Claire

[Tinkles123]

CHAPTER ONE

When Mom and Dad had asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I took a deep breath and told them. I said I wanted to stop using the toilet and wear diapers again. I said that I wanted to have a pacifier to use whenever I wanted to, that I wanted one of them to bathe and dress me, and that I wanted a bottle every night when I went to sleep.

Mom and Dad didn't look as stunned by my request as i had thought they might. They didn't say yes right away, but they didn't say no, either. And they didn't try to talk me out of making the request. or indicate in any way that they found it unreasonable or ridiculous.

I had always been an unusual child. Today, Asperger's Syndrome is well known, and even somewhat understood. When I was a little girl, though, kids with Asperger's were considered weird, and largely marginalized. The condition was not nearly so well understood as it is today. At home, with my family, I felt accepted and loved. Everywhere else, though, I felt terrified -- terrified and very lonely.

I had potty trained later than most children, just past the age of four, so I remembered how secure I had felt when I had been snugly diapered all the time. I had learned to use the toilet primarily to gain the approval of my parents. I’d never enjoyed any thought of being a “big girl.” Having to recognize when it was time to go pee or poop in the toilet was just one more terrifying responsibility. Now, at the age of seven, and in the first grade, I wanted to feel secure again, like I had felt when I wore diapers and had no real responsibilities.

My older brother, Sean, (he was 12 at the time) and my younger sister Meghan (she was five and a half, just a year behind me in kindergarten) were normal in every way. They tried hard to involve me in their busy social lives, but, to tell the truth, it never worked very well, either for them or me. I preferred staying at home with my books, my toys, and my dolls. One of my dolls was Baby Alive. She wet and even pooped her diapers. I always enjoyed changing and bathing her -- the poop looked real enough but didn't smell at all bad, it came packaged as powder you had to mix with water, and it also served as Baby Alive's food -- and I daydreamed about being taken care of in a similar way.

Nothing more was said about my request for a while. I continued dutifully using the toilet as I had for more than three years. I wore Pullups to bed and for naps, as I always had, and did wet them more often than I had been doing lately, not always in my sleep. Mom and Dad barely noticed, though. I’d been changing my own Pullups for some time. I didn't suck my thumb in front of anyone. just when I was alone and no one could see. But I did keep hoping. Being allowed to enjoy the security of being diapered and cared for was the only Christmas gift I'd asked for. I wanted it VERY much.

When I went to my bedroom to dress for bed on Christmas Eve, I was delighted to find a pink and yellow pacifier lying in the middle of my bed, with a note tellling me it was mine to use and enjoy. The note was signed "Santa." I popped the pacifier into my mouth and began to suck enthusiastically.

Mom and Dad knocked on my bedroom door a minute or so later, and asked to come in. I said "sure." mom was carrying a disposable diaper, a “diaper doubler” pad, and a pair of pink plastic panties that looked to be just about my size. Dad carried a bottle filled with milk and a single folded cloth diaper.

"We've decided you should have the gift you really want, Claire." Dad said. "Mom's going to diaper you, and then I'll feed you a bedtime bottle."

That's exactly what happened. I went to bed on Christmas Eve wearing a Luvs size 5 diaper, with a doubler pad inside, and pink plastic panties for extra protection. The plastic panties fit snugly, but not too snugly over the diaper. i also wore a cuddly flannel night gown. As I nestled in under the covers, I heard the faint, familiar rustle of the plastic mattress cover that had always stayed on my bed, since I still sometimes wet at niqht

Dad sat on the edge of my bed next to me and held the bottle while I drank every drop of the warm milk it contained. When i had finished the bottle, Dad draped a folded diaper over his shoulder, picked me up, and patted my back gently until I rewarded him with a healthy belch.

After Mom diapered me, and before he fed me my bottle, Dad had explained that wearing diapers again would mean that I'd be giving up some of my “big girl” freedoms. I would have to let him or mom check to see if my diaper was wet or soiled whenever they felt it was necessary, and not fuss about it regardless of how much I might be involved in whatever I was doing at the time. If they asked if I was wet or had gone poopies, I was to tell them the truth. I could ask to have my diaper changed whenever I felt I needed it. but Mom and Dad would be ultimately responsible for keeping me clean and dry. If one of them decided I needed to be changed, I was not to argue.

Sean and Meghan would be told I was wearing diapers again. Mom and Dad assured me that no teasing from anyone would be allowed.

Part of the agreement was that I'd never use the toilet but would do everything, including all bowel movements, in my diapers. If/when I decided I wanted to use the toilet, again, even once, the diapers would be put away and I'd be back in "big girl" panties again, with the responsibility of staying clean and dry during the day. Wearing diapers would be an "all or nothing" proposition.

I nodded my understanding of everything Mom and Dad had told me, and, after enjoying my bottle and the burping that followed, I went to sleep a very happy little girl.

Sean and Meghan woke me up early and said that Santa had made his usual visit, and left a good-sized pile of presents under the tree. As soon as I moved to get out of bed, I felt both my dry diaper and and an urgent need to pee. It wasn't at all difficult to let go and wet my diaper. It wasn't really all that different from a Pull Up, after all. If Sean and Meghan noticed what I was doing, they didn't say anything about it. Before going downstairs, I popped my pacifier into my mouth. Again, netiher Sean nor Meghan made a comment.

Santa had been good to all of us. Sean had new ice skates, a football, a set of passenger cars for his Lionel train, and more stuff that he seemed happy about, although it didn't interest me. Meghan had three new dresses for herself and two for her favorite doll, a really nice doll house, a Baby Alive just like mine, a Candy Land game, a pair of play high heels, play make up, and some costume jewelry. I had a toy piano, crayons and a coloring book, an Etch a Sketch, my first Walkman radio with a tape player and some Christmas tapes. I also had several footed sleepers with nursery characters like Winnie the Pooh, a dozen onesies -- long tee shirts with a snap crotch to hold diapers snug -- several pretty pairs of plastic panties and some plain white ones, two more pacifiers, several new baby bottles, pretty pink and yellow diaper pins, and three dozen cloth birdseye diapers -- just what I had asked for.

"Those won't be for all the time," Mom told me, "but Santa said he thought you'd enjoy wearing them when you want to feel extra comfy."

I wasn't a very demonstrative child, but I did manage a big smile and a hug for Mom and Dad.

Even before all the presents were opened, I felt the need to poop. Remembering the agreement, I knew I'd be pooping in my diaper. That didn't bother me, really. My only concern was the teasing I might get from my brother and sister -- and maybe even my parents, when they noticed what I'd done.

I got up from my pile of presents and went to the kitchen. Mom was there, making pancakes. She smiled, and asked if I was hungry. I nodded. Then I liftted my nightgown to expose my diaper, (I'd often lifted my skirt, dress, or night gown if I was dressed in one when I was making a BM, I couldn't explain why), and began pushing the BM out into my diaper. It felt very good to be pooping in a standing position again, and I noticed it was a lot of poop this time. I remembered how nice it was before I was potty trained, and made poopies in my diapers all the time. It felt now like having to use the toilet was just a bad dream.

Mom asked "Are you making poopies, Claire?" Red-faced, I nodded. Mom reassured me, saying "It's okay, honey. That's what you're supposed to do. When you're finished, go ask Daddy to change your diaper, and then we'll all have breakfast."

I finished pooping, then asked Dad to change my diaper. He said "Sure, Honey," took me by the hand, and led me to my bedroom, where I saw he'd set up the top of my dresser as a changing table.

"You were always a Super Duper Pooper, Claire, and I see you still are!" Dad exclaimed as he cleaned me up. "You were really wet, too! I should have checked your diaper before you all started opening presents. But I figured it could wait."

"Thanks, Daddy," I said as Dad lifted me from the table. He'd put a clean Luvs on me, this time without plastic panties, then he patted my diapered bottom like he’d always done.

A happy family sat down to the pancake breakfast Mom had prepared. I wore my usual bib because I'd always had a problem spilling food on my clothes. Meghan sometimes wore a bib, too, if she was dressed in something especially nice. She no longer needed to drink from a sippy cup, thnugh, and I still did.

After breakfast, all three of us kids helped gather up all the wrapping paper for the trash, saving the stick-on bows so they could be used again.

We weren't going visiting today. It was a tradition in both my Mom and Dad's family that everyone enjoyed Christmas in their own home. The big family Christmas gatherings took place on the nearest weekend after Christmas. A roast was cooking slowly in the oven for our Christmas dinner, and the whole family was in the living room, examining and exclaiming over each other's presents.

Meghan invited me to bring some of my dolls over to her doll house for a visit, and I did. Both of us now had Baby Alive dolls. Mine was named Jane and Meghan called hers Sarah. We mixed up a packet of the special food Baby Alives ate, fed them, gave them their bottles, and burped them. Then we put them in their little beds for a nap, and took a closer look at Meghan's new doll house. It was very real looking, with furniture, lights that lit up, and even a Christmas tree in the living room.

We decided it was time for our dollies to wake up from their nap. Both dolls, of course, had wet and soiled diapers. Meghan had never changed a diaper before. I felt like a real big sister as I demonstrated by changing Jane's diaper. Although in many ways I was a clumsy kid, I was a pretty good diaper changer. She managed to get Sarah's diaper on so it wouldn't fall off, pretty good for a first attempt, and we dressed our dolls in play suits.

"Do Mom and Dad change your diapers like we just changed Jane and Sarah's?" Megan asked, not with any malice, but simply out of curiosity. She’d been potty trained before I was, when she was two and a half, and didn’t remember wearing diapers at all, not even at night.

"Pretty much," I answered.

"Does it feel weird to have your diaper changed?" Meghan wanted to know.

I shook my head. "No, it feels really nice," I said, in a way that told Meghan I didn't want to say any more about it just then. My pacifier was tied to a ribbon around my neck. I placed it back in my mouth and started sucking. As I sucked, I rocked back and forth in a repeating pattern that is oe of the many ways Asperger's people have of relieving emotional stress. It's called "stimming."

We didn't get to hang out in nightgowns and pajamas all day on Christmas, even though we kids probably wouldn't have minded not getting dressed. it was close to noon, though, when Mom told Sean and Megan to take their baths and dress for the day. True to her and Dad's promise, Mom proceeded to bathe, diaper, and dress me herself. My diaper was swollen with pee, and Mom remarked that it would need to be checked more often. She set me in the tub and washed me all over, including my hair. She dried me with a big, fluffy towel. Before drying my hair, Mom diapered me with two of my new cloth diapers. She lifted me by my ankles to slide the diapers under me, just like she'd done so many times before, and again to sli on my plastic panties, a pink pair with ruffles. I sucked on my paci and enjoyed the whole experience. The only thing I had to do was lift my arms so Mom could get my onesie and my jumper over my head.

It was a very happy Christmas for me that year, one that has always stood out as a very positive memory.

When we made our holiday visits to Grandparents, cousins, uncles, and aunts, no special mention was made of my diapers, not even when Mom, Dad, or Sean took me aside to change me. Sean received admiration for his diaper changing skill -- and his willingness to change soiled ones -- from our cousins Marie and Joann, who were close to him in age. Neither of them, though, made a big deal of the fact that I was back in diapers.

I remember feeling more comfortable and less stressed around the extended family than I had in some time.

My cousin Kevin was just two months older than I. We were both in first grade and both in special classes at school, he because he had been born with a spinal abnormality that kept him incontinent and made walking difficult, I because of unconventional behaviors related to Asperger’s Syndrome. Kevin and I had always felt close to each other.

At Thanksgiving, I had told Kevin that I wanted to wear diapers again like he did, and be treated like a baby. Kevin suggested that I tell my Mom and Dad what I wanted, thinking they just might consent to the request. Now, when I saw Kevin at Grandma’s house, I told him I wanted to show him something in private. We went into an empty bedroom and I lifted my skirt, exposing my pink ruffled plastic panties.

“Cool!”’ Kevin exclaimed. “We can be diaper pals again, like we used to be before you were potty trained. When did you start wearing diapers again?”

“On Christmas Eve,” I answered. “Mom put a diaper on me, Dad fed me a bottle, and I haven’t had to go on the potty since then. I'm not even allowed to.” (“Then” was now four days in the past.)

“How are you liking wearing diapers again?” Kevin asked.

“I haven’t been this happy in I can’t remember how long!” I exclaimed.

“Are you wet right now?” Kevin asked. I smiled shyly and nodded. “My diaper hasn’t been changed since we left home. I just wet without thinking about it now.”

Kevin grinned like he was thinking of something naughty. “Let’s both make doodoo!’ he said. (Doodoo was Kevin’s family’s preferred term for poopies.)

I realized I did have to poop, so I grunted a litle and passed some very noisy and smelly gas.

“Wow!” Kevin exclaimed, admiring what I’d just done. “You fart better than any girl I know! Even better than most of the boys!”

I blushed a little and smiled sheepishly. I was already pushing a BM into my diaper. “Daddy calls me a Super Duper Pooper,” I admitted. The BM wasn’t an especially large one, but it did create a bulge in the seat of my diaper.

Kevin was now enthusiastically filling his own diaper. When we’d both finished, we returned, holding hands, to the family room where most of the other cousins were talking and showing each other some of their gifts.

All the girl cousins were fond of babying Kevin. He was a very cute little boy, small for his age and, because he was still in diapers and had poor motor skills like I did, often regarded as more of a toddler than a growing up young man.

“Come and sit on my lap, Kevin!” Cousin Joann called. Cousin Joann guickly withdrew the invitation, though, when she smelled poop and noticed the bulge in the seat of Kevin’s pants.

“Eww! You went poopies in your pants, didn’t you?” Cousin Joann asked in mild disgust.

“Yup!” Kevin answered, sounding proud. “Want to change my diaper?” Joann shook her head emphatically. “No way!” She declared.

“I’ll change your diaper, Kevin,” Sean volunteered.

“You can change poopy diapers?” Cousin Joann asked, incredulous.

“Sure I can,” Sean responded. “It’s no big deal. Mom showed me how when Claire went back to wearing diapers. It’s my job to make sure she’s changed when she needs it today. And from the way your diaper is sagging below the hem of your dress, Claire, I’m thinking you need a diaper change too, right about now.” Sean stood and held out both his hands. I took one, and Kevin took the other. “I went poopies like Kevin did,” I admitted.

“That explains it,” Sean grinned. “I didn’t think one little boy could make that big a stink! Let’s get you both cleaned up.”

Off we went to Grandma and Grandpa’s bedroom, which had its own bath. On the way, Sean asked Kevin’s Mom if she’d mind if he changed Kevin’s diaper. “Not at all, Sean!” Kevin’s Mom replied. “It’s about the time of day Kevin usually has a BM. Thank you for volunteering.”

Kevin had us both cleaned up and changed in little more than five minutes. He’d been changing my diapers since the first day, Christmas, as he had told Joann, and he was quickly becoming an expert. Poop had leaked into Kevin’s plastic panties, so they needed to be washed. Sean asked Kevin if he’d mind wearing a pair of mine for now, since we hadn’t brought Kevin’s diaper bag to Grandma’s room with us.

Kevin and I were nearly the same size, so Sean had no problem changing us into clean Luvs size 5 from my diaper bag. We’d often worn each other’s clothing, even shoes. Sometimes we’d pretend Kevin was a girl and I a boy. We both enjoyed this game, although Kevin was better at it. Try though I did, I didn’t make a very convincing boy.

Kevin, though, was a gifted mimic and an enthusiastic roleplayer. He could be a quite convincing little girl. Kevin didn’t mind wearing my plastic panties at all. He loved pink, loved ruffles, loved most of the pretty things girls love, in fact. The girl cousins had often dressed Kevin up as a toddler girl. He’d stopped making even a token protest at this kind of treatment. Kevin’s delicate features, his longish, curly hair, and his skill at mimicking girlish ways of walking, sitting, and even flirting had convinced more than a few people that he really was a little girl. Underneath his dress-up trousers, no one would notice Kevin was wearing ruffled pink plastic panties. But Kevin knew, and so did I. We both enjoyed our little secret.

For as long as I could remember, family gatherings had been stressful occasions for me. Being around so many people “overloaded my circuits,”’ you might say. It was too much emotional and sensory stimulation for me to deal with comfortably. I remember “stimming” at family gatherings much more than at other times. I knew I was making something of a spectacle of myself but, really, I didn’t care. Stimming released the stress overload.

Often, because of the stress overload, I would not be able to eat at the children’s table with the other cousins. Mom would need to feed me at the adults, table, or, if the occasion was especially difficult for me, in the kitchen.

Being with Kevin sometimes helped keep me calm. Today I was calmer, more relaxed than I could re-member ever having been at a family gathering. Was it because of the diapers, because I no longer had to deal with the responsibility of being a “big girl?” I think it was. I had no problem being with the other cousins at the table. I actually enjoyed it, and barely spilled anything on my bib.

Kevin had no brothers or sisters. He enjoyed being with Sean, Meghan, and me. Before we left Grandma and Grandpa’s, we’d plans for Kevin and his parents to come to our house on New Year’s Eve to greet the new year and sleep over. It was something nice for us all to look forward to.

At the gathering at my Dad’s parents’ home, there was no one like Kevin. Dad came from a family of only two siblings. We had no cousins on Dad’s side of the family. Uncle Jack, Dad’s brother, had Asperger’s like I did. 35 years old, never married, he had his own home but had lived with Nana and Pop Pop until only two years ago. Uncle Jack experienced problems relating to others and making his way in the world that were similar to those I experienced. I had always felt comfortable with him. Uncle Jack understood me and my situation as no one else did. When he’d been a boy, no one knew what Asperger’s was. Uncle Jack had had a more difficult time than I was having.

Nana, Pop Pop, and Uncle Jack all knew I was in diapers and being babied again. Dad and Mom had spoken with them by phone before Christmas to discuss whether allowing me to regress as I wanted to was a good idea.

When I made my request, Dad had recalled (although he didn’t tell me) that Uncle Jack had gone back to wearing diapers when he was six, after having been potty trained for only a year. Uncle Jack had not been potty trained again until he was sixteen, and then only because he wanted to learn to drive a car, something Nana and Pop Pop would not allow him to do while he was still in diapers.

During our visit, Uncle Jack and I had some time alone. We talked about being different, and about wearing diapers. Uncle Jack told me about how he’d gone back to wearing diapers when he was a little younger than I was now, and how good it had been to feel like a baby again. I hadn’t known he’d done the same thing I was doing. Hearing about it helped me.

I asked Uncle Jack if he’d had a tough time at school because he wore diapers. He said that he was already being teased a lot before he went back to wearing diapers, so it really didn’t make a lot of difference. In a way, it had made things better, since the school nurse who changed his diapers had befriended him.

While we were talking, Uncle Jack noticed that I wiggled a little in my chair. He said, “You just made weewee, didn’t you?”

“Yes!” I admitted. “How did you know?”

“People who wear diapers notice things like that,” Uncle Jack said. “I think a lot more people wear diapers than you might realize,” Uncle Jack added. “Do you need to have your diaper changed?”

I shook my head. “I’m only a little bit wet,” I said. “Besides, Mom, Dad, or Sean always seems to know when it’s time to change my diaper. It feels good not to have to worry about it.”

“I know,” Uncle Jack agreed. “I liked wearing diapers a lot.” Then Uncle Jack told me a secret. He told me that, after being potty trained again, he continued to wet his bed and still had to wear diapers whenever he was sleeping. Sometimes, Uncle Jack told me, he stayed in diapers all day, just because he felt like it.

“It’s not as nice when you have to change your own diapers,” Uncle Jack said, “but it still makes me feel calm, happy and safe to have a diaper on sometimes.”

I promised not to tell anyone that Uncle Jack still wore diapers. I don’t think Sean or Meghan ever guessed. If Mom and Dad knew, they never talked about it. Uncle Jack and I have always been able to relate to each other in a way that those who don’t have Asperger’s wouldn’t understand. We’ve shared many of each other’s secrets.

New Year’s Eve was fun. Dad surprised all of us by taking the whole evening off from the cab company he owned. He did call the office several times to make sure everything was okay, but for the most part Dad really enjoyed the family fun.

Sean was excited because he was going to be allowed to stay up until midnight with the grownups. Meghan, Kevin, and I would go to bed at our regular time but be awakened to ring in the New Year at midnight. We all enjoyed the traditional New Year’s Eve family dinner: pizza. Then we kids played games until bedtime. Sean played with us. He really seemed to enjoy being with us younger kids.

Kevin shared my bed, because it had the plastic mattress cover. Kevin’s Dad, who had always had a strange sense of humor, had bought “Happy New Year tee-shirts for Sean, Meghan, Kevin, and me, and plastic panties printed with the words “There’ll be some changes made!” for Kevin and me. We were dressed in those as we went to sleep, so we’d wake up all ready to greet the New Year.

I felt a gentle hand shaking my shoulder, and heard my brother Sean’s voice telling me it was quarter to twelve, time to get ready to say hello to the new year. Still half asleep, I rolled over to sit up and felt a big load of poop in the seat of my diaper. I started to cry, not wanting to welcome the new year in such a state.

Sean came to my rescue, lifting me up onto the changing table and changing my diaper in record time. Then he changed Kevin’s diaper, which was only wet. All of us made it downstairs in plenty of time to start making a racket at midnight. It was great fun!

Kevin and his family stayed with us through dinner time on New Year’s Day. After the midnight session, we all slept late on New Year’s morning, then had a light breakfast. After breakfast, everyone managed to bathe or shower in our two bathrooms. I wanted to share a tub with Kevin, and I was happy when Kevin’s Mom bathed the two of us together and then diapered and dressed us in matching overalls. Mine were red and Kevin’s were green, in honor of the holiday season.

Mom was surprised that I let Kevin’s mom give me a bath and diaper and dress me. I would usually insist that it had to be Mom, Dad, or, more recently Sean. I had regressed, Mom admitted with mixed feelings, but I was becoming more trusting and less nervous. That had to be good thing.

CHAPTER TWO

All vacations come to an end eventually. Sooner than I wanted it to be, it was time to go back to school. I liked school, really, but I was nervous about going back to school wearing diapers. On the first day back, I didn’t take the bus. Mom drove me to school. Meghan, of course, came along. Meghan went to her kindergarten class. Mom and I went to the nurse’s office, where Mom dropped off a package of Luvs, and two paifrs of white plastic panties, along with some lotion and some wipes, and had a conversation with Nurse Richardson.

Soon the conversation included Principal Barker and Mrs. Ross, my teacher in Special Education. I sat by myself reading a book while the adults talked, and I never did find out exactly what they said.

After a while Mom came over to where I was sitting and told me that everything was all right and I would need to do everything Mrs. Ross asked of me, like I always did. Mrs. Ross and Nurse Richardson said that either Nurse Richardson or one of the teacher’s aides in special education would check my diaper frequently, just like they did for other diapered kids. I was not to fuss or complain when this happened, and I was to go to Nurse Richardson’s office to have my diaper changed whenever I was told to go. I nodded, relieved that I had been allowed to wear diapers to school, and perfectly willing to follow the rules.

Mom kissed me goodbye and left, Nurse Richardson checked my diaper, was surprised at how wet it was, (I’d been nervous and had wet more than usual) and changed it. Nurse Richardson was an expert diaper changer. She had a comforting touch. I felt very safe having her change my diaper.

After my diaper had been changed, I followed Miss Callahan, one of the teacher’s aides, to our classroom. I’d missed morning assembly, where all the kids in special ed recited the pledge of allegiance as best they could, sang a song, and shared any special news or events in their lives. I didn’t think any announcement about my wearing diapers was going to be made and none was. I just got out the learning packet I’d been working on before Christmas and took up where I’d left off. I began the day with some third grade arithmetic problems. Those were easy for me

Daytime wetting was not yet automatic for me. I had already learned, though, to try to make weewee every half hour or so (I could tell time) so that I wouldn’t end up flooding my diaper. When an aide checked my diaper shortly before lunch, it definitely need changing. Two other diapered kids and I were escorted to Nurse Richardson’s office for a diaper change, and then we went together to the cafeteria.

We Special Ed kids didn't often socialize with the other students. They gave no evidence off wanting anything to do with us, except maybe as objects of ridicule, so we kept to ourselves, and, as we were able, helped each other out. I was the only one in my age group with above average intelligence, but I was also socially, emotionally, and physically well behind most children my age. I never thought of myself as superior to anyone.

I wore a bib at the school lunch table just as I did at home, because I was clumsy and a very messy eater. Too much of what was supposed to go into my mouth ended up on my clothes. I would like to say I was making good progress toward learning to feed myself properly, but I was not. Today, lunch was less stressful for me than it had been, perhaps because I felt safer and calmer in my diapers.

The afternoon passed without anything awful happening. I needed changing half way through the afternoon. It was not unusual for kids to have an afternoon BM. For kids in diapers, this would mean a soiled one. I made poopies in my diaper, as several of the others did. It wasn't an awful experience, but very matter of fact.. Kids nearby noticed the smell and commented that someone must have pooped, but they didn't make an issue of it. When she noticed I'd pooped, one of the aides took me to the nurse's office and changed my diaper there. Clean and dry, I was soon back at my school work..

I rode the school bus home feeling much better about school than I could remember ever feeling. When I came through the back door, Mom was delightfully surprised that I stayed in the kitchen and asked for milk and cookies rather than running to my room and closing the door like I usually did. Meghan joined me for milk and cookies, then Mom remembered to check my diaper -- it was soaked -- and take me to my room for a diaper change. After she changed my diaper, Mom gave me a bottle of water (I'd already had milk) to help me relax before dinner.

It wasn't long before, both at home and at school, my diapers and diaper changing became part of the daily routine. Changing my diapers was far less stressful for everyone than dealing with the tantrums and other emotional outbursts that had once been common occurrences and now happened rarely. Because I was feeling safer, I had almost none of the panic attacks which had once been more than a daily part of my life.

Everyone's life got easier. Sean realized an unexpected but welcome benefit. Because he was not only handsome, smart, and athletic but also was "man enough" to change his almost eight year old sister's wet and dirty diapers without flinching, Sean was now more popular than ever among his female classmates. He didn't' mind that popularity one bit.

Easter was always a special time for all of us, with new outfits for all the kids, special church services, at least one Easter Egg Hunt, and a big family dinner. My Easter dress that year was a pretty lavender taffeta design, with a petticoat. It was a very old-fashioned design and I loved it. I wore white ruffled plastic panties, covering extra diapers to minimize the need for changes. Except for a mid-afternoon BM which everyone must have noticed but no one mentioned, I didn't do anything upsetting all day.

As the school year progressed, my behavior became more and more like that of so-called "normal" kids. As the end of the school term approached, I began hearing talk about "mainstreaming" me, placing me in a regular second grade classroom. I had mixed feelings about that idea. I felt safe in special education. I might not feel so safe in a regular class.

I said I might be willing to try being in a regular class. I insisted, though, that I would not be potty trained again any time soon.

CHAPTER THREE

Memorial Day weekend brought with it the beginning of the swimming season and the end of the school year. I knew I'd be going back to wearing swim diapers, and I didn't mind. I was so used to being in diapers by this time that I no longer thought about them a whole lot, any more than another kid would think about her panties all the time. I was in them all the time and I used them unselfconsciously. I no longer had to remember to pee. It just seemed to happen. I pooped whenever and wherever I felt the urge, which caused some awkward moments when it happened in public places. Usually, I did not ask for a diaper change, even when my diaper was soiled. I knew someone would check and discover that I needed changing soon enough. When Mom, Dad, or Sean would tell me to come and get my diaper changed, I'd sometimes protest that I didn't need to be changed. My protests fell on deaf ears. They knew my patterns better than I did. The diaper was almost always right at the "change me now!" stage. To my family's credit, I remember very few diaper leaks.

So when Mom brought home a package of red Little Swimmers swim diapers, I was delighted. I knew I'd need to wear some kind of diaper when I went swimming, and the Little Swimmers looked like they'd fill that role nicely. I looked forward eagerly to our first trip to the pool.

Mom had to remember how to pack for a say at the pool with a child in diapers. I'd need my beach cover up and a second one in case the first got too wet to wear. I'd also need two or three onesies, two or three swim diapers, and, of course, enough Luvs for when I was not in the pool. The only things I wouldn't need more than one of were my beach towel and my flip flops.

All five of us went to the pool on the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend. It was a nice, warm day with bright sunshine. On the way to the pool, I wore only a onesie covering a Luvs, and flip flops. Anyone looking at us would guess that Meghan, in her pretty skirted swimsuit, was the older sister. Everyone carried something in to the pool area from the parking lot. I carried my diaper bag and a tote filled with sunscreen and other beach items.

The water looked inviting and, since it was early, not too big of a crowd had gathered. Sean went off to meet some of his friends by the diving area. Meghan waited for me to change into my swim diaper. Mom put my beach cover up on me, reached under it to unsnap my onesie and untape my diaper, then held the swim diaper for me to step into, and refastened the onesie. No one saw me naked, but I had such little body awareness that it would not have been bothered if they had.

We played in the children’s area until lunch time. I was not the largest child in a swim diaper, but I might have been the oldest. Swim diapers don’t keep pee out of the water, only poop. The kiddie pool always was chlorinated extra heavily for that reason. I have no idea how many times I wet my swim diaper. My fingers and Meghan’s were all wrinkly – pruned up, Sean would say – by the time Mom called us for lunch. Sean, Meghan, and Dad blocked the view while Mom changed my diaper right on the blanket. After two hours in the water, a swim diaper won’t hold any kind of a wetting, and no one likes the feeling of pee running down their leg.

Mom had made sandwiches, and brought along some potato and macaroni salad from the deli, as well as lemonade and cookies. We had a nice picnic lunch. Then Meghan and I lay down on the beach blanket under our beach umbrella for a nap, I with a baby bottle of lemonade. It was a noisy environment, so we slept for less than an hour. As I was waking up, I knew I’d be pooping very soon, so I just stood up and did it. Someone walking by saw me and smiled. A child filling her diaper is kind of a cute sight, I guess. Mom took me to the restroom and cleaned me up there, putting another swim diaper on me so I could go back into the pool with Meghan.

During the afternoon, Dad took Meghan and me into the big pool for a swimming lesson. Both of us managed to successfully float on our stomachs, the “Dead Man’s Float,” Dad called it. Floating with my face in the water was a big accomplishment for me. The previous Summer, I’d been afraid to put my face in the water. Meghan and I were now about equal in our swimming skills.

We went to the pool again on Memorial Day itself, and many times throughout the Summer. It was a good summer. Dad went with us when he could take time away from work, and Mom always brought books and other projects she was working on. Sean played with us sometimes, even when his buddies wondered out loud why he’d want to hang around with little kids. Some of the girls noticed Sean playing with us, and admired him for being kind to his sisters. Sean was very definitely discovering girls, and girls were discovering Sean.

During the last week in July and the first week in August, we took a car trip to Colorado. We visited Pike’s Peak, and rode the cog railway to the top. We went on two steam rail excursions, the Durango and Silverton, and the Cumbres and Toltec. Sean and Dad were big railfans. We also visited two archaeological sites where we explored ruins of very old settlements. I participated completely in everything we did, usually with a pacifier in my mouth, which did its job of soothing me very effectively.

I heard Sean saying to Mom that dealing with the complications of my being in diapers was much less of a problem than dealing with my behavior issues on our trips the past two years. I wasn’t supposed to hear the conversation, I suppose, but I was kind of glad I did. I knew I was not an easy child to live with. I couldn’t help the way I was. The security of being treated like a baby again made things easier for me as well as my family.

I read more than a few books over the summer, and began a personal journal which I kept very private. Mom and Dad gave me a book with a lock and key. I kept the key on a chain which I often wore around my neck, or carried in my little purse. My handwriting improved as I used my journal more and more often, sometimes writing in it several times a day. Over that Summer, I became much more confident in the water and actually learned to swim.

Both Sean and Meghan enjoyed time with their friends, time which I didn’t share, of course. But that was fine with me. I had the same amusements I’d always had, and now I had my baby things too. As I said, it was a happy summer.

CHAPTER FOUR

As the first day of school approached, Mom, Dad, and one of the school counselors talked with me about being in a mainstream classroom. How would I feel, they asked, about being in a “regular” classroom? I stiffened visibly. “Would I still be able to wear diapers?” I wanted to know.

“Yes, Claire, you’d wear diapers just like you do now, except that you’d have to go to Nurse Richardson’s office when your diaper needed changing, since there are no diaper changing aides in regular classrooms. A special teacher's aide would make sure you went for changes often enough.”

“I’m supposed to be in second grade,” I said, “but I was already doing third grade work last year. Wouldn’t second grade be boring?”

“Your teacher would give you challenging work that would keep you interested,” the Principal explained. “You’d meet other children who are as smart as you are, and we hope you’d learn to enjoy working with them.”

“It does get kind of lonesome in Special Ed,” I admitted. “I like the other kids there, but they don’t do the kind of school work I like to do.”

“What about the teasing and bullying,” I wanted to know. “I know I’m not like other kids, and “normal” kids don’t like me very much usually.”

“We hope that being in a regular classroom will give other children a chance to know you better,” the counselor explained. “And we hope it will give you a chance to know them. We won’t allow teasing or bullying, and we’ll trust you to let us know if anyone treats you unkindly.”

“If it doesn’t work out, can I go back to Special Ed?” I asked.

“Yes, Claire, we’d allow that, but we do think this will work out for you and for the other children as well.”

“Well, okay then, I guess I’m willing to try it.” I was trying hard not to stim. To relieve the emotional pressure I was feeling, I wet my diaper.

I hadn’t sat on a toilet since Christmas Eve, and no one had been suggesting that I “go potty” anywhere but in my diapers. I was comfortable wearing diapers. I didn’t really mind being talked about and stared at when people noticed I was diapered. When I had to go poopies, I usually just did it, even if others were around. Much of the time the only thing that made my pooping noticeable was the smell. Sometimes, though, I had to push to expel a hard or unusually large load, and the pushing sometimes was accompanied by grunting and grimaces. Mom or Dad, sometimes Sean, would ask “are you going poopies, Claire?” I always thought that was a stupid question, but never said so. Actually, they asked the question so they could take me to have my diaper changed as soon as I’d finished pooping. Because of Mom, Dad, and Sean's vigilance, I don't remember ever having a diaper rash.

I wet without thinking much about it, and paid little attention to the state of my diaper. Again, Mom, Dad, or Sean would often ask if my diaper was wet, or they’d simply feel my diaper to determine whether it needed changing. Teachers’ aides in school had been checking my diapers also. Now, in a regular classroom, I’d need to become more aware of when it was time to have my diaper changed.

I was nervous on the first day of school and almost begged to stay home. I wanted to be in school again very much, though, and that desire proved stronger than the nervousness. I wore a jumper and blouse, as I usually did, with a disposable diaper and plastic panties covered by a onesie with a snap crotch.

My new class was designed for exceptional children across the range of primary school ages. Children from all over the school district were enrolled. I was not the only child in the class with Asperger's syndrome, although I was the only one in diapers. Tony and Terry used the toilet like other children. Their behaviors, though, were more disruptive than mine, and included a lot of stimming. I wondered if they might be happier and calmer in diapers. The teacher and her aides tried to help us interact with the other kids, with some success. The other children weren't unkind to Tony, Terry, and me. They just didn't know how to relate to us.

In the very direct way of interacting that Asperger's children have, Tony and Terry asked a lot of questions about my diapers. I answered their questions frankly. I discovered that Tony was fastidious about being clean, and was totally repulsed at the thought of going potty in his pants. Terry, on the other hand, admitted that he sometimes wet and pooped his pants on purpose, hoping that his parents would diaper him. So far they hadn't done it. Instead, they encouraged Terry to be more careful, and helped him change his pants. Terry was the oldest of three children. Both his younger sisters were clean and dry both day and night. Neither had Asperger’s.

I offered Terry the same suggestion my cousin Kevin had given me. I encouraged Terry to ask directly for what he wanted. Later that week, Terry's Mom called my Mom. The two moms talked a long while. After she'd hung up the phone, Mom told me that Terry had asked his parents to diaper him "like Claire's parents do." Mom said that, although they had some concerns, Terry's parents were going to diaper him as he had requested. Terry would have to follow the same "all or nothing" diapering rules I followed. I was very happy to hear he had been successful. I liked Terry, even had a little crush on him, but I didn’t recognize the feeling for what it was.

Two days later, Terry showed up at school looking happier than I remembered ever seeing him, but kind of nervous, too.. Based on his newly calm demeanor, and the fact that his pants looked tighter than they usually did, I guessed he was wearing a diaper. He’d come in to class a little late, just as I had the first morning I came to school in a diaper. When I asked him, he admitted he was diapered. "I'm wearing plastic pants, too," Terry said.

It was close to 10:00 in the morning. "Is your diaper wet?" I asked. Terry admitted it wasn't and added that he really needed to pee. I told him he'd better go ahead and pee before he had to go so bad that his diaper wouldn't be able to hold it without leaking. Terry began relieving himself a little at a time until his bladder was empty and his diaper was so full that it created a noticeable bulge in his pants. A teacher's aide noticed and asked Terry if his diaper need changing. Terry nodded shyly. The aide smiled and held out her hand. Terry took her hand. I spoke up and said my diaper need changing, too. The aide held out her other hand. The three of us went to the nurse's office where Terry and I were quickly changed into dry diapers. I made it a point to remind Terry to wet his diaper whenever I wet mine. It didn't take him long to catch on.

An hour after lunch, I noticed that Terry was farting and trying to conceal it. I was sure he needed to go poopies, and thought he was probably nervous about pooping his diaper in school. So I stopped what I was doing and filled my own diaper, making sure that Terry noticed. Seeing me pooping made it easier for Terry, and soon we were both in the nurse's office being changed again.

Having a diapered classmate made me happy. Although I didn't mind being the only one in diapers, I felt much better having a "diaper pal." Terry and I did become pretty good friends, and Tony managed to overcome his discomfort with the mess he associated with diapers enough to be friends with both of us. If he thought either of us was peeing or pooping, he'd tell the nearest adult, and we'd tell him to mind his own business. All things considered, though, we all got along okay.

Our relationship with others in the claas gradually improved, also. We were still the "odd ones," but we weren't bullied or teased. Sometimes we were even included in social events like birthday parties. One or both of our moms would always be nearby to change our diapers when they needed changing. We were part of the group as much as we allowed ourselves to be. The other kids didn't exclude us, but sometimes we tended to exclude ourselves when an activity was just too much fpr us to handle.

Although my parents and teachers had hoped I'd be willing and able to let an adult know when my diaper needed changing, that didn't happen. Instead, my awareness of the state of my diaper lessened. If someone asked if my diaper was wet, or even if I'd soiled it, I wouln't always know. Some of my class-mates found it disconcerting that I'd sometimes grunt and fill my diaper right in front of the group, without thinking anything of it. My pediatrician, after observing me and talking with Mom and Dad, estimated that I had the body awareness of about an eighteen month old child. I was no longer potty trained in any sense. When, or perhaps if I decided I didn't want to be diapered anymore, I'd need to go through the entire training process again.

If I'd been given the choice between being required to develop more mature toilet habits and going back to Special Ed, I would have chosen Special Ed without question. I was happier and calmer in my diapers, with no responsibility for letting someone know when they needed changing, than I could remember being at any time in my life.

CHAPTER FIVE

I don't remember how aware I had been of my diapers before I had been potty trained. I do remember, as I've said before, consenting to be potty trained only to please my parents. Now, back in diapers, I was aware of them just about all the time. I liked the feeling of the diaper on my skin. I still do. I don’t even mind when the diapers are wet or soiled.

My being in diapers, having a pacifier (which I brought to school but used there only when I was REALLY stressed), taking at least one bottle every day, usually fed to me by Sean, Meghan, Mom, or Dad, and being bathed and dressed rather than doing it myself soon became so much a part of our family’s ordinary way of being that it felt quite normal. I had proven how bright I was and how easy to be with, so long as, physically, I was treated as a young child. I was never left alone, someone was constantly beside me whenever we went out. We had a harness for me, and a sort of leash, but didn’t use them often unless I was really nervous and likely to try to run off somewhere to hide. Actually I LIKED the leash an said so. Wearing the harness gave me a sense of security I really wanted. So gradually I began wearing it more often, even when I was fairly calm. Thankfully I was small for my age, and not very heavy. At eight I looked more like five. Still, an obviously diapered five year old on a leash with a pacifier in her mouth will draw attention, and I sometimes did.

It became much easier to go places, because I became much easier to manage. Before long, there was no need to be concerned about tantrums. I didn’t stim all that much anymore, either. All anyone needed to be concerned about, really, was the state of my diaper. I wouldn’t often ask for it to be changed, often wouldn’t know it needed changing. So, unless someone else remembered to check, I’d be likely to have a diaper leak. Meghan and Sean saw it as THEIR responsibility when that happened. Dad and Mom had said, after all, that someone would always take responsibility for my being clean and dry.

Meghan became a little mommy to me. We were close to equal in size, but no one would have guessed I was the older sister. The pacifier, the leash, and the diapers either playing peek a boo under my dress or skirt or making a bulge in my pants marked me as the little sister. Meghan stayed close by me, even when we were with her friends. She still does. Meghan accepts me for who I am – the whole family does -- and helps me with those parts of life that I find difficult to deal with. She began helping with diaper changes when I was nine and she was seven. Within a year she could do the whole change herself unless the diaper was soiled. Now, I’m 11 and she’s 9, she can change even a nasty diaper. She’s so good at it that Terry’s mom lets her change his diapers when we’re together.

Mom would like it if I could wear cloth diapers all the time – she’s pretty green – but the school insists on disposables. Cloth diapers and disposables feel different, of course. I enjoy both. Cloth diapers, when they're dry, feel REALLY snug and cozy. When you wet them, the fleeling of warmth spreading over your bottom is delightful. Yes, eventually the diaper gets cold and soggy, especially after repeated wettings, but plastic panties keep that from happening too quickly. By the time the diaper gets uncomfortable, someone always notices and changes it.

I wear plastic panties with disposable diapers, just as I wear them with cloth diapers. They do protect more against leaks. Besides, they're nice to touch, they make a nice rustling noise, and they're cute, I think. Disposable diapers hardly ever feel wet, at least not until they're really soaked! I wear "youth diapers" now. I've outgrown Pampers, Luvs, and Huggies. I miss the pretty prints on the baby diapers, but the youth diapers are okay. They have more tapes on each side, two or three. Baby diapers have only one.

Wetting feels different in disposables then it does in cloth, but pooping feels pretty much the same in both. It's kind of a nice feeling, really, when the poop starts filling the diaper. Usually it's warm and squishy. Sometimes it's a little lumpy. If I have diarrhea, it can be a nasty feeling. I hardly ever have diarrhea, though. It's kind of funny that I can feel the weight of the poop on my shoulders because I still wear onesies. Mom likes them because they keep my diapers snug. I'd rather not have my plastic panties covered up, I like it when people can see them. When I'm wearing a pretty dress I aometimes get to wear ruffled plastic panties without a onesie, and I like that a lot. But onesies are okay.

I suppose I squirm a little when my diaper is uncomfortable, or tug on it just a bit. That, I guess, is the cue that prompts whoever is nearest to ask "Claire, do you need a clean diaper?" As I've grown older, I usually nod or sometimes simply say "yes." Once in a while I'll "sort of" ask to have my diaper changed. I don't actually ask to be changed. Instead I tell Mom, Dad, or Sean "I went poopies," or "I made weewee a lot."

Sean still changes my diapers without complaining, whenever he's home. He's going to be a great Dad, I think. Meghan, as I said, changes my diapers now, too. She asks, just like Mom, Dad, and Sean do, "Do you need a clean diaper, Claire?" Our Baby Alive dolls spend their time on a shelf now. Meghan has me to take care of, and she says I’m more fun.

Sometimes I wonder what’s going to happen as I get older. I wonder if I’ll have to be potty trained again some day, and give up my diapers. I wonder if I’ll have breasts like women do, and have to shave my legs like Mom does. I don’t have any breasts yet, thank God. Sometimes, though, I think it would be nice to have them.

My ears are pierced now. Meghan talked me into getting it done. I howled when the technician did it, but it didn’t hurt for long, and I do like wearing earrings. I’m noticing more how I look. My mother is pleased that I’m more interested in what I’m wearing. Sometimes I’ll even ask to wear a dress or skirt I like especially. I almost never ask to wear shorts or pants, though. That’s because Tony says he likes me to wear dresses. He says it’s what girls are supposed to wear. I don’t know about that, but I do know I like it when Tony likes how I look. Terry, too.

I’m not sure which boy I like better. Terry is a good diaper pal, and he’s really funny sometimes. He’s still shy about pooping his diaper in front of other people. So he tries not to, and ends up farting so much it makes me laugh and it annoys some people. Just last week, one of the other girls in the class said to him, “Why don’t you just go ahead and poop your pants and go get your diaper changed? You’re killing us all with the smell of your farts.” Terry turned bright red. I came to his rescue by making a BIG fart myself. Everyone laughed. Then I pooped, so did Terry, and we both went to have our diapers changed.

Tony would hate to wear a diaper, but he says now that I look cute in mine. He likes to touch my plastic panties, especially the ones with ruffles. If no one’s watching, sometimes I let him. Sometimes Tony puts his arm around me when we’re walking together. Terry never does that, even though he knows I like it. Tony likes to hold hands, too, but he makes sure my hands are clean before he holds hands with me. Just last week, Tony surprised me by kissing me on my mouth. I really liked it, and I hope he does it again. I asked Sean how he knows when a girl wants him to kiss her. I want to do whatever it is that lets a boy know. Sean reminded me, though, that tony has Asperger’s, and he might not recognize the signal. So, Sean said, maybe I should just ask Tony to kiss me. But not too often, Sean warned. I’m still kind of young for kissing.

Two more Asperger’s kids have joined our class in school. One of them is a girl. Her name is Tiffany. I don’t know her really well yet, and it’s kind of hard for me to make friends. I’d like have a friend with Asperger’s who’s a girl, though. I miss having girlfriends like Meghan does. I don’t know whether Tiffany wears diapers. I’m not sure if I’d rather she wore them or rather she didn’t wear them. Wearing diapers makes me feel special. If everyone wore them, I wouldn’t be special.

[cmc]

I also have asp. sindrom. I tried the same route with my parents. They did not take it so well. They took the all or nothing to an abusive state. I tried 2 and failed both times.

It is a great story by the way. I really wish that is how my life story went. I hope to hear more.

[Tinkles123]

Parents of children with Asperger's often experience great frustration because of their children's unusual behavior and difficulty communicating their feelings and needs. I'm so very sorry your parents abused you, Claire's situation is, of course, somewhat idealized. Being allowed to completely abandon responsibility for dressing, bathingg, and toileting, in this story, made a huge difference in her feeling of safety in what sometimes is an unsafe world for an Asperger's kid. I don't know that Claire's positive response is unrealistic. A possible continuation of the story line would be her decision, sometime in adolescence, about whether to potty train again and the consequences of that decision. Terry would be faced with a similar decision. Tiffany Is a new character with interesting possibilities. I haven't decided if this story will continue

Some Asperger's children, like Tony, are disgusted at the thought of "going potty" in a diaper. For them, having to wear diapers would be extremely difficult. I am, and I see you are more like Claire and Terry. I don't know that my parents ever understood WHY wearing and using diapers and sucking on pacifiers made me so happy and contented. They did know that it made me a lot easier to manage, and that made changing soiled diapers, watching out for diaper leaks, and all that extra laundry worthwhile. I'm grateful to them.

[tasbay]

well written great story line i hope u keep going with it

well done

[diaper24/7]

My mom thinks I got AspergerAsperger'. I started wear diaper. When were 12 or 13 it took my parents long to understand me but now wear diaper 24/7 and there even going to help me build a baby room with crib and all I’m so glad I got loving parents. Those I am going to be 25 in July My mental mind is only that of 12 yrs. or younger from all seizures I had what the first left me near death and in a coma for 24 hrs. Straight. What DR's believe that was brain damage is from my epilepsy and what they told by mom & dad is my brain like Swiss cheese I can never work or live on my own in the life sine I can't handle the adult responsible.

Nice story too.

[Tinkles123]

I'm so happy to know you have understanding parents who know and appreciate what you need. Certainly you have some major physical problems. Being cared for like a baby van help make those problems much less of a burden in your life, as you know. With more people in it like your parents, the world would be happier.