. Aunt Amanda gave me some chores, which I would eventually do after getting tired of her nagging, and then leave me alone for the rest of the day. I usually kept myself entertained and didn’t bother anybody. Aunt Amanda worked from home and paid Jessica to help keep an eye on Debbie and Scott. My aunt did most of the parenting, but Jessica was there to help. It was very clear that my aunt felt Jessica was more mature than me and far more responsible. My aunt didn’t think I was mature enough to watch Scott or Debbie, even if we were just outside. Jessica didn’t seem all that interested in me. I think she knew about my Pull-ups, and she probably knew the second crib was mine, but she mostly ignored me during the day. At first, I tried to avoid being around my younger cousins, because I felt like another little kid. However, as the week progressed, I didn’t seem to mind it and spent more time around my cousins. Scott liked a lot of the same things I did when I was little, so it was kind of fun playing with him. I started to get these weird thoughts in my head. It is hard to explain, but I was a little envious, especially with all the attention everybody gave to Scott. I still counted how many days I had left in diapers, but I started to accept and even eagerly anticipate the nightly diapering routine. By Saturday night, I offered no resistance when it was time to get ready for bed and compliantly allowed my aunt to change my diaper. It was enough that she commented, “My, you are so calm and being such a good boy. I didn’t even have to tell you to stop wriggling.” She started to say something else and stopped herself. I remember thinking she was going to say, “It is almost like you like it,” but then decided to stop. I was desperately trying to convince myself that I hated it, but I knew that wasn’t true. She finished up, hugged me, and said, “If you’re dry tomorrow, I won’t need to do this again. You won’t need diapers anymore. Isn’t that nice?” I answered with an awkward, “Yeah.” I wanted to sound excited and with a huge sense of relief. My nightmare was finally over, but it was hard to hide the reality. I think I came off sounding disappointed. I tried to regain my composure and asked, “Will I still have to go to bed so early?” Aunt Amanda smiled and answered, “Of course not. You and Scotty have an early bedtime because little kids need more sleep. If you show me that you’re not a little kid, I can treat you like a big kid.” I said, “Thank you,” but part of me was disappointed. I didn’t think my mom cared about me anymore. It felt like Aunt Amanda really did care, especially when she was putting me in diapers and being so nice. I wondered if that would stop when I didn’t need diapers. This was my sixth night wearing a diaper, and I still hadn’t peed in one. I had the Pull-ups for three days and never wet one. I asked Scott how it felt when he wet his diaper, but the question sounded weird, and Scott didn’t know how to answer. This was my chance to see what it felt like to pee in a diaper. I didn’t think Aunt Amanda would get mad. That’s what the diaper is for. It would mean another three nights in the nursery, but that didn’t seem so bad. I felt a slight pressure on my bladder. It wasn’t that strong, but it was enough that I could pee if I wanted. I thought, “Why not just pee in my diaper?” It was harder than I expected, but I eventually started to pee. The warmth spread and I fell back asleep wondering what my aunt would say in the morning. Part 6 It’s a lot harder to start to pee when you think you should only pee in the toilet. I had to think about standing in front of a toilet, and really concentrate, but I managed to pee in the diaper. I rolled over and fell back asleep. I was already awake when Aunt Amanda came into the nursery. I let her discover my wet diaper when she checked. In my mind, it sounded more believable if I didn’t know I was wet. She checked Scott first, and it wasn’t a surprise that he wet his diaper. Scott always woke up with a wet diaper and my aunt just said, “You’re wet again, but that’s why you need diapers. We’ll change it after breakfast.” She came to me and gently tapped, “Are you awake?” I nodded and she replied, “Let’s see how you did last night.” She looked surprised when she felt my diaper. I hadn’t wet my diaper all week, so I’m sure she expected me to be dry. “Uh-oh, it looks like you wet your diaper. I guess it’s a good thing you wore one last night.” I pretended to look disappointed, but in reality, I loved it. Aunt Amanda hugged me and said, “It’s ok, honey. Sometimes these things happen. Let’s have some breakfast, and then we will take care of your wet diaper. Do you want to go pee-pee in the potty?” I shook my head, even though I needed to pee. It wasn’t urgent because I peed two more times that night. I asked, “Do I have to wear Pull-ups, or a diaper today?” Aunt Amanda shook her head and said, “No, honey you’ve shown me that you are potty trained during the day, it just doesn’t look like you’re ready for a big boy bed. I think you’ll get there, but you have to sleep in here until you do.” I guess I was supposed to be upset about that, but I meekly accepted my fate. My aunt pulled a second highchair from the closet and brought it to the table. I asked, “Do I have to sit in that?” My aunt answered calmly and matter-of-factly, “Yes, little kids sit in highchairs.” It made no sense, but a part of me was curious about what baby treatment was like. I complained, “I’m not a little kid.” It wasn’t a strong protest; I was genuinely confused. This was the first time she made me sit in a highchair. Aunt Amanda asked, “Is your diaper wet?” I had to admit the truth and nodded. She said, “Ok then, hop up. In my house, little kids who wear diapers have to sit in a highchair.” Debbie saw me sitting in the highchair and asked, “Why is Tommy in a highchair?” “His diaper is wet, and that means he eats breakfast in a highchair.” As if that was completely normal, Debbie responded, “Oh, yeah.” It sounded like this made perfect sense to her and wasn’t anything to be concerned about. She also knew enough to avoid saying anything that could be considered teasing. I know my aunt wanted to humiliate us. We wet our diapers like babies therefore we should be treated like babies. She tied a bib around my neck, cut my pancakes into bite-sized pieces, and handed me a sippy cup full of juice. It was just like she did with Scott, and just like she would if I was two years old. I was embarrassed but oddly enjoyed the spectacle. She changed my diaper after breakfast, and it was more involved than any of the previous diaper changes. When my diaper was dry, my aunt just did a quick wipe and then sent me to the bathroom to get dressed. This time, she took her time and made sure the diaper area was clean and dry. She also took time to clean my butt, just like she did when I pooped my pants. It was more than just a few wipes, so I don’t think I was very clean down there, but my aunt didn’t say anything about it. I think it was about five minutes later when she finally handed me my underwear and said, “Off you go, honey. You’re a big boy now.” I was the same awkward teenager I always was. Based on how she treated me that Sunday morning, I knew I would get the same treatment Scott was getting if I wet myself during the day. I knew her system. I would have to wear Pull-ups if I had an accident, and I would go back to diapers if I had too many accidents in Pull-ups. I knew I would get the full baby treatment, just like Scott. I wasn’t sure how long the baby treatment would last, nor did I know how many times I could wet a Pull-up before getting put in a diaper. It was almost a full week, and Scott was still in diapers all the time. Scott never asked to use the bathroom, and she never took him. She said they were taking a break from potty training, but I didn’t know how long the break would be. What if she makes him do this all summer? What happens if she puts me in a diaper? I’d like to say that the bug was out of my system. I peed in my diaper and knew what it felt like, which is what I wanted. However, I wanted it more, and not less. I thought about wetting my pants that Sunday afternoon. I might have done it, but I was too scared. I wanted to wet my diaper again the next night, but it is hard to pee in a diaper when you are used to using the potty. I slept the whole night and was still dry when my aunt woke us up. She took off the dry diaper, gave me the appropriate kudos, and sent me on my way. I ate breakfast from a normal chair, and my aunt went back to ignoring me most of the time. That was the day that Scott started potty training. I was a single child, so I didn’t know how little kids learned to use the potty. My experience was a bit rough. I remember my mom getting mad at me when I didn’t make it to the potty, but I didn’t understand how kids learned when they needed to go. My aunt seemed to be calmer and a lot nicer than my mom. She didn’t yell and didn’t make him sit on the toilet unless he asked. When she knew he was ready to poo, she asked, “Scotty, do you want to try to use the potty?” He nodded and she praised him when he pooped in the toilet. She then asked me, “Tommy, Scotty wants to use the potty like a big boy. Can you show him how big boys use the potty?” I was confused and answered, “Yeah? what do I have to do?” “It is really easy, just make sure to take Scotty with you when you use the potty. You can model how big boys use the potty.” I was fourteen, and it was weird bringing my seven-year-old cousin with me when I peed in the toilet. I didn’t want to do that, and I am ashamed to admit this, but I wanted Scott to stay in diapers. I think I only did it one time, and that was when my aunt was watching. That first day, my aunt asked Scott if he needed to use the potty and praised him when he went. The second day, which was a Tuesday, she told him, “Scotty, big boys don’t need to be told when it is time to use the potty. If you need to use the potty, ask me and I will take you.” I think Scott asked her a few times, but most of the time, he just used his diaper. I don’t know if he did it on purpose or couldn’t tell when he needed to pee. Either way, my aunt didn’t get mad. She just said, “I guess you are not ready. We’ll take a break and try again later.” I figured my aunt wanted to put Scott in Pull-ups, just like she did with me after I pooped my pants. If he did make it three days without an accident, he could wear underwear. I started to do the math. I wanted to see how long Scott would have to wear diapers, and how long until he could get to full big-boy status. At least, that’s what I told myself. In reality, I wanted to know how long it would take to go back to normal after being put in diapers. It was a whole week until my aunt started to potty train Scott again, and I figured that’s what would happen to me. I knew it would be another three days in Pull-ups, and then three more nights wearing diapers to bed. Obviously, that included sleeping in the crib the whole time and getting treated like a baby while wearing a diaper. That was only two weeks, which didn’t seem that bad. I knew I would have to act fast if I wanted to do this. My aunt just put Scott back in diapers, and it would be another week until she tried to potty train him again. If it happened soon, Scott and I would be babies together. However, there was a chance that Scott would be potty trained and out of diapers, while I still needed them. It sounds weird, but I didn’t want to be the only one treated like a baby. I considered wetting my pants right there, but I had to make it seem real. It would look suspicious if I started to wet my pants for no reason. However, my aunt knew I used to wet the bed, and I just wet the bed again on Sunday. Maybe, if I wet the bed, she would think it came back. It made sense, to me, that if I was already wetting the bed, I could have accidents during the day. That night I set my plan into action. First, I peed in the diaper before I fell asleep. My aunt had to think I was wetting the bed again, and I couldn’t risk another dry diaper. That meant I had to sleep in a wet diaper all night, but I didn’t mind. The second part of my plan came after our highchair ritual. Aunt Amanda was working from the patio as I played with Scott and Debbie. We were running around like little kids, and I felt the urge to pee. I wanted to make sure I could pee when we were outside, so I didn’t go before we started to play. I made sure nobody was watching, closed my eyes, and started to pee in my pants. I felt the warm liquid stream down my legs and looked down at the obvious sign that I wet my pants. This set up a problem I hadn’t considered. My aunt had to find out, but how to I make sure it isn’t obvious that I wet myself on purpose? I asked myself, ‘What would I do if I really did wet my pants?’ When I was little, I hid my accidents to avoid punishment. However, this time I wanted to be caught. I could have easily excused myself and cleaned up in private. Nobody would ever know I peed my pants, but that’s not what I wanted. I decided to let my aunt discover it for herself, which is what happened before. Unfortunately, I didn’t count on Debbie seeing it. She saw the wet spot and said, “Tommy, you peed your pants.” I shook my head and defiantly cried, “No I didn’t. I don’t pee my pants.” “Yes, you did. It’s right there. I need to tell Mommy.” “I’ll take care of it.” “Mommy said to tell her when Scott pees his pants, so it’s the same for you.” She then shouted, “MOMMY! Tommy peed in his pants.” Aunt Amanda looked surprised and said, “He did? Tommy, what happened?” Debbie said, “We were playing, and Tommy went pee-pee.” Aunt Amanda looked at the wet spot and said, “It looks like you had an accident. I’m afraid that you need to go back to Pull-ups. Let’s get you changed.” Part 7 My aunt put a change pad on the living room floor; it was right in front of everybody. That’s what she did at night, so I don’t know why I expected any privacy. I complained, “Do we need to do this here? Can’t I go to the bathroom and clean up by myself?” My aunt looked at me like I was crazy. In her eyes, only a little kid would wet their pants, so I was just a little kid. She shook her head and said, “I have to make sure you are cleaned properly. I don’t want you to get a rash. Now, stop stalling and lie down.” I guess this was kind of what I wanted, but it scared me anyway. I was also putting on a bit of an act. I was afraid that she would suspect something if I didn’t complain. I grumbled in a whiney voice, “I don’t want to.” Aunt Amanda rolled her eyes, put a pacifier in front of my mouth, and said, “Tough, now lie down.” To be honest, I was beginning to like the pacifier. It calmed me down and helped me relax. She put the pacifier in my mouth, and I calmly laid back down on the floor. She praised me, “Good boy.” She finished wiping, helped me into the clean Pull-up, and then warned, “This is a Pull-up, not a diaper. You still need to use the potty like a big boy. If you can use the potty, you can have your big boy pants back. If not, you’re going to have to go back to diapers.” I muffled through the pacifier, “How long?” “Just like last time. Three days. You can get your big boy pants back on Saturday.” She condescendingly patted my Pull-up and said, “Go to the nursery and get dressed, then you can play with Scott and Debbie.” Going back to Pull-ups was the first part of my plan. I knew I would need more accidents to be put in diapers, but I didn’t know how many. Scott told me that he sometimes stays in Pull-ups after an accident but usually goes back to diapers if he has more than one. I figured that one accident wouldn’t be enough, and I would need to have at least two accidents in my Pull-ups. I didn’t want to make my aunt suspicious, so I didn’t have any more accidents that day. That night my aunt praised me for keeping my Pull-ups dry, and then got me ready for bed. I made sure to wet my diaper again that night. In my mind, I had to start wetting the bed to make my plan believable. It was getting easier to wet my diaper. I no longer had to visualize standing in front of a toilet. I just started to pee when I wanted to go. My aunt noted the wet diaper in the morning but didn’t seem all that concerned about my sudden bedwetting. She acted like everything was normal. I thought my plan was going well. My aunt was acting like these were real accidents, and that I might need to go back to diapers. I figured it would be fun to act like a baby for a few weeks, and I didn’t have to worry about other kids finding out. Nobody at my school would ever know. However, teenagers don’t always think about all of the factors before acting. I forgot about my mom. My mom wasn’t around, and I didn’t think she would know anything about it. It didn’t dawn on me that my aunt told my mom all about it. That was stupid! My aunt told her that I pooped my pants, so why didn’t I think my aunt would tell her that I wet my pants and started wetting the bed. Mom called me on Wednesday morning, which was the day after I peed my pants. I also wet the bed three times. A week earlier, I complained about having to sleep in a crib after pooping my pants, and now I was wetting the bed again, and I already wet my pants once. I hadn’t wet my pants since I was in 2nd grade. She asked, “Tommy, what’s going on? Do you know why you’re wetting yourself?” My first instinct was to deny it. “I’m not peeing myself.” My mom tersely replied, “Tommy, stop it! Aunt Amanda told me that you wet your diaper twice. She also told me that you peed your pants yesterday. Why is that happening?” I tried to blame my aunt. “It’s not my fault. Aunt Amanda is making me sleep in a crib, and I can’t get out when I need to pee.” Mom shook her head, “I don’t buy that one bit. You were dry for the first five nights. You only had to stay dry one more night to get out of diapers.” I dejectedly answered, “I know.” Mom continued, “What about the accident yesterday?” I stammered, trying to think of an explanation. I went back to what I used to say when I was little. I meekly answered, “I didn’t know I had to go.” Mom sighed, trying to contain her anger. “That means you have to wear Pull-ups again, right?” I was too embarrassed to answer, but I nodded to avoid more wrath. “What about this morning? Did you wet again last night?” My lack of an answer gave it away. Mom replied, “Tommy, you’re much too old to be wetting your pants like a baby. You know that if this continues, Aunt Amanda is going to make you wear diapers during the day.” I shifted my eyes away from the camera and mumbled, “I know.” “Well, is that what you want?” This was the first time Mom implied that I was doing this on purpose. I emphatically denied the charge. “No! She is going to treat me like a baby. I don’t want that. Why would you even let her do that?” I hoped turning the tables might put my mom on the defensive. My mom sighed and said, “Tommy, I can only think of two reasons that a boy your age would suddenly pee himself. You’re either doing it on purpose, or something is wrong.” “It’s not on purpose.” I protested. My mom replied, “Ok, I guess Aunt Amanda will have to take you to the doctor.” The thought of telling a doctor that I was wetting my pants was humiliating. I cried out, almost begging, “Don’t do that. Please. I’ll stop. I’ll stop, I promise.” Mom clearly didn’t believe me. She asked, “Are you telling me that you can stop? That means you’re doing this on purpose.” I was getting frustrated. She was turning everything against me. I cried out, “I’m not doing this on purpose!” “Then you can’t promise to stop.” She paused, while I tried to think of a way out. Mom continued, “It doesn’t matter anyway. You still need to go back to diapers.” “What? Why?” “Because you'll pee your pants if you don’t wear a diaper. That’s why babies wear diapers.” I whimpered, “But, she is going to treat me like a baby.” Mom replied, “Why shouldn’t she? You should be treated like a baby if you aren’t potty trained.” I protested, “I am potty trained! Stop saying that.” Mom snapped back, “You aren’t if you purposely pee your pants.” “I’m not doing it on purpose!” By this point, I was on the verge of massive tears. The kind of meltdown I only had when I was very young. “But that means you need diapers to avoid accidents, and you’re not ready to diaper yourself.” She paused in the middle to give me time to process what she was saying. I was confused, “Diapering yourself?” “That means you change your own diapers, and I don’t think you’re ready to do that.” I indignantly asked, “Why not?” “Tommy, it takes a lot of maturity to take care of your own diapers, and you’re not ready. You have to make sure you clean everything and then get rid of the diaper without making a mess. I don’t trust you to do any part of that. You don’t even pick up after yourself when you take a shower, and I still have to nag you to take a shower.” Mom continued, “If you really are having accidents, you’ll have to learn how to handle it like an adult. I can’t ask Aunt Amanda to teach you something like that, so you’ll have to wait until we get home. Until then, Aunt Amanda is going to take care of it her way.” I was stunned, and said, “But, that’s the whole summer.” Mom scoffed, “It’s probably going to be a lot longer than that. I need to see a lot more maturity from you before I’m willing to teach you. You will need to be potty trained all over again.” Once again, I protested, “I am potty trained.” “Big boys don’t pee their pants. You keep peeing and pooping in your pants, so obviously you aren’t potty trained. I didn’t do it right the first time, so maybe it is time to let Aunt Amanda have a try.” Mom saw the look on my face and asked, “Tommy, did Aunt Amanda put you in a Pull-up, or is she making you wear a diaper?” I meekly replied, “a Pull-up.” “That means she thinks you are ready to use the potty on your own. If you show her that you can be a big boy and use the potty, she won’t treat you like a baby. You can do that, can’t you?” My mom was talking to me like I was a baby. Her voice was high, and she used short phrases. She used euphemisms like potty and pee-pee, just like I was a small child. I regained my composure and said, “Mom, can you stop talking like that? It makes me feel like a baby.” Mom replied, “That’s the point, Tommy. If you don’t want to be treated like a three-year-old, stop acting like a three-year-old.” “I’m not a baby!” Mom rolled her eyes and said, “Prove it. If you want to become a teenager, act like one. Stop peeing your pants, don’t wet the bed, and stop whining when you don’t get your way. If you act like a little kid, you’re going to be treated like a little kid.” Part 8 Even though she didn’t say it, my mom thought I was wetting myself on purpose. Did she really mean it when she said that I wasn’t potty-trained? I was especially mad when she said that I was acting like a little kid, and she wanted my aunt to treat me like I was a baby. I couldn’t believe it when she said that I might stay in diapers a lot longer than just the summer. I wondered why I did this in the first place. I wished I’d never pooped my pants. I didn’t do that on purpose; that was a real accident. Everything would be normal if that didn’t happen. I wouldn’t have to wear Pull-ups and I wouldn’t have to sleep in a diaper. I asked myself, ‘Why did I want to pee in my diaper?’ That wasn’t an accident, nor was it when I peed my pants. I did that because I wanted to stay in diapers, which made no sense. What kid my age wants to wear diapers? Unfortunately, I didn’t feel like a typical teenager. I was a fourteen-year-old boy who was starting high school in a few months, but that’s not what I saw in the mirror. Physically, I didn’t look like a teenager. I wasn’t just small, I was undeveloped. The boys at my school bragged about their giant dicks, while mine was just a tiny bald little thing. Mine looked like it belonged to a little kid. Some of the boys in my class were shaving, but I didn’t even have peach fuzz. The friends I had in elementary school grew up, and I didn’t. I had a good friend named Jaxon; he was the only kid who knew that I wet my bed, and he kept my secret. I’m older than him, but he was always one of the bigger kids. He was always bigger, but by eighth grade, he towered over me. He was big, even for an adult. He wore size 13 shoes, and I wore size 6. We didn’t share many things in common anymore, so we stopped hanging out together. His friends were jerks anyway, so I tried to avoid them. I wanted to be cool, but I didn’t know how. I pretended to like girls, but I wasn’t really interested, at least in that way. The girls didn’t seem all that interested in me either, other than the ones who treated me like a little brother. Some kids thought I was gay, but I didn’t think about boys that way either. I just spent my time pretending that I was a famous athlete, or whatever cool thing I could think of. That’s fine when you’re nine years old, but not at fourteen. At first, I wanted to punish my mom for what she said. I thought about going into full baby mode. If they were going to treat me like a baby, I would become a huge brat. I would cry, throw tantrums, and do all the things that babies do when they get upset. I soon realized that wasn’t going to work, and it was better if I just proved them wrong. I had to prove that I wasn’t just some little kid who needed diapers; I was a teenager who needed independence and respect. However, that’s not who I was. My mom constantly nagged me to do my chores and then complained that I didn’t do them properly when I finally completed them. Aunt Amanda took a different route. At the end of the week, she gave me money for each chore I completed. She had to inspect it to make sure it was done correctly, but I got credit for the chore. I didn’t have to do them unless I wanted the money. It was the same for Debbie, but hers were simpler and she didn’t get as much money. I could have earned $20 for cleaning the garage, while Debbie got $1 for setting the table. At the end of the week, Debbie made three times more money than I did. I tried to be a big kid that day. I knocked a chore off the list; I vacuumed the living room. It took me four times to pass the inspection, but I finally met my aunt’s expectations. At the same time, I watched Scott happily play on the floor. He wasn’t allowed to do any chores and didn’t get an allowance. That was reserved for big kids. My aunt doted over him while changing his wet diaper, which made me jealous. I had a strange dream that night. It was about the last time I wore diapers for an extended period. I was five years old, and we went to Asia for vacation. I remember wearing diapers on the plane. I still wore diapers at night, but I didn’t wear them in the daytime anymore, and that felt weird to me. I remember that these were diapers and not Pull-ups. I had some accidents, so I had to wear diapers for the rest of the trip, which was three weeks. That’s a long time for a five-year-old. I also remember getting lost at the airport and getting put in a stroller. This wasn’t a bad memory. It was pleasant, and I didn’t care that I had to wear diapers or sit in a stroller. I woke up in a wet diaper. Having a real accident put me in a strange place. It’s hard to explain, but I used to feel special after I wet my bed. It was like a part of me was still a baby, and I didn’t want it to go away. I felt the same that morning, but I didn’t get yelled at, and I wasn’t covered in pee. After lunch, I went outside to play while my cousins took their naps. I purposely didn’t use the bathroom, and I drank two glasses of lemonade before heading outside. I was playing in a puddle when I felt the first twinge in my bladder. I told myself to let go and started to pee. I felt the warmth spread in the padding. It felt different than the cloth diapers my aunt used at night. The Pull-up was about to leak, but I kept peeing. I don’t know if my aunt was watching me, or just sensed that I had an accident. She called to me, “Tommy, come over here. I need to check your Pull-up.” I didn’t even have a chance to tell her. I was surprised, and given my condition, I was reluctant to let her see. I don’t know why I was reluctant; she was going to find out eventually. The Pull-up was close to leaking and I needed to change. How did I ever think I would get that past my aunt? I cried, “What? Why?” “You haven’t used the potty since lunch, and I need to see if you’re still dry.” I didn’t want to admit the truth. I answered, “I’m dry, and I did go. I just forgot to tell you.” “That doesn’t matter, I need to check your Pull-Up right now!” This was her no-nonsense voice, and I could tell she was out of patience. I huffed, “Ok,” and trundled over to her. I thought she would be angry when she felt my soggy Pull-up, but she wasn’t. “Oh dear, you’re wet. Is that why you didn’t want me to check?” I shot my eyes down and mumbled, “Yes.” My aunt acted like it was just an accident. “I guess you didn’t know, but you’re supposed to tell me when you have an accident sweetie. If you hide an accident again, you’ll go right back to diapers. Is that understood?” I felt guilty and looked like I was going to cry. Aunt Amanda gently hugged me and said, “It’s ok honey. Sometimes kids have accidents when they are learning to use the potty. Let’s get you cleaned up.” It was the same process that she always did, making sure to thoroughly clean and dry everything before handing me another Pull-up. She warned, “Tommy, you can’t be a big boy if you don’t use the potty. If you have any more accidents between now and Monday, we have to pause your potty training. You’ll go back to diapers.” Part 9? My aunt warned, “Tommy, you can’t be a big boy if you don’t use the potty. If you have any more accidents between now and Monday, we have to pause your potty training. You’ll go back to diapers.” I asked, “How long?” She looked perplexed, and asked,” How long what?” “How long will I have to stay in diapers?” Aunt Amanda tilted her head with a strange look. She asked, “Honey, is that what you want?” I don’t know what would have happened if I told her the truth. I think she was ready to put me in a diaper right there, but I didn’t want her to think I was a freak. I furiously shook my head, which was more of an act, and said, “No, no, no! I just want to know what happens if I have another accident.” Aunt Amanda was dubious but indulged me. She talked to me like I was a child. “Right now, I don’t know if you are ready to use the potty by yourself. That’s why you are wearing Pull-ups. Big kids use the potty by themselves. If you keep having accidents, I know you’re not ready. That means you need diapers, and you can’t be a big kid if you need diapers. Does that make sense?” It didn’t make any sense, but I nodded anyway. I asked, “But for how long?” “You’ll need to be potty-trained before you can wear big boy pants. That can’t happen until you are ready.” “How will you know if I’m ready?” Aunt Amanda calmly answered, “It depends. I knew that Debbie was ready when she stayed dry for a long time and used the potty when I asked her. Now she doesn’t need help using the potty and does it all by herself. Older kids sometimes take longer. You are older than Debbie, so a day won’t feel as long to you. You might need a longer break before you are ready. It’s also very important for you to cooperate with me. I can’t teach you to use the potty if you don’t listen to me.” I remembered what my mom told me. “My mom said that it might take the whole summer. She said if I can’t help it, I need to learn how to change my own diapers, and she won’t do that until I’m ready.” Aunt Amanda nodded, “That’s true. Some adults, and even big kids, have problems getting to the potty, and they have to manage it by themselves. It is called, ‘incontinence’, but that doesn’t mean they are like little kids.” “It doesn’t?” I sounded very childlike, and innocent. “No honey; They can take care of themselves. It’s hard, and they need to be very responsible. I think that’s what your mommy meant when she told you that you weren’t ready for that.” She continued, “And to be honest, I think your mommy is right. You aren’t responsible enough. I know that you sometimes use the potty by yourself, so I know you can do it. However, big kids don’t just do that some of the time, they handle the potty by themselves all of the time. That’s what you still need to show me.” I didn’t get the answer I wanted, but I did get some perspective on my aunt’s thought process. It felt like she was seriously considering putting me in a diaper right there, and there was a part of me that wished she had. However, it was a big step. I still had to wear a diaper for six more nights, which would be almost three weeks in diapers. If she makes me wear one during the day, I might be in diapers all summer. I made it through the rest of the day without an accident, but the ever-perceptive Debbie noticed the frowny face on my chart. “Why does Tommy have a frowny face?” Aunt Amanda sighed, “Tommy went pee-pee in his pants today.” “Is he going to be a baby again?” My aunt gave Debbie a disapproving look. That was close to teasing, and teasing is not allowed. “Debbie! We don’t do that in this house.” Debbie deflected her eyes and mouthed, “Sorry.” I guess she was talking to me, but it didn’t seem directed at anybody in particular. My aunt replied, “No, Tommy still wants to be a big boy.” It was getting easier for me to pee in the diaper at night. I barely had to think about it before I started to pee. I was oddly proud of myself, but I couldn’t explain why. During the day, I was constantly flooded with doubt and anxiety. I felt out of place in the world. At night, I felt like a three-year-old with no responsibilities. I just needed one more accident, and I could get that feeling during the day as well. It dawned on me that I had to act now. In a few days, my aunt might give Scott another chance with Pull-ups. What if I’m wearing a diaper, and Scott gets to wear Pull-ups? I promised myself to pee in my Pull-up in the morning. Aunt Amanda barely acknowledged the soggy diaper that greeted her in the morning. She just said, “Let’s get you two some breakfast, and then I will get you ready for the day.” She cleaned me up carefully, handed me the Pull-Up, and said, “Try to use the potty today. I don’t want you to have any more accidents.” I replied, “Ok, I’ll try,” knowing full well that wasn’t going to happen. My aunt hugged me, “That’s wonderful, sweetheart.” I couldn’t help but notice the twinge of doubt in her voice. At this point, I wasn’t turning back. I was going to wet my Pull-up, and it was just a question of when. There was a part of me that wanted to get it over with, but it was like jumping off the diving board; I couldn’t take it back after it happened. I tried to pee in the morning, but I couldn’t. Jessica came over shortly after 10 o’clock, and the four of us went outside to play. I didn’t want to do it in front of Jessica, so I tried to put it out of my mind. Up until then, I thought I kept this a secret. As far as I knew, she didn’t know I was wearing a Pull-up. I suddenly felt the urge and began to pee, without thinking. I realized what I was doing and tried to stop, but I couldn’t stop peeing. I froze and hoped nobody saw what happened. Jessica noticed and asked, “Tommy, what did you do?” I answered, “Nothing. I was just thinking.” Jessica smirked, “I don’t think that’s it. I know that look. I think somebody peed his pants. Come over here, I need to check your Pull-Up.” “Um, I’m not wearing a Pull-Up.” My stammer and red face might have given it away. “Oh, please! Do you honestly think I haven’t noticed the Pull-ups? I can see the tabs above your waistband. Now come over here and let me check if you’ve had an accident.” “No.” Jessica was talking to me just like I was a petulant child and ordered, “No? Come here, I need to check your Pull-up.” She might have only been thirteen, but she knew exactly how to handle an ornery child. I screamed, “No!” And started to run. I didn’t get very far; Jessica caught me from behind and said, “Got you, you little stinker.” She put her hand on my shorts and said, “Tommy, you’re wet. Let’s tell your aunt.” I pulled away and cried, “No, I don’t want to.” She tugged back and said, “Tommy, you’re only making this bad for yourself. Be a good boy, or I’ll put you in time-out.” I shouted back, “You’re not my babysitter! You can’t put me in time-out.” Jessica snidely asked, “Should we ask your aunt about that?” Aunt Amanda walked outside; “What’s all of the commotion? What’s going on?” Debbie was eager to tell her mom what happened, but Jessica spoke first. “Mrs. Whitmore, I’m afraid Tommy had a little accident and needs another Pull-up. I can help him if you are busy.” It sounds stupid, but until then, it never dawned on me that Jessica could end up changing my diaper. She took care of Scott quite a bit, so it would make sense that she would do the same with me. Much to my relief, Aunt Amanda waved her off. “That’s very nice of you, but I can take it from here. Please keep an eye on Scotty and Debbie, while I’ll take care of Tommy.” Part 10 The best way to describe my aunt’s reaction was disappointment. I don’t know if she thought I did it on purpose, but I don’t think it surprised her. It didn’t matter; she had no choice but to go through with her promise. She said, “Tommy, I don’t know what’s going on, but you aren’t using the potty like you should. We have to take a break from potty training. That means you have to wear diapers until you are ready to try again.” I willingly climbed on the changing table and let her take care of the soggy Pull-up. She calmly asked, “Sweetie, do you want your pacifier?” I nodded, and she put it in my mouth. “There you go. Isn’t that nice?” It’s hard to explain the calming effect sucking on a pacifier has on me. I felt like I melted into the table. I thought my aunt would mock me for acting like a baby, but she didn’t. In her mind, I literally was a baby. She placed the diaper underneath my bottom, and said, “Now sweetie, I don’t want you to worry about making it to the potty. If you need to do a poo-poo or a pee-pee, just go ahead and an adult will take care of your diaper. I don’t want you to try to be a big kid and use the potty. We won’t worry about the potty until you are ready.” I guess this was her way of telling me the bathroom was off-limits. Scott wasn’t allowed to use the potty, so I knew I wouldn’t be either. I felt guilty and mumbled, “I’m sorry.” In her calm voice, she said, “You have nothing to be sorry about. You’re not ready to be a big kid, so you need a break.” My aunt used cloth diapers at night, which seemed to fit me easily. During the day, she used the largest-sized Pampers available, but they were meant for a kid half my size. I wasn’t sure if they would fit. After she finished, I commented, “I didn’t think they would fit me.” Aunt Amanda smiled, “They fit, but just barely. I think I’ll have to get some bigger diapers, just in case.” She then dressed me like I was a two-year-old. She didn’t let me do anything for myself. My shirt was pastel yellow with a big red balloon on the front. The shorts were bright red and had an elastic waistband. It was the kind of thing I wore when I was three. After she finished, she said, “Big kids don’t wear diapers, so you can’t have big kid privileges until you are potty trained. Is that understood?” I nodded. She continued. “Little kids are not allowed to open doors, and not allowed to run off. They have to be with an adult at all times. You also have to ask an adult first, and if the adult says no, that means no. If you pout, or whine, you will go to time out.” I asked, “What about Jessica, is she an adult?” Aunt Amanda replied, “She is to you. She is in charge, and you have to do what she says.” “Is Debbie an adult?” “No, she is a big sister. You can ask her for help, but she is not in charge.” Aunt Amanda held my hand as we walked outside. She got Jessica’s attention and said, “Jessica, honey, can you keep an eye on Tommy?” Jessica gave her a thumbs up, and then my aunt put her hands on my shoulders and said, in a loud voice, “Be a good boy for Jessica.” I looked ridiculous in my toddler-style outfit and well-padded rear. I think it was obvious that I was wearing a diaper. I asked Jessica in a trembling voice, “Are you going to tease me?” Jessica condescendingly asked, “Why would I do that?” “Well, you know, what I’m wearing.” My voice was timid and shy. “What are you wearing?” She knew everything, and just wanted me to say it out loud. “You know.” I paused a bit, and then continued, “Don’t make me say it.” “No, I don’t, Tommy. What are you wearing?” Exasperated, I admitted, “I’m wearing a diaper. My Aunt is making me wear diapers.” She mockingly looked surprised, “You are, and why are you wearing diapers, Tommy? What did you do?” I was annoyed and mumbled as quickly as possible, “I wet my pants.” “You did, didn’t you. I guess that means you aren’t potty trained.” I wanted to run off but knew that wasn’t possible. I nodded, and Jessica continued, “I guess that makes you a little kid, doesn’t it?” I didn’t nod back, but she didn’t care. “I don’t tease little kids; that’s just mean. Don’t worry, I’m not going to tease you. Just remember that I’m in charge, and you can’t argue with me. If you do what I tell you, I’ll be nice.” I guess that’s the best I could hope for. Debbie kept asking, “What happened? Why is Tommy wearing diapers?” I wanted to scream at Debbie, but I knew I would get in trouble, so I gave Jessica a pleading look. Fortunately, Jessica quickly admonished Debbie. “Debbie! Don’t be so nosy. That’s none of your business.” Unfortunately, I hadn’t pooped yet, and breakfast was making it’s way to my bowels. I had let my mind go free while Scott and I were playing in the sandbox and forgot about the new rules. I got up to head for the bathroom. Jessica quickly asked, “Tommy, where do you think you’re going? You can’t run off by yourself.” I replied in a firm voice, “I need to go to the bathroom.” Jessica gave me a serious look, “Tommy, you don’t have to worry about that. That’s why you’re wearing a diaper.” I didn’t want to poop in my diaper and didn’t think Jessica would want to deal with that either. I snapped, “It’s not that. I need to take a shit.” I didn’t think swearing was a big deal, especially in front of kids my age. I didn’t usually swear around little kids, but I didn’t think I said anything wrong. Jessica gave me a dirty look and said, “Tommy Michael, you know better than that. Little boys don’t speak that way.” She pointed to the picnic table and in a firm voice said, “Go to the table. Now!” I have no idea how she knew my middle name, but hearing it is never good. I was more shocked than anything else, and asked, “What? Why?” “You heard me. Go!” She marched me to the table, put a pacifier in my mouth, and said, “Sit! You are in time-out.” I tried to plead my case. I spit the pacifier out, and tried to say, “But I need to go to the bathroom.” However, I didn’t get past the first word before she put the pacifier back in my mouth. “Don’t talk until I take that out! Is that understood?” I was too afraid to respond. She continued, “I know what’s going on, and as long as you are good, and don’t argue with me, I’ll be nice. But, if you don’t obey me, and make this difficult, I’ll make sure everybody knows what a big baby you really are. Do you want that?” I vigorously shook my head and tried to talk, but Jessica wouldn’t let me speak. “No talking! Sit here and think about your words. You are in time-out because you used a naughty word.” Debbie didn’t hear me cuss, and being the curious child she was, asked me, “Tommy, why are you in time-out?” Jessica quickly intercepted, “Debbie, Tommy is in time-out. He can’t talk to you right now.” “I’m sorry.” “It’s ok. Tommy can play after he finishes his time-out.” I hadn’t been put in time-out since I was six years old, and now I was put there by a girl younger than me. It’s a lot to unpack. However, I had to admire Jessica’s poise. It gave me a strange sense of security that is hard to explain. Her maturity belied her age. A short time later she came back and asked, “Are you ready to apologize for saying those naughty words?” She took the pacifier out of my mouth after I nodded back. I started, “I’m sorry, but.” The pacifier immediately went back to my mouth. “No buts. Are you going to say naughty words anymore?” I shook my head, and she nodded back. “Good, you can go back to playing after you apologize for real.” I replied, “I’m sorry.” “For what? What are you sorry about?” “I’m sorry I cussed.” Jessica smiled, “You’re forgiven. I think you’ve learned your lesson.” I raised my hand and waved, “Can I say something?” “What is it?” “I still need to poo.” Jessica shook her head. “I’m sorry, but you are taking a break from the potty. That means you have to use your diaper.” She pointed to a corner of the yard and said, “If you want, you can do it there.” I answered, “I can’t do that out here.” Jessica put the pacifier back in my mouth and smirked, “Obviously, that’s not always true, is it?” A few minutes later, Jessica took us into the kitchen for lunch and told my aunt, “He says he needs to poo, but he hasn’t done it yet.” It was humiliating to hear people talk about my bowel movements that way. Aunt Amanda nodded, “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll give him some time, but I might have to help him if he hasn’t pooped by dinner.” She turned to me and said, ‘Honey, it’s not good to hold it in.” I sat in my highchair at lunch, right next to Scott. We both had bibs around our necks, and our sandwiches were cut into small pieces. We also had sippy cups, while Debbie got to use a real cup. We took our naps after lunch. I still had to poo, and I was mad, so I decided to go in my diaper. I figured it would be a fitting punishment to make my aunt change my stinky diaper. There weren't any clocks in the nursery, so I had no idea how long I would have to wait until my aunt woke us up. I just had to wait, and deal with the smell. She reacted immediately after opening the nursery door. “I think somebody has a stinky diaper!” She checked Scott first. “Was it you?” She felt the front and then checked the back. “No, not you. You aren’t even wet. You were a big boy, and that makes Mommy very proud.” It was my turn. She felt the front and said, “You went pee-pee. Let’s see about the poo-poo.” She opened it up and in an almost proud voice said, “Yep, you did. And you did a big one. I’m happy that you don’t need any help going poo-poo.” I was confused, and asked, “Aren’t you mad?” Aunt Amanda replied, “Why would I be mad? It’s not healthy to hold your poop. I told you to use your diaper, and you did. That means you are a good boy.” Part 11 My aunt didn’t care what anybody thought. She acted like this was completely normal. She put two strollers in the car when we went to Reno the next day. I realized that the other one was for me and cried, “I can’t ride in that!” Aunt Amanda asked, “Why not?” “I’m too old. People will think it’s weird.” Aunt Amanda scoffed, “You’re wearing a diaper and that makes you a little kid. Little kids need to use a stroller.” “Why? I don’t need a stroller. I’m not going to get tired.” My aunt shook her head, “I’m sorry honey. It’s not safe to let you wander off. The stroller keeps you and Scotty close, and you won’t get lost.” I whined, “I won’t get lost. I promise, I won’t wander away. I promise.” Aunt Amanda replied in a firm voice. “Tommy, go suck on your pacifier and stop whining.” I was smart enough to know I wasn’t going to win. I hadn’t won a single battle with my aunt. I didn’t want anybody to see me, especially somebody from my school. She took the strollers out of the car after we parked, and I begged, “Please, Aunt Amanda. You can’t make me do this. It’s humiliating.” My aunt didn’t want a debate. She demanded, “Tommy, get in the stroller, now!” I knew she wasn’t going to back down, however, I still tried to resist. I wasn’t a baby. I didn’t need diapers, and I definitely didn’t need to ride in a stroller. I had to take a stand, and not let her humiliate me in public. I tried to muscle up my strongest voice, but I was starting to cry. Rather than sounding strong, I pleaded between sobs, “Pleese Au-unt Amanda! Pleese! I’m sorry, I’ll never do this again. I’ll do anything, just don’t make me go out like this.” Aunt Amanda was unimpressed with my theatrics. She put the pacifier back in my mouth and said, “Stop with the dramatics. You’re only making it worse for yourself by making a scene. You have two choices: sit in the stroller like a good boy, or we can go home, and you’ll go straight to the playpen.” I didn’t know what she meant by the playpen, but I saw Scott shaking his head and prompting me to stop. It sounded bad, so I reluctantly sat down in the stroller. I think these were bigger than most strollers, but they looked like any other stroller. They were connected side by side, which allowed Scott and I to talk while we were pushed around town. It felt like everybody was watching us, but most people didn’t seem to pay attention. Scott looked too old to be in a stroller, but not that far off. Somebody might think he was just a big four-year-old, and that’s still young enough to use a stroller. I clearly was too old and too big to use a stroller. Nobody would ever think I was young enough to need a stroller. I saw people stare, which made sense. We both looked way too old for a stroller, and I was sucking on a pacifier. It caused a scene, but my aunt didn’t care. One young kid saw us and asked, “Mommy, why are those big kids in strollers?” The mom knew we heard and was embarrassed. She replied, “I don’t know honey, but it’s not polite to stare.” My aunt and uncle wanted a date night that weekend and needed a babysitter. Jessica was the obvious choice, but my aunt wanted to let her parents know about me. Jessica’s mom wasn’t comfortable with the two of us being together without supervision. When Jessica realized what her mom was thinking, she scoffed at the idea. “Mom! Please. Yuck! He’s wearing a diaper. Nothing like that will happen. You don’t have a problem when I change Scott.” “No, but Scott is younger than you.” Jessica remarked, “Mom, Tommy is the same as Scott. He’s just a little boy who still needs diapers. I don’t think of him that way at all.” Jessica’s mom asked my aunt, “Is she telling the truth? Does Tommy wear diapers? Aunt Amanda answered, “He does. Tommy had a setback with his potty training, so I put him back in diapers. Jessica is right, there really is no difference between Tommy and Scott. They are both little boys, and Jessica handles them like a pro. She won’t let him get away with much, and that boy was a nightmare for me until I put him back in diapers.” Jessica pleaded, “Mom, please let me do this. Mrs. Whitmore is going to pay me $20 an hour.” Jessica’s mom turned back to my aunt, “$20 an hour?” My aunt said, “Well, it’s three kids. Jessica may be young, but she is a great babysitter, and the kids adore her.” Jessica noted, “Tommy is just a little kid, or at least he acts like one.” Jessica’s mom nodded and then asked my aunt, “Are you saying Tommy hasn’t given you any problems since you put him back in diapers?” Aunt Amanda nodded, “It’s true. Last week, he was an absolute nightmare. He had an awful attitude and wouldn’t do anything around the house. He sulked and pouted whenever I asked him to do anything. I know he’s not a bad kid and he’s had a rough go at it these last few years. Since Thursday, he’s been a different kid. Sure, there’s been a few tantrums, but they’re short-lived and easily rectified. He calms right down when I give him a pacifier. He is more compliant and hasn’t whined nearly as much. I can’t trust him to do any chores, but that was never worth the hassle. I know it’s odd, but he seems happier.” Jessica’s mom looked intrigued, “You don’t say. I might have to try that with Jason. That boy has been a real pill since school let out.” She looked at Jessica and said, “Don’t say anything to your brother.” Jessica was strict, but nice. I guess that makes her a good babysitter. We had to follow all of the rules. She made me eat all of my vegetables, but then gave us some cake for dessert. My aunt doesn’t usually give us any dessert, so that was a treat. The four of us played a board game after dinner, but Jessica made sure we were in bed by eight o’clock. Scott and I both had baths before she got there. However, she had to change my diaper before bedtime. She didn’t make a big deal about it and acted like it was normal. Fortunately, I didn’t give Jessica any problems. I knew she wouldn’t hesitate to put me in time-out, and my aunt warned me before she left. “If you give Jessica any issues, I’m putting you in the playpen tomorrow.” I asked Scott, “What does she mean by the playpen?” Scott answered, “You don’t want that. If I’m naughty, Mommy makes me sit in a playpen all day, and I’m not allowed to have any toys. It’s like time-out, except it’s the whole day.” That warning kept me in check. After a few days, I realized my life is easier if I don’t complain and just go along with my aunt. Within a week, I understood the routine and knew what was expected of me, which was basically nothing. I had no responsibilities and no real decisions to make. I was praised for following her rules and doing what she wanted. I was also praised when I used my diaper and always got a hug after my diaper was changed. I didn’t get very much positive attention in those days, so I responded well to praise. On the other hand, attempts at independence were quickly quashed, usually with a mild reprimand. Scott got to use the potty after the weekend; I guess that meant he was ready to be potty-trained. I knew my turn was coming, which I thought would happen in just a few days. By Wednesday, Scott was in Pull-ups, which made me the only baby in the house. I still had diapers, had the same rules, and had to wait patiently for my turn. Scott got to wear underwear the following Monday and was dry in the morning. He got to eat breakfast from the table, and I still had to sit in my highchair. I knew Scott would be completely out of diapers soon, and I still wasn’t allowed to use the potty. I asked, “When can I use the potty again? It’s been more than a week.” I didn’t want to get in trouble, but I didn’t want this to last forever. My aunt nonchalantly answered, “Don’t worry. We will try again when you are ready.” I protested, “But Scott only had to wait a week. Why do I have to wait so long?” I tried not to whine, but I’m sure I was. To her credit, Aunt Amanda didn’t get mad. I had an honest concern, and my protest made sense. She calmly replied, “That’s because Scott is younger than you. A week to you isn’t very long, but at Scotty’s age, it feels much longer. When you are older, you need longer breaks. That means when we start again, we get a fresh start. If you keep being good, I think you will be ready soon.” Four days later, which was after fourteen days in diapers, I got to poop in the potty. I was praised and even allowed to wipe after. However, my aunt had to finish. I wasn’t clean enough, so she had to finish before putting me in a new diaper. She warned, “You have to do a better job wiping. If you can’t wipe properly, you will have to stay in diapers.” After she changed my diaper, she said, “It’s time to see if you are ready for Pull-ups. Tell me when you need to use the potty, and I’ll take you.” Unfortunately, I was used to peeing in my diaper. After a couple of wet diapers, my aunt said, “I guess you’re not ready. Let’s wait. We will try again in a few weeks.” Epilogue That happened three years ago. I’m now going into my senior year in high school and thinking about college. I don’t know what college I want to go to, but I have the grades to go to UC Berkeley or any other top school. I want to study computer science, and my grades are good enough. My grades weren’t very good in middle school. I got C’s and D’s, and I was hanging out with a bad crowd. I don’t think I was a bad kid, but I was immature and trying to impress kids I thought were cool. I guess being put in diapers changed my attitude. I stopped trying to pretend that I was something I wasn’t. I ended up spending the entire summer in diapers. I got to wear Pull-ups a few times, but always went back to diapers. By the end of July, Scott was out of diapers at night, which left me alone in the nursery. My mom’s tour was extended, and I had to stay with my aunt through Christmas. I had more accidents, so I was diapered most of that time. It was a virtual high school, and my aunt kept a tight rein on me. I ended up with straight A’s that semester. I moved back with my mom after Christmas. I didn’t start at my high school until January. By then my old friends had different friends and they ignored me. This is where things get strange. My mom gave me the same freedoms and responsibilities that other kids had, and I didn’t handle it well. I started to argue with my mom, and my grades suffered. I did better when my mom put me back in diapers. She eventually discovered diapers were the key. As long as I have to wear a diaper, she can give me the same freedoms and responsibilities that other kids have. I’m now in diapers all the time, and I’m not allowed to change my diaper. I’m not even allowed to ask; I have to wait until somebody checks my diaper. My mom is responsible for my diapers, and if she can’t be there, somebody else is. It’s been this way since 10th grade. I’m not treated like a baby all of the time, but my mom will give me extra attention when she thinks I need it. We aren’t sure how to handle college yet, but that’s not my problem. I have no say in the matter. My cousins are doing fine. Scott still has accidents and needs diapers sometimes, but not all the time. Debbie hasn’t needed diapers for a long time. I stay with my aunt during the summer, and I still have to follow the same rules when I’m there. Jessica is still our babysitter, but she also takes care of her older brother Jason, who is now in diapers and treated like a toddler.

Prologue What would happen if a fourteen-year-old boy just stopped using the potty, and peed his pants all the time? This is the story of a teenage kid who wants to wear diapers again and decides to keep wetting his pants until his mom puts him back in diapers. How long will it take? How long will it last? Is this a dream come true, or will it be a night that he regrets? Side note- this story includes a wet dream, but I don’t get detailed about the dream, and he doesn’t understand what it is. Therefore, I don’t believe it is sexual in any way. If a moderator believes this to be in violation, please IM me, and I will remove the story. The boy who wanted diapers I like diapers and I have always liked them. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember. I don’t remember the specifics of my early potty-training years, but I know that I wasn’t fully potty-trained until I was nearly five. I remember wearing diapers on my fourth birthday, and at some point, I stopped wearing them during the day. However, I still had accidents, and my mom would put me in Pull-ups and even diapers if I had too many. I remember my mom saying, “Big boys don’t wear diapers,” but I don’t think I cared. I think I was jealous of my little sister, who is three years younger than me. I was put back in diapers after Jessica’s second birthday, which is at the end of May. My birthday is in September, so this was only three months before my fifth birthday. Since I wasn’t fully potty trained, my mom decided to wait another year for me to start kindergarten, which was a good thing because I wasn’t ready. I guess putting me back in diapers worked because I didn’t need them anymore after my fifth birthday. I didn’t even wet the bed anymore. However, I was jealous of Jessica, who was two years old and still not potty trained. I wanted to get the same attention that she got, and when I saw my mom changing Jessica’s diaper I asked, “Can I wear a diaper?” My mom replied, “Honey, you’re a big boy. Big boys don’t wear diapers. Why do you want to wear a diaper?” I shrugged because I didn’t know why. “I don’t know.” “I’m sorry honey, but no. Big kids don’t wear diapers.” I stomped my foot and cried out, “BUT I WANT TO! Please, Mommy!” Mom snapped, “Jacob, stop that! You’re not a baby.” I protested and said, “I’m going to poop my pants.” I squatted down and pushed a big load into my underwear. She grabbed my hand and said, “If that’s what you want, that’s what you’re going to get.” I suddenly realized what I did, and what it meant. I asked, “What are you going to do?” Mom answered, “Pooping your pants on purpose means that you’re not a big boy. You need to go back to diapers.” I protested, “I’m still a big boy.” Mom answered, “Not if you poop your pants. This means that you’ll be treated just like Jessica.” She cleaned me up, put me in a diaper, and then made me take a nap in Jessica’s crib. I even ate dinner in a highchair. I don’t remember how long it took, but it was several days before my mom even let me use the potty again. When I didn’t tell her that I needed to use the potty, she said, “I guess you’re not ready yet,” so I stayed in diapers. She acted like it was completely normal and kept treating me like I was a baby. I even had to use a stroller, like my sister. I ended up staying in diapers for a few weeks and still had accidents after that. I got put in Pull-ups after each accident and had to wear a diaper if I had an accident in my Pull-ups. Whenever I wore a diaper, I was treated like a baby. That was my mom’s rule. It lasted until Jessica was potty trained, and no longer wearing diapers. I didn’t want to wear diapers if Jessica got to wear underwear, so I stopped having accidents. I was still fascinated with diapers, but I don’t remember having major issues with the potty. Fortunately, those desires seemed to ebb into the background after I turned eight. They were still there, but I had other interests and the wish for diapers wasn’t a major one. I wanted to wet my bed, but I never did. In reality, I was pretty good at holding my pee. I could always pee if I needed to, and I could hold it when there wasn’t a bathroom available. Strangely, through most of this time, it was my sister who had those problems. She had giggle incontinence and occasionally wet her pants. She had to wear Pull-ups, but much to my chagrin never had to wear diapers. I didn’t mature emotionally, or physically at the same rate as my classmates. I started kindergarten late, so I was always one of the older kids in my class, but I was also one of the smallest. It wasn’t such a big deal in third grade, because we were all little kids. But it became a bigger deal as we got older. A teacher once yelled at me when I was in sixth grade because she thought I was on the wrong playground. She thought I belonged on the K-3 playground, and not the 4-6 playground. It was even worse in middle school because my friends seemed to be growing up, while I stayed the same. They were interested in girls, and I wasn’t. My friends would make out with their girlfriends, and some even bragged about having sex. I pretended to understand, but I really didn’t and didn’t feel anything for girls. That was fortunate because none of the girls felt anything for me either. I was just some little dweeby kid and had nothing to offer a middle school girl. I had ‘friends’ accuse me of being gay, but I wasn’t even interested in boys like that. Middle school kids can understand homosexuality, in their own way, but don’t have a clue about kids who are neither. On top of all of that, I used to play baseball and soccer when I was younger, but suddenly I was smaller and weaker than all the kids my age. I was no longer good enough to play. I just didn’t fit in, and my interest in diapers came back. I was suddenly dreaming about diapers and wishing I could wear them again. One of my neighbors ran an informal daycare, and I still went there after school. It was the same place I went to when I was a little kid. We just kept going there because it was convenient and my mom didn’t trust me to be by myself, even though I was fourteen. I didn’t mind though, because she had a cool house, made me snacks, and helped me with my homework. There were three little kids who still wore diapers, and I wished I could join them. I also used to meander to the diaper aisle at the grocery store. I’m not sure if my mom knew what I was thinking, but she never said anything about it. At the time, when I was in eighth grade, Mrs. Wilson typically had ten other kids at her house after school. I was fourteen, and the oldest by a large amount. My sister and her best friend Jessica were eleven, and Jessica’s little brother Adam was nine and in third grade. They were like us and just kept going to her house, but most of the kids stopped going after first or second grade. Adam was five years younger than me, and I had known him since he was a baby, but he probably was the closest thing I had to a best friend. He was young enough that he still liked to play with toys, and old enough to play games that were too complicated for little kids. I know it isn’t normal to play with action figures or pretend to be explorers/astronauts, or professional athletes at fourteen years old, but I could do that with him and not feel guilty. I could tell people that I was entertaining a younger child, but in reality, we were just two kids playing. The other kids were much younger. There were two first-grade girls who were BFFs, and Jason had just finished Kindergarten and was just past his sixth birthday. He was the younger brother of Ivy, who was one of the first-grade girls. That was our typical big-kid group, and then there were four little kids. One was four, there was a three-year-old, and then two babies. The four-year-old still wasn’t potty trained and wore diapers almost all the time, and the three-year-old had just graduated out of diapers. There was also Mrs. Wilson’s daughter, but she was older and helped her mom. Rachel was seventeen and going into her senior year in high school. Ironically, Rachel and I are closer in age than I am to Lisa. However, Rachel has always been more of an older cousin. She was on the 4-6 playground when I was in 1st grade; and moved on to middle school when I started 4th grade. She was in high school when I started middle school. She was also our regular babysitter and had been since she was thirteen. Mrs. Wilson took a relaxed approach to potty training, so most of the kids who went to her house were late bloomers. She didn’t believe kids were truly potty-trained until they could independently use the toilet on their own, without any prompts. Until that happened, she believed kids should stay in diapers, and they would potty train themselves when it was time. Even after that, no matter how old we were, Mrs. Wilson’s rule was: we had to wear Pull-ups after an accident, and if that was wet, we were put in a diaper for the rest of the day. It happened to all of us. My sister had to wear Pull-ups a few times when she was nine, and Adam got put in a diaper when he was eight. Jason, the six-year-old kindergartner, was super excited after the last day of school because he was moving on to first grade. As little kids sometimes do when they get excited, Jason wet his pants. That wasn’t unusual for him. He didn’t do it a lot, but it wasn’t the first time he had to wear Pull-ups at Mrs. Wilson’s house. When he was caught, he cried, “I’m sorry, it was an accident.” Mrs. Wilson remarked, “I know it’s an accident, that’s why you have to wear Pull-ups. If you are a big boy and don’t have any more accidents, you can wear big boy pants again.” Jason was still crying when he went outside to play, and his sister, Ivy, comforted him. Ivy said, “Don’t worry, I’ll help remind you to use the potty.” “But Mommy will be mad.” Ivy responded, “Mommy won’t be mad unless you have more accidents.” Unfortunately, Jason had another accident. An accident in a Pull-up meant that he got put in diapers for the rest of the day. We only had another hour before pick-up, but he cried and begged Mrs. Wilson to change her mind. However, Mrs. Wilson never changed her mind. I spent the rest of the day wondering what happened to Jason when he got home. His mom was very disappointed when she picked him up, and I had visions of him staying in diapers for a few more days. It also made me wonder what would happen if I wet my pants. Mrs. Wilson wanted me to be more of a helper and less like a little kid. However, I wasn’t responsible enough to be much help. What would she do if I suddenly started wetting my pants? No matter how hard I tried, my mind kept shifting back to diapers. Back then, before I would fall asleep, I would imagine scenarios where my mom would put me back in diapers. I was pre-loading a diaper dream, and hopefully, I would actually wet the bed one of those nights. However, I never did. I usually had morning wood and a full bladder, but I never wet the bed. That night I imagined myself wetting my pants and I suddenly felt myself peeing. I couldn’t stop peeing, no matter how hard I tried. I woke up and thought, ‘Oh my God, I just wet the bed!’ I was a mix of ecstatic and horrified, and I reached out to check if it really happened. Sure enough, my underwear was wet, but it didn’t feel like pee. It felt more like a sticky lotion. At the time, I was more than a little naïve. I might have been a young teen, but I still had a childlike mindset. I was a little confused, but then realized it was probably a wet dream. It was my first wet dream! I wasn’t sure how to handle it. I changed my underwear, put a towel over the spot on the bed, and went back to sleep. I was oddly satisfied, disappointed, and guilty all at the same time. I wondered what would happen if I started to wet the bed again. This wasn’t something I wanted to tell my mom about, so I hid the underwear and put my covers over the sheets to hide the evidence. Mind you, my mom wanted me to do my own laundry and wanted me to put things in the washing machine. I should have put everything in the washing machine, but I wasn’t very good at remembering to do those things. Also, unless my mom prompted me, I never made my bed in the morning. I think my mom realized what happened, but she never said anything about it. I know that she saw the sticky sheets because I had new sheets that evening, and my laundry was folded. The next night I imagined my mom making me wear diapers all summer. I even started to imagine sleeping in a crib and being treated like a baby, just like when I was five. I wasn’t sure if my mom would do that, nor did I know what Mrs. Wilson would do. I started to lay out the scenarios. What would happen if I just stopped using the toilet, and started to pee and poop my pants? I needed to pee, so I decided to wet the bed. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as easy as I imagined. I had to imagine myself standing next to a toilet before I could start. Even then, there wasn’t very much. However, it was enough to count as a wet bed. It was the first time I had wet the bed since I was seven years old.

I think my baby side really is such a adult baby at heart, every time I get the urge to poop I really want to do it in a diaper or in my pants rather than using the toilet like a big kid, adult or grown upSomething so satisfying about taking time to poop and then being able to be proud of your ability to make something.Just a thought I wonder if anybody else has these feelings as a little

A/N: Hey all! I just wanted to post this quick little one-shot! It’s currently 5:00 am and I wrote this to procrastinate sleeping. Hope you all enjoy!! ooOoo Poppy Jacobs. His flower. His little girl. She was his favorite of the girls he’d acquired so far. He’d forgotten what it felt like to take care of another. How to be a true Daddy. It was the most precious feeling in the world. He knew he made the right choice when he spotted her one year ago. Parker Montgomery was her name. A young college student who thought she was too smart for the world. But now she was exactly where and who she should be. He smiled, snapping a picture on his phone of his flower, the pointed pink party hat secured around her chubby face. Her warm brown eyes, full of resignation, glanced up at the camera. The fight was fun. It always was in the beginning but there came a point when they realized it was a losing game. Their broken spirit was just as rewarding- the first step in becoming truly his. “Flower, do you like your present?” a warm feeling spread throughout his chest, the smile radiating across his face. His flower was perfect- absolutely stunning. Not like the other Poppy’s who’d wilted and died. “Yeth Dada,” her voice was high, airy, obedient. She knew better than to disobey. The welts on her bottom were testament. “Tell Dada how much you love your birthday present baby!" his voice rose in excitement Tears filled her eyes and a drop slowly dribbled down her flushed pale skin. The chains of the restraints around her ankles and wrists jingled- a sweet reminder of her inability to escape. “Poppy wove her pwesent Dada,” she answered dejectedly, shackled hands in her lap. Submission- the one thing he craved was what he now had. There was a time she would’ve screamed and cried. There was a time she would’ve tried to attack and run. He treated her with meticulous care. Not a strand of her raven hair was out of place, pulled back in two tight ponytails on top of her head. Her skin was as smooth as a baby’s bottom, without a blemish and stomach round and full, due to her daily bottles of expressed breast milk and mashed foods. Now here she sat naked on her princess potty, body slumped down in defeat. Her sodden diaper stained yellow sat at her feet. “Dada knows it’s Poppy's birthday today and you want to be a big girl. If you can show Dada how you can use the big girl potty, maybe we can try pull-ups and potty training.” Her eyes lit up as if she’d just received a puppy. “You have ten minutes to make a tinkle and a poo-poo. When Dada comes back and if the princess potty is empty- bye-bye potty training. Do you understand, flower?” Like a bobble head, she nodded quickly, a new energy rushed through her body. “Words, poppy.” “Yeth, Dada!” ooOoo Today was March 17th. St. Patrick’s Day. Also known as the day of her kidnapping. In her kidnappers mind- her birthday. She only knew him by the name of Daddy, Dada, or Papa. He was careful not to reveal any information about himself. The most she’d found out about him in the past year was that he was a violent and dangerous man. If the illusions to previous captive girls told her anything- they were dead. He referred to them as his Flowers and the others having “wilted and died.” If that wasn’t a symbol for death, she didn’t know what was. After many spankings, soapy mouths, catheters and enemas, she learned there was a breaking point. The twenty one year old- now turned one- was not sure when it happened but it did. Like a file cabinet, her memories of before were stored away at the back of her brain so she could become who she is now. Parker Montgomery: the fit, sociable, Nebraska State College student, majoring in History was a thing of the past. A distant memory fading each day. Nowadays her only goal was making her daddy proud, finishing her bottles and being the best little girl she can be. She did not want to wilt and die. While Poppy knew, she’d possibly never gain her adulthood back, having been rendered incontinent, this was a first step. A baby step. An odd feeling churned in her tummy, seated on the pink plastic seat. It had been so long since she’d been out of her diapers. It’s not that she liked them but she’d become used to them. The soft padding felt like being cocooned in a warm fuzzy blanket. This potty was hard and plastic. It was cold beneath her powdered bottom. Before, if she even looked at the toilet, a severe lashing was applied against her tender skin. Now he wanted her to use it. She didn’t understand. Poppy could hear him in the kitchen, just around the corner. The television played. It was set to the show, Mr. Potty Head. A show for potty- training littles. Her eyes widened, the inflated pink paci bobbing up and down in her mouth. This was a no-no show. Wasn’t good for babies. Babies like her went potty in diapees. She would wait patiently, squishing around in her mess for dada to change her. First there was the front pat to see how wet she was and then the two fingers down the back. She’d lay back, spread her legs, and wait patiently as her dada untapped the padding and ran the warm wipe across her princess parts before powdering and re-diapering her. Sometimes it was double padding, sometimes it was triple. He said it made her more cute, crawling around the house with her diapered bum wiggling in the air as she swayed unsteadily on her hands and knees. Rarely was she clothed because it would make it too difficult for a quick change. She’d grown comfortable naked, learning to ignore her chubby stomach and thick thighs. Now, she was being given a chance to grow up. To prove that she was a big girl- something she’d desperately wanted. Why was she so afraid? All she had to do was push. Her eyes squeezed shut, nose wrinkling as she attempted to loosen her bowels. To let loose a little dribble of pee. C’mon Poppy! Be a big girl- “Flower?” Oh no. Her eyes flashed open, the warm tones of the grey room flooding back. The man with sandy colored hair, tan skin and sharp jaw peered down at her. His eyes, an ocean blue, narrowed. He towered over her, already a foot taller and frowned. The color drained from her face. She whimpered, “Dada!” He sighed, shaking his head and arms crossed over his chest. “It’s been ten minutes, baby.” She got lost in her mind. Again. “Did someone make a present for Dada?” Lying was what naughty girls did but telling the truth could get her spankies… “Baby? I’m waiting for an answer.” His tone was short. Clipped. If he heard the shakiness in her voice, he chose to not to comment. “I…” the words were numb on her tongue. “I no able to go pothy.” Her head bowed, waiting for the stern rebuke. But it never came. “You did your best, Flower.” his voice was unusually soft with a hint of sincerity? No. She couldn’t be hearing that right. Hesitantly, her head lifted up, surprised by the fact he’d squatted down to her height. “It’s ok, Poppy. Dada isn’t mad.” He’s not? She sunk down on the seat, her hand in his. “You’re just a baby. Girls as little as you aren’t ready to use the potty. That’s ok though because we have diapers.” Once again, tears welled up in her eyes and snot ran from her nose. No, please! One more try. One more- Her restrained arms shot out, reaching for him to pick her up. “Dadaaa!” The wail of a baby echoed from her body. Parker no! You’re bigger than this! “Potty scawy!” Stop this nonsense! Do you really wanna spend the rest of your life in a diaper? “I know, baby!” he cooed. “We’ll try again next year on your birthday. How about that, hmm? It seems someone wants to stay my little flower.” Yes. she sighed in relief, suckling on the rubber object. No, Parker, listen to me! Listen— Maybe even next year the restraints will come off. She’s been a good girl. She has, she really has! “Now let’s get you into a clean diaper. I bet that’ll feel good. Won’t it baby?” he asked gently. The man didn’t wait for a response, helping her shift down to the ground were a changing mat was already laid out. “Now Flower,” he began, fiddling with a few other things she couldn’t see. “Dada doesn’t want to do this but I want my favorite princess to have the best birthday.” Oh no. Please god, not this- “I know they are not your favorite people but Mr and Mrs. Bubbles wanted to wish you a happy birthday!” she could hear the smile in his voice, setting up the enema and suppositories. “Afterward you can play in your jolly jumper, how about that?” Well… that did sound pretty fun. Sometimes it was best just to ignore the big girl voices in her mind because that wasn’t who she was anymore. She was just a little baby. His little flower.

Characters: Paul and Sharon, in their mid-thirties, who weren't able to have their own children