Strange days indeed - a 24 x 7 experiment

[BabyJilly_S]

Any thawing in her feelings is good  I hope it continues....

We are now moving to winter so drying of abdl wear is back to radiators in the house. It was always a fun challenge to sneak some out on to the rotary washing line amongst other things as outdoor drying is much preferred (and free).

[oznl]

This week I ditched my nappies for nearly two hours in order to get through a Doctor’s appointment without awkward questions.

It was my annual skin cancer check.  Because I have a history of skin cancer, or maybe, it’s because the medical establishment thinks I have cash, my skin cancer check is done by a specialist rather than a general practitioner.  This means I can wait in a nicer waiting room with a nicer receptionist for the good doctor to arrive in his nicer Porsche.  I have another year where I technically qualify as a cancer patient triggering these enhanced protocols but I’ll be doing some kind of annual skin check for the rest of my life.

The specialist check is quite exhaustive and large tracts of what I shall refer to as my “nappy zone” are included.  If I DID wear a nappy, it would need to be at least partially removed.  There’s just no way you can get through a skin check in a nappy without it being noticed. 

When I started these strange days nearly 4 years ago, I realised that there was the possibility that at some point, my use of nappies might become obligatory and consequentially come to the attention of the medical fraternity.  I wasn’t very happy about that idea so reaching into my strategy box I pulled out one of my favourites: ignoring the problem.

To be honest, I’d not expected to get away with that (non) strategy for four years.  I’d decided however that I’d delay facing the medical music until I had some physiologically demonstrable need for nappies.   

It turned out that continence was more robust than you might imagine.  Despite the bedwetting thing appearing, my daytime continence although rusty, seems somewhat usable if I drag it out of its metaphorical box under the bed. If I need to go without nappies for an hour or two, I can.

And so I did, kicking that metaphorical can down the road another year.

It was an early morning appointment, I’d arranged to be late for work to accommodate it.  I deferred my morning nappy change until the last possible instant and changed my last-remaining pair of underpants instead.

Inside my jeans felt like an empty warehouse.  It was pretty weird.

Almost immediately, I noticed that a drop of pee had dampened the front of my underwear.

That was unexpected…

Thinking quickly, I grabbed a small Abrilet booster pad and shoved it down the front of my underwear in case there was more.  I’d deal with it later.

Later arrived in about 30 minutes at the practitioner’s office.  The inevitable undressing occurred as expected, behind a closed curtain where I was able to discreetly remove my pad and slip it into my jeans pocket.  It was as near as I could tell dry.  I suspect that stray drop was just some left over pee in my urethra rather than any kind of unobserved continence failure.

The good news was that no further skin cancers were found.  Not only does this mean that the bill and co-payment was less extravagant than it otherwise might have been but it means I have a chance of making 5 years in nappies outside of a cancer ward.

Re-dressing, I didn’t bother putting the pad back.  I just fled home with my remaining money for a quick change before proceeding to work.  By the time I’d dragged the daily Barry (Rearz Elite Hybrid Incontrol Up-a-tree whatever) from the nappy hamper to put it on inside our ensuite bathroom, it was 9:30am and I’d been out of nappies for more than 90 minutes.

By this time I felt the need to pee.  Not badly but my pee urge had indeed returned like a prodigal son.  If only I had a fatted calf.

I briefly considered using the toilet (I was standing next to it) but the “on the spectrum” part of me pointed out that I was about to put on a nappy that would easily last the whole day anyway and by just “doing it in my pants”, I would preserve my unbroken lineage of pants-wetting in some strange sense of symmetry.

So I slung the nappy between my legs and, leaning against the bathroom door, pulled it up and began taping it on.  It was as I was doing up the top tapes that another pee urge arrived and much to my surprise, I began uncontrollably wetting myself.  I had to finish doing up the tapes whilst still peeing!  I could feel the front of my nappy getting warm beneath my fingers which was an odd sensation but I couldn’t stop it at all.

I HAVE had “thoughtless wettings” before.  I’ve had them triggered by running taps whilst standing at a sink.  I’ve had them waiting at a traffic light driving a car.  But those events seemed different.  Although they started without me clearly intending to pee, or even realising I needed to pee, they happened when I was thoroughly nappy-clad and in a mental “don’t care/don’t control” mode anyway.

THIS event appeared to be my body responding automatically to a pee urge that in my opinion, was far below “pants-wetting” intensity.  This was NOT one of those doubled-over-in-pain, monster pee urges you get after holding for hours and it happened at a point in time when i would have preferred it didn’t (I’d like to have finished dressing  or at the least, finished securing my nappy ON).  Furthermore, it had only been a little over 90 minutes since I’d last “been” in my night nappy and it wasn’t like I’d drunk a fish tank in the meantime.   I seemed powerless to do anything about it though.

It wasn’t the “dam busters” event one might expect from a “holding on until you wet your pants” scenario.   The whole pee probably only lasted for 5 seconds or so and created little more than a small warm soggy patch at the front of my nappy.  Stopping it from happening however was out of the question. 

My on-board psychological rationalisation engine immediately swung into gear.  This was NOT incontinence.  This was a mental rather than physical loss of control because some part of me knew that I was now “safe” once my nappy was covering the key anatomy.  I could even recall a name for this thing:  “latch key urgency”.  This is a similar mechanism that makes pee urges much stronger when you’re on the verge of reaching a toilet, (or in my case, a nappy), perhaps standing at your front door fumbling for the latch key to get in.

I googled it.

I had indeed recalled correctly.  But in what was bad news for that on-board psychological rationalisation engine, I learned that “latch key urgency” was just a neo-comforting term used by doctors comforting middle-aged dampened damsels rather than a distinct “thing” of itself.  The proper name for this phenomenon is “detrusor instability” (aka “spasmodic bladder”) and it is a type of urge incontinence.

Oops… 

[oznl]

Sometime earlier this week, an anniversary was crossed.  The “strange days” thread turned 4.

The anniversary of an internet blog however (it’s probably outgrown being a simple thread) is of itself,  a thing of little consequence other than as a reminder that perhaps like people, threads have arcs between birth and death and this one has been on that arc for quite a while.  Occasionally I wonder if, like “Happy Days”, this story has “jumped the shark” so to speak and I should quietly mothball it.

The blog of course is merely a reflection of a real thing celebrating its 4th anniversary: the idea itself.

Say “Happy Birthday” to the decision to carpe diem, seize my life’s steering wheel back only to yank it into a turn down a mad side road, deaf to the protests of others to find out for myself where that mad road lead whilst I still had time to do so.  The decision to abandon the psychological battle to stay out of nappies, to go into them full time, to give in to them full time and let the cards fall where they may.

In keeping with this, I’ll talk a little about how the IDEA stands up as a day-to-day lived reality after four years and leave the prurient details such as damp daks, deleterious disclosures and developing diaper dependency for another day.

Well I guess I’m still in nappies so the idea, such as it was, doesn’t seem to have been so bad for me to have abandoned it.

Whilst, as you’d expect, the novelty and excitement of being in nappies has worn off after 4 years, I was never looking for novelty and excitement to begin with.  The psychological comfort and security I derive from being in nappies has not faded at all.  Not one bit.

As you’d expect, I’ve learnt to manage my nappies.  I really do believe that I’ve learned how to do nappies reasonably well AND to get away with them. This to the extent where sometimes I’m now forgetting that I have them on.  Yes, for the first time in nearly 4 years, there are periods of the day where awareness of my nappies disappears into the shadows behind every day other stuff.  They still seem to get wet anyway.  I’m pretty sure I’m doing that deliberately (during the day) but it’s become such a micro-decision that I forget I’ve made it.   

I’m still comfortable in my decision to “take back” this part of myself from my beloved’s progressive suppression attempts and let it run free.  Although I love her dearly, I am not sure that she was treating me fairly in this matter and I remain resolved in my intent to rediscover “me” in what I have to admit are probably my chronological early autumn (fall) years.

It’s not all rose petals though.

I’ve become increasingly aware of the various other “chilling effects” impose on aspects of my life.  People imagine that nappies impart a kind of freedom but the fact is there are just some limits on what you can do when you wear thick, heavy and frequently pee-soaked underwear that needs to be hidden from the world.

There are physical limits with wearing up to 2kg (that’s 4.4 lbs) of a bulky, wet and all-too-insulating adult nappy and I see myself limiting my activities to accommodate them.  The heavy, “nappy style” incontinence products I wear, augmented with plastic pants,  compression pants and occasional booster pads to make them viable for 12 hours actually limit mobility and flexibility.  It’s more difficult to crawl under a car, crouch down to a shelf or climb a ladder when thusly attired.  The nappies don’t like it much either, preferring to warmly embrace the bedridden.  I’ve had a few disintegrate in the face of a day’s work.  There’s always “pull ups” I guess but those in the know, know they for the most part, don’t work.  There’s also an elevated risk of exposure.  I’ve realised that there are renovation projects I’ve deferred, avoided or completed at a glacial pace to accommodate my being in nappies.  Daily, I find reasons not to bend over, get down on my hands and knees or climb up onto the roof.

Maybe that’s advancing age.

These limits just aren’t on work, they affect play too.

Casual dips in the pool are a thing of the past.  I’ve spent far too long sweating over pool maintenance on hot sunny days, unable to partake of my usual management strategy of periodically jumping into water to cool off because I’m in a thick, insulating nappy under my shorts that once in the pool, will bloat, float and clog the filter.  I also don’t like the idea of pee in my pool no matter how chemically irrelevant the rational part of my brain tells me it is.

Holidays are hard.  I was never much of a holiday fan but my beloved adores them and I’ve been holiday-free for so long now, I’m almost missing them myself.  COVID, and in particular the Australian Governments rather jack-booted response to it (literally making travelling holidays illegal for vast amounts of time) effectively masked this marital division.  Even now, in the twilight of the pandemic, travel-based holidays are expensive, often impractical or difficult and all-too-often ruined by miscreant post-COVID airlines.  Soon this will end however and I’m going to have to grasp the nettle of trying to travel with my beloved with a full flotilla of incontinence support gear that both she, and airlines, will hate. 

Speaking of spouses, I still have one.  Having said that, nothing says “Not an aphrodisiac” to a vanilla partner more than having their lover’s reproductive gear wrapped in a wet nappy.   There’s a chilling effect right there.  I can try to blame menopause but that remains only a theory.  This ail however seems to come with its own anaesthetic:  I’m not that interested anyway and in what is possibly a lesser-documented consequence of this foible, things don’t work that well anymore anyway.

In addition to those chilling effects that I’ve experienced, there are still “big rocks” in my life’s path before me that I’ve yet to experience and at year 4, they’re much closer now and possibly unavoidable.

There’s the whole “coming to the attention of the medical fraternity” thing which I regard with a degree of dread.  How long can I keep kicking this can down the road?  I’m only one hospital admission away from being outed as an adult bed-wetter as things stand and one ER admission away from being discovered diapered during the day.

How will I deal with attending my parent’s funerals (they are not immortal and recent events have writ this large into my future) interstate and in nappies?  What does that say about me that I either cannot bring myself to give nappies up for that or that I’ve deliberately or at best, negligently put myself into such a physiological position that I can’t?

What will I do if the oft-repeated claim that urinary incontinence inevitably precipitates faecal incontinence?  That’s something I don’t think I can tolerate.  In the case of my spouse, that’s something I KNOW she can’t tolerate.

Then there’s the question of my “permanent residency” in nappy land.  Psychological acceptance for me as far from assured.  When I started this experiment, I thought I was just a tourist documenting my travels.  A kind of weird Michael Palin and at some point, I’d go back to normal and think to myself “well THAT was interesting!”  At year 4 however, I’m starting to contemplate that my journey is looking more like one of emigration than sight-seeing and I might not even be able to go back, wherever “back” is or was.  Forever is a long time.  Many challenges are scaled large by their permanency.  How will I deal with my “strange days” becoming my “every days” and will my sanity survive it?

Those “big rocks” I am approaching are getting close and clearer ahead in my mental windscreen as those “chilling effects” are seen to me clearer now through my rear vision mirror.

There are definitely downsides here on the damp side of the nursery.

And yet I continue…  I still regard the idea of coming back OUT of nappies to herald only anxiety and depression.  How can this thing be so, compelling? 

[ozziebee]

I guess this is a Happy Anniversary! Perhaps?

In any event, what you wrote was a rather eloquently put summation of the issues around being 24x7, and limitations that imposes.

I look forward to the next 4 years of experiences and documentation of same.  This tome will one day be used for research by someone!

[BabyJilly_S]

Thought provoking and interesting as ever..... 

[Little Sherri]

Wow, @oznl - congratulations! I'd like to take a moment to again thank you, both for being an entertaining writer, but also, for being a mentor - I don't think I would be where I am without having stumbled upon your thread. 

4 years, man. Impressive. I hear you on some of the waters you'll have to navigate moving forward. I had to go to a funeral this year for a very dear relative, and it involved the logistics of travelling with diapers, and wearing them around practically one entire side of my family. The idea of doing that tested my resolve a little, initially, but then I came to two conclusions. First, it was going to be a difficult trip, and as with most things these days, the thought of doing it not in a diaper sounded more difficult, emotionally, if not logistically. Second, I realized that my choice of underclothing was inconsequential in the greater scheme of things, and wouldn't take anything away from the sanctity of the event. 

I also identified with what you said about avoiding doing certain things because you're in a nappy. I have been fairly self-congratulatory on my thread-become-blog, about not avoiding any situations because I have anxiety about entering them, with a diaper on. But, there is one exception, and it's taking its toll on my health... the gym. I have gone to the gym in a diaper multiple times. I have taught martial arts classes in a diaper a few times. But, I used to go to the gym 2 -3 times a week, and I used to run at least twice a week, and the onset of the pandemic, my moving houses, and, yes, my disposing of my last pairs of boxer shorts, have all conspired to leave me sedentary and gaining weight. 

Ironically, it may be the effect that this is having on my wardrobe, and its ability to provide reasonable camouflage over nappies, that tips the balance for me, because all my strategically-oversized shorts and trousers are now basically the right size for me... if I wasn't in the habit of wearing bulky diapers. I've noted that the number of slim, gym-type diapers I'm using is ticking up, and thus, so is the number of diapers I use per day, while I'm more prone to confining the ones I prefer - the reliable, somewhat bulky professional-grade plastic ones, to use around the house. So, I have to get off my ass and get back on track, and I have to overcome the inertia that being in a diaper can create, because it's just X% more inconvenient, or anxiety-provoking, to go out in the world and do those things in taped-on underpants. 

I'm not going to be fully "doing this" right, until my career, my family, my finances, my emotional health, and my physical health are all going in a positive direction. If wearing diapers means that I can't be a healthy weight (or I can't be employed or I can't be married, etc), then, I'm giving it too much power. 

But, like you, I have a hard time envisioning operating in the world without them, with any degree of long-term enjoyment. I'd probably have to drink more, and that's not good for one's health, either. So, I will continue to tinker with the controls, and hope to achieve a sustainable balance. And I will continue to follow your journey with admiration, as long as you continue to share it. Cheers. 

[oznl]

On 12/10/2022 at 7:11 AM, Little Sherri said:

Wow, @oznl - congratulations! I'd like to take a moment to again thank you, both for being an entertaining writer, but also, for being a mentor - I don't think I would be where I am without having stumbled upon your thread.

Thanks!  But that statement is a coin with TWO sides ?

On 12/10/2022 at 7:11 AM, Little Sherri said:

I also identified with what you said about avoiding doing certain things because you're in a nappy. I have been fairly self-congratulatory on my thread-become-blog, about not avoiding any situations because I have anxiety about entering them, with a diaper on. But, there is one exception, and it's taking its toll on my health... the gym. I have gone to the gym in a diaper multiple times. I have taught martial arts classes in a diaper a few times. But, I used to go to the gym 2 -3 times a week, and I used to run at least twice a week, and the onset of the pandemic, my moving houses, and, yes, my disposing of my last pairs of boxer shorts, have all conspired to leave me sedentary and gaining weight. 
 

I'll NEVER be mistaken for Tinkabell even in low light/high alcohol situations.  The best I can do in life is to try to stay on the "overweight" side and not cross into "obesity" BMI territory, a mission in which I have a huge tail wind on account of being fairly tall.

I suspect that mere insight into “diaper sedentarianism” (I’ve just coined that phrase – you’re welcome) might be enough to manage its risk though.

Suitably warned, I’ve just concluded a three day weekend of frenetic home modifications involving painting, some light cabling work and the relocation of 4 bookshelves worth of library up a staircase.  All of which was accomplished wearing a series of rapidly-disintegrating boosted Abena L4.

If nothing else, I’ve physically outlasted 4 day nappies but I’m very, very sore.  I conclude that because it hurts, it must have been good for me.

[BabyJilly_S]

3 hours ago, oznl said:

If nothing else, I’ve physically outlasted 4 day nappies but I’m very, very sore.  I conclude that because it hurts, it must have been good for me.

Yep, that's true for me too, at 56, I can still "do" but the recovery from said "doing" takes waaay longer and hurts more.

Exercise, proper physical work or diy (I usually tap computer keys for a living), drinking - any of those will require more rest. 

And don't get me going on random pains that occur for no reason. Wake up in the morning with a bad neck? Ask your body why and you basically get the response "screw you" that's why  

[oznl]

20 hours ago, BabyJilly_S said:

Yep, that's true for me too, at 56, I can still "do" but the recovery from said "doing" takes waaay longer and hurts more.

Exercise, proper physical work or diy (I usually tap computer keys for a living), drinking - any of those will require more rest. 

And don't get me going on random pains that occur for no reason. Wake up in the morning with a bad neck? Ask your body why and you basically get the response "screw you" that's why  

All of this very true.  It's a bit hard to work out what is nappy-related vs what may simply be, inevitable chronological decline.

[Stroller]

22 minutes ago, oznl said:

It's a bit hard to work out what is nappy-related vs what may simply be, inevitable chronological decline.

Oh yes, how true. Second childhood here we come.  But it's not that compatible with work on high ladders or in tight corners.  I have to say, I don't worry too much about which of the things I can't do so easily these days are because I'm in nappies or which are because I'm getting old.  After all, it's going to happen anyway...

[Little Sherri]

6 hours ago, Stroller said:

But it's not that compatible with work on high ladders or in tight corners. 

Although, I have noted, for example, while on the roof of a friend's garage, replacing shingles, how damned convenient it was not to have clamber down and make my way inside the house to use the facilities...

[oznl]

It’s been a week vignetting general atrophy in miniature.  After a few years at 100% duty cycle, some of my long term nappy gear is starting show some strain.  This week in particular it seemed. Despite the truism that cloth nappies are cheaper in the long run (they are), they are not immortal.  At some point even high end cloth nappy gear joins the ranks of the disposable.

First against the wall was one of my pairs of awesome, white encased-elastic Babykins plastic pants.  I love these pants.  They look like 1967.  They are comfortable and they keep pee on one side only. 

Pulling them up over a nice, fluffy, thick and at that point still dry Babykins layered cotton nappy-pant before bed, I was treated to the curious sensation of plastic pant hauling up correctly but the with elastic leg band on my right thigh choosing to remain where it was with breezes appearing in odd spots.

It seems that the “plastic” part of the pant had waved goodbye to the “elastic” bit it was (until very recently) sewn to forming a kind of plastic pant answer to the car’s “convertible”.  Like all convertibles however, this configuration, whilst well ventilated, is tragically prone to leakage.

Stopping to think about it, I couldn’t reliably tell you how old these waterproof pants were but nothing from Babykins has been ordered since COVID times so I suppose the answer is “years” and 24/7 means that that those years are hard ones.  They’ve seen all sorts of nappy action week in week out and probably far too much bleach.   I seem to remember even accidentally boiling a pair. They’d been increasingly yellowish and brittle at the edges for a while.

I said a few mournful, commemorative words (most of them rhymed with “duck”) over the corpse before interring it my office disposable nappy bin.  I considered this to be a true “Viking funeral”.  If they weren’t dead when they went IN, they sure as turds were after five minutes in THAT hell hole!   

As I’m 5% hoarder, I have at least 3 more pairs to destroy before any extravagant international commerce is attempted.  Still, those Babykins encased waterproofs were startlingly well made and I salute them.

The following night was pinned and folded terry nappies: my favourite.  I can pee a whole aquarium’s worth whilst sleeping upside down suspended from a ceiling fan set to “high” and they STILL won’t leak.  Assuming that repose hanging from a ceiling fan isn’t your thing, perhaps you just want to spend the night peeing in bed like a one year-old (carefree, abundant and with zero consideration for mattresses and laundry) in which case, pinned terries and plastic pants are STILL the bomb.

The “pinned” bit was the next fail.

Nappy pins are by now, a fairly well understood and well-engineered technology.  Or they were until low cost Chinese manufacture got involved.  To get the kind of size nappy pin that a 60” x 60” terry deserves, I’m constrained to “boutique” suppliers and low cost Chinese manufacture rules that roost.

Why not replace that fiddly metal clasp, structurally monocoque with the stress-bearing parts of the pin and virtually indestructible with a simple blob of plastic heat fused to a plain metal spike back at the user end of the pin?  Why not go for gold and make sure cheap plastic really IS cheap:  one that is impossible to glue, and swiftly adopts the consistency of stale cheddar cheese when exposed to things such as say bleach, or pee…  I mean, what could POSSIBLY go wrong?

Another perfectly good 3” of stainless steel was thusly wrought useless by catastrophic failure of this ridiculously feeble plastic pin head design before I could even pull up my plastic pants.  Another customer for the “broken pin mug” I have in a drawer: a repository for both my collection of broken cheap plastic-headed pins and the curious notion that someday, I will “repair” them.

At least I didn’t buy the plastic ducky-headed pins.  The failure point in the design on those is such that the creature’s head would have quacked open.  I’m not sure that a grinning yellow plastic duck sporting a JFK-experience skull is quite the zeitgeist their designer was aiming for the ABDL market.

At least THAT catastrophic pin failure didn’t cause the pointy bit to leap forward and spear through my expensive “Gary” plastic pants.  This HAS happened on previous nappy pin failures where a $30 pair of plastic pants is taken out by a suicidal $2 pin.

Nil desperandum:  Next batter up would be one of my three “Snappy” stretchy rubbery nappy fasteners.   I don’t know why they come in packets of three but they do.

I also don’t know why they are designed for toddlers but will cheerfully hold up my grizzly-bear sized nappy but they do.  Perfect for that time when pins aren’t.

Suitably re-attired, nappy held taut by silicon rubber grips pulled so tight that you could play them as a kind of pee-banjo, I made for the bedroom door.  En route at around step 7, somewhere, deep within the thick padding at the front of my pants, there was a muffled but distinct “twang” and a concomitant relaxation of terry towelling.  

It seems that my Snappy was the third lemming of the week to march off the “reusability” cliff edge.

Omne trium perfectum.

It’s time for some of my more left-field Christmas online shopping to take place.

[FretaBWet]

@oznl Your writing style is making it very difficult on me. I wanted to reward you with a ❤️ but I was also entertained and amused by your humor ? but you can only choose one. After wrestling with the decision I awarded you a like. Thank you for your wit.

hugs,

Freta

[Little Sherri]

@oznl, I went into a fabric store a few years ago, intent on manufacturing my own cloth diapers, before realizing that they did not sell bolts of suitable fabric, and that I have all the sewing skill of a typical herring. A gifted herring might do better than I. But while I was in there, I bought a bag of 50 steel safety pins for like $8 CAD. I still have 44 of them, and at least four were lost when my wife coopted my diaper pins to put capes on the dance team for Halloween one year.

They're not stainless steel, but that said, rust has never been an issue. When the nappy comes off, the pins come out, they're rinsed, and I put them on a tissue to dry before they go back in the bag with their brethren, the lower portion of which must be asking why they exist, since they are never the chosen ones. Well, except on Halloween. 

Maybe try a fabric store or sewing outlet of seme sort? They're not cute, but they look like the ones from my childhood, which were not colourful and did not have duck heads. They work, and seem destined to outlast me.  

[Bobbyca]

I buy the old fashioned "Dritz" style pins from Rearz or Babykins whenever i can find them.  Not as cute as the animal pins, but work for day-in day-out service.  Often they come on a card written in Spanish for the South and Central American market.  Mexico too?

https://rearz.ca/steel-locking-head-diaper-pins-4-clearance/

[Little Sherri]

18 hours ago, Bobbyca said:

I buy the old fashioned "Dritz" style pins from Rearz

I have some of them as well, they're decent. 

[oznl]

Add “crotch rot” to the conga-line of petty inconveniences associated with emulated (well, mostly emulated…) urinary incontinence.

It’s back!

Again, in contrast to conventional nappy rash, this rash remains highly localised, preferring to lurk in crevasses and folds, will actually compromise the outer layer of skin and it laughs in the face of Sudocrem.

Not enamoured with the idea of Christmas fungi and dubious about the efficacy of my by-now-ancient, US Target Store acquired Tinea ointment, I recalled the advice given about Clotrimazole (typically sold under the trade name of “Canestan” here) previously given by @Stroller.

Accordingly, I visited my local “Chemist Warehouse”, a dispensary the size of a small village with similar amounts of product shelving to a middle-sized supermarket and glaring fluorescent lighting (what is the psychological process by which humans conflate “high intensity fluorescently lit retail environment” with “discount”?)

I spent a good 15 minutes not finding the stuff.  Eventually, I had to find a staff member.  This isn’t easy at these kind of stores as “staff” and “discount” tend to contradict one another.

It seems that “Canestan” is now in Australia, a “behind the counter drug”.  For those of you who may not BE Australian, Australia is a rampant “Nanny State”, resplendent in whole circuses of bureaucrats dreaming up endless new regulations and controls to ensure its residents are kept safe from perils as quickly and as thoroughly as taxpayer-funded interest groups can dream them up.

This is a country whose citizens lost the right to buy cold medications that actually DID something years ago and one that is SERIOUSLY going down the path of restricting Paracetamol supply as we speak.

You’d be stunned and what you are not allowed to do or have downunder (pun intended) “for your own good”.  Don’t ask me about mandatory bicycle crash helmets and pool fencing.

Of course if you’re from the UK, none of this seems strange to you.  Clearly this sociological apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

We’re not yet quite at the stage of requiring a Doctor’s prescription for Canestan but clearly, the Australian Government felt that its foolish citizens needed to be protected from the unspecified  risks of profligate use of personal antifungals to the point of moving them to “chat with your pharmacist to see if this is right for you” status.

So I had to ask the on-duty pharmacist for it.  At least he clearly shared my view of the general bureaucratic idiocy of this, sparing me the further embarrassment of probing questions about why I wanted it and what I intended to do with it.  The only question I got from him was did I want the small tube or the big tube.

Of COURSE I wanted the big tube…

[Little Sherri]

I find Clotrimazole works wonders for this kind of issue. We can still get it on the shelf here in the Frozen North. We're in the grips of a cold medication shortage up here, due to rampant respiratory infections, and the fact that we can't easily import medication from the US or UK or Australia, as the labelling has to be in English and French. They finally, finally waived that requirement after running completely out of children's fever medications, so we were able to import some from an Australian supplier... but, for hospital use only, because, you know, the labels... meanwhile, ready access to pediatric-grade antipyretics was supposed to ease the burden on ER's, because parents could treat minor cold and flu symptoms at home... but, alas, we have to go interrupt a highly-paid professional who was in the middle of sorting out someone's diabetic coma, because of the tremendous risk associated with non-bilingual Children's Motrin being out there on the streets, next to the fentanyl. Sigh. The actions of bureaucracies inevitably, even if unintentionally, pivot toward justifying their existences and expanding their spheres of influence. 

Example: diphenhydramine hydrochloride. It's an allergy medication that's as old as the wheel. Some modern ones are considered superior (cetirizine in Reactine, for example), because they have fewer side effects and they're harder to overdose on. But, diphenhydramine has one sometimes annoying, sometimes useful side-effect: it's basically a sedative. Ergo, while they're arguing about if it's safe to let the public take the stuff for their seasonal allergies, they're busy prescribing it as a safer alternative to other sleep aids, but, critically, when you buy it as a cure for insomnia, you pay a couple of dollars a capsule for it, versus 10 cents a dose as an antihistamine. NOW, because they've run out of the good stuff, they're selling "nighttime cough medicine" whose only medicinal ingredient is... diphenhydramine. Because if we can't cure your cough, at least we can put you to sleep. $17 for 150 ml, 12.5 ml per dose... $1.42 CAD per dose. Because what price, sleep? 

My wife falls victim to this stuff all the time, whereas I read the ingredients on everything. "They just introduced super-fast back pain-targeting Advil... I'm going to try it. It's $26 a bottle."

"It contains ibuprofen in the dame dose as two standard Advils... available generically at $10 for 200 pills..." 

[oznl]

14 hours ago, Little Sherri said:

I find Clotrimazole works wonders for this kind of issue. We can still get it on the shelf here in the Frozen North. We're in the grips of a cold medication shortage up here, due to rampant respiratory infections, and the fact that we can't easily import medication from the US or UK or Australia, as the labelling has to be in English and French. They finally, finally waived that requirement after running completely out of children's fever medications, so we were able to import some from an Australian supplier... but, for hospital use only, because, you know, the labels... meanwhile, ready access to pediatric-grade antipyretics was supposed to ease the burden on ER's, because parents could treat minor cold and flu symptoms at home... but, alas, we have to go interrupt a highly-paid professional who was in the middle of sorting out someone's diabetic coma, because of the tremendous risk associated with non-bilingual Children's Motrin being out there on the streets, next to the fentanyl.

We don't have the French language issue to contend with but the dogged, inflexible pursuit of moronic objectives with a complete disdain for pragmatism sound eerily familiar to me.  Perhaps it's a Commonwealth thing.

14 hours ago, Little Sherri said:

 

Example: diphenhydramine hydrochloride. It's an allergy medication that's as old as the wheel. Some modern ones are considered superior (cetirizine in Reactine, for example), because they have fewer side effects and they're harder to overdose on. But, diphenhydramine has one sometimes annoying, sometimes useful side-effect: it's basically a sedative. Ergo, while they're arguing about if it's safe to let the public take the stuff for their seasonal allergies, they're busy prescribing it as a safer alternative to other sleep aids, but, critically, when you buy it as a cure for insomnia, you pay a couple of dollars a capsule for it, versus 10 cents a dose as an antihistamine. NOW, because they've run out of the good stuff, they're selling "nighttime cough medicine" whose only medicinal ingredient is... diphenhydramine. Because if we can't cure your cough, at least we can put you to sleep. $17 for 150 ml, 12.5 ml per dose... $1.42 CAD per dose. Because what price, sleep? 

My wife falls victim to this stuff all the time, whereas I read the ingredients on everything. "They just introduced super-fast back pain-targeting Advil... I'm going to try it. It's $26 a bottle."

 

On your first point, our weapon of choice for tranquilizing toddlers back in the day was the Phenergan "cough medicine" (cough, cough...)  Magic stuff.

On your second point, this:

https://www.accc.gov.au/media-release/court-finds-nurofen-made-misleading-specific-pain-claims

We may be a Nanny state but one upside is that we've got some *awesome* consumer protection laws and an enforcement agency that has teeth, claws, venom, you name it.   There's nothing the ACCC likes more than to eviscerate multinationals experimenting with importing shady practices.

As I recall, the manufacturers were not only fabricating specificity to the active ingredient but also attempted charging differential pricing by what it though each pain-inflicted cohort would be prepared to pay.   Harks back to the oft-repeated trope about the wisdom of Douglas Adams in his view on marketing.

 

[oznl]

I’ve had to go to the dentist over the last 7 days: twice…

I know my dentist well enough to know that he’s not doing it for the money  as he doesn’t need it.  I’ve heard about all his expensive hobbies.  I think he just enjoys Government-licensed pain infliction.  

I’ve known him for many years and he’s a nice enough guy although he does have that standard Dentistry habit of inserting half a cutlery set into your mouth before asking you what you think Putin’s exit strategy for Ukraine might look like.

I’ve never thought twice about remaining in nappies for the dentist though.  It’s hard to envisage a reason for your dentist prodding around your nappy zone.

The thing that was different about THIS first particular appointment in “24/7” land was that it was first thing in the morning (my preference) but also on a Friday which is customarily, a cloth nappy day for me.

I’d briefly toyed with changing into an Abena after arising but eventually, I decided “screw it” and instead, put myself into a Rearz Omutsu cloth diaper (I chose the “sheep” themed one) with white plastic pants.  A compression pant over the lot thinned out the worst of the bumps and some oversized dark jeans to camouflage the whole installation.  A brief glance in the gloomy bathroom mirror confirmed my belief that I was good to go.

It was only as I was clambering into the dentist chair that it occurred to me that the full name of the Omutsu is the “Omutsu bulky night time cloth diaper”.  I suppose if they’d meant for it to be worn to the dentist they’d have called it the “Omutsu stealth ultra-thin invisi-nappy” and hopefully, in addition to the different marketing guff, engineered it a little differently.

It WAS big.  The normally-hard seat of the dentist chair did however feel far more luxuriant, my bum cushioned by soft, thick padding.  The slightly-damp front of the nappy, as it settled snugly and warmly against my crotch felt almost voluptuous, calming apprehensive contemplation of a tense time laying on my back, staring at a ceiling through cheap plastic sunglasses whilst high frequency drills bored into my head.

I looked down at myself.

My nappy seemed nowhere near as unobtrusive as I’d thought it was in the comfort of my own bathroom only an hour ago.  The crotch of my jeans was visibly puffed out and curiously featureless.  None of the usual masculine landmarks were visible.  It was as if they were under a heavy snowdrift.  A discernible “nappy edge” appeared where padding transitioned to skin and the tops of my thighs.

It really did look to me like I was wearing a rather thick nappy which was a bit unfortunate because of course that’s exactly what I was doing.

Oh well…  He’s supposed to be looking into my mouth anyway.  I’m not sure where his assistant looks but there’s nothing to be done at this point.

Of course nothing was said and I’m 98% sure nothing was even noticed.  I DID learn however that I can now pee whilst laying in a dentist chair.  Those sheep were distinctly damper by the time he was done.  I recall noticing on last year’s visit that things clammed up for the duration.  Not so this time.  I had not specific objective to wet myself in a dentist chair.  It just kind of happened, just a little bit.

It can’t have been that bad for the dentist.  He apparently enjoyed our session so much that he asked for a follow-up one early the next week.  There were his usual vague references to pain relief “if you really need it” which is his usual cue that he didn’t intend to provide any AND it was going to hurt.

In contrast to the early morning appointment I’d just had, the next one had to fit in with my workday so I set it for 4pm – the earliest time I thought I could reasonably sneak away from the office to savour some discomfort and expense at the hands of my local oral sadist.

Of course, it occurred to me as I was driving from the office to the dentist at the end of the working day was that although I was no longer wearing a nappy the size of a badger, sporting fluffy sheep motifs under milky-opaque plastic pants from 1967, I WAS wearing a Barry (Rearz Elite Hybrid Incontrol) but one that I’d been peeing in semi-automatically for nearly 10 hours.

Again, my crotch was a blank canvas of slightly elevated terrain (unsurprisingly, the Barry had swollen through the day) but it still seemed a little less mountainous than the Omutsu cloth nappy of the previous Friday.

I was, as befitted the time of day, quite wet.

I was fairly sure I wasn’t likely to leak though.  Summer heat has muted my pee volumes and the new cut of the Barry I find to be more secure but I still managed a fairly careful grope of myself in the carpark before entering the surgery.  Despite the leak check “all clear”, I was acutely aware as I was walking that things felt fairly fairly wet beneath my jeans.  Lowering myself into the dentist chair felt positively squishy.  I hoped sincerely there were no pee-whiffs.  Sometimes I’ve noticed that a well-used Barry can develop a distinct signature scent.  For the most part this scent is contained by my plastic and compression pants but sitting down is always raises the possibility of nappy-zone air exchange.

After another acutely uncomfortable half hour, I arose casting a surreptitious backwards glance confirming that the seat behind me remained dry. 

One large co-payment later and I was on my way.  No harm done apart to my wallet and gums.

I have no interest in exposing my strange habits to a non-consenting world.  Although I got away with it (I think, I wasn’t privy to any post-partum conversation the dentist may have had with his assistant), it’s not really a limit I wish to push.  I think what happened here is just because I have grown exceptionally comfortable and habituated to nappies doesn’t mean that anything goes.  I need to look at myself more critically if I’m to avoid unwanted attention.

It’s one thing to get a bit careless in leaving plastic pants lying about in the marital walk-in-wardrobe.  It’s quite another to wear giant toddler nappies to the dentist.  Familiarity does indeed breed contempt.

[oznl]

Christmas 2022 is now officially dead and I am surrounded by the markers of Yuletide decomposition:  an overflowing wheelie bin stinking with prawn heads in tropical heat (yes, this is the once-per-year occasion where my nappies are only the SECOND worst thing in the bin), a recycle bin filled with brightly coloured paper, cardboard, plastic detritus and far, far too many wine and beer bottles all anesthetised by a general sense of physical torpor.  Due to constant house guests I’m effectively confined to disposable nappies for the week.  That isn’t helping our landfill footprint either.

The only thing energetic is the TV and radio carpet-bombing of exhortations to get outside and start spending again at Boxing Day sales.  (As a side note however, the prize for commercial opportunism should go to one of our major supermarket chains, Woolworths, which launched Hot Cross Buns onto the shelves for Easter on Boxing day. 

This week I experienced two new things anyway: a nappy non-change followed by a nappy change that will go down in history as one of 2022’s finest.

On Christmas day, a conspiracy of Christmas tasks and awkward guest arrival times compelled me to shower and change at 3pm prior to a very large festive dinner.

This timing left me on the horns of a dilemma.  I could replace my mid-ranged medi-nappy I’d put on after breakfast (Abena L4) with another but this would mean I’d have to sneak in a third change before bed which for various reasons, would be inconvenient.  Or, I could abandon sensible nappies, rummage through my stash and employ one of my “toys”: a Rearz “Mermaid Tale” 7.5 litre muscle-nappy.  THIS would manage a 3pm to 8am shift and keep bedding dry! 

Naturally I chose the Mermaid, the weapon of choice for long haul nappy travel.

In a kind of Christmas miracle however, it seemed that no matter how much I drank, it wasn’t percolating through to my nappy.  Presumably my body was as a kind of festive season treat, metabolising beer directly into lard.  Despite plentiful self-hydration, I was only minimally wet when I went to bed. 

The next morning, it wasn’t clear to me if I’d wet the bed or not overnight but upon removing the Mermaid for a Boxing Day morning #2 and a change, I was disappointed to see that it still was no more than 40% used.  40% still means a fair bit of pee for a Mermaid but it isn’t 100% and the Mermaid is a $4 nappy

We were to host (again) a lunch on Boxing Day.  My job that morning was to get to a supermarket and top-up on consumables before fresh guests arrived.  Shortly after midday, I would be locked into another long, torpid, beer-sodden day on the back deck (oh the privations).  A boosted Abena would be unlikely to survive the entire day and yet another Mermaid would be a waste?

What if I just put my partially-used Mermaid back on after a quick rinse, effectively deferring my morning nappy change until midday or so at which point an Abena should survive until a bedtime nappy was applied?

Eww…  I don’t know why “Eww” but that was my visceral reaction to re-wearing my used nappy.  

Logically, this reaction made no sense.  This nappy clearly had hours of use left and I was perfectly happy squishing around in it not 10 minutes ago.  It was my pee in there, nobody else’s and there wasn’t even that much of it.  Although the front of the nappy was swollen and yellow, the seat of it was largely dry.  It would be a waste, no, a crime, to consign it to landfill ahead of its times but it still did really seem a somewhat unappetising “leftovers” proposition. 

Practicality and the $4 prevailed.  I don’t know why I bothered washing my nappy zone in the shower before putting it back into the same pee-wet nappy it just came out of but I did.  Force of habit I suppose.

Although it felt odd, it proved easy enough to tape on the used nappy despite it being warm, swollen and weighing in at more than 1kg.  The usual-awesome Rearz hook-and-loop tapes gripped like Tarzan despite the pee-load.  In fact, once in place, my nappy felt somewhat snugger on its second tour of duty than it had upon arising. Re-fitting had taken up the slack in the tapes and I think that the resulting closeness helped mask a little the slightly unpleasant detail that it was already wet.  At least it was still warm.  I think a cold wet nappy would have been a step too far.

Hauling up plastic pants and then a compression pant to hold everything in place, I pulled some light shorts over the whole partly-sodden affair and went about my day.  I quickly forgot about the secondhand nature of my nappy and the Mermaid stood up well to round #2, dealing with my morning coffee as well as trips to a diverse variety of retail outlets.

Approaching lunchtime though, back home and preparing for yet more guests, I began to experience a rather odd thing.  I found myself spending more and more time being aware of the state of my nappy and not in a good way.  It was bothering me.  These days I’m rarely even aware when my nappy is wet unless I stop to think about it but right then, I was acutely aware of how heavy and saggy my pants felt.  I also felt soggy down there which was to be expected but there was more.  From deep inside my nappy zone, my skin felt a bit itchy and a bit irritated, marinating as it was in a sea of tepid whizz.  I  I couldn’t seem to get comfortable “down there”.  I really wanted to reach inside my plastic pants and have a long, really good scratch.  This wouldn’t have been a good idea on a variety of levels.

Whilst not technically leaking, I was aware of the possibility.  I felt “icky” and wondered if I could be smelled. 

I found myself daydreaming about a hot shower.

Eventually, at around midday, after more than 20 hours wearing (and peeing in) the same nappy, I had both reached the point where I would need to change before guests arrive AND the point where changing into an Abena and booster should comfortably last me until bedtime.  Green light!  I made a beeline for the bathroom.

My Mermaid fell to the floor with a dull thud like a shot Koala bear.  Another rinse in the shower (including soap and a bit of a scrub in the cracks and crevasses), a very good towel dry before plenty of sudocrem, an Abena L4, booster, clean plastic pants, clean compression pant and clean shorts.

I felt SO much better.

Striding out the bathroom door and down the hall was a tactile revolution.  I was acutely aware how my clean nappy felt almost invisible, like I was wearing nothing at all down there!  No weight, no wet, no wiggling.  Angels clarion-called with golden trumpets as fluffy clouds beamed munificently at my sensual bounty.  I would have ridden a unicycle down the stairs had one been available (so it was just as well that there wasn’t).   I just felt lighter, cleaner, dryer, BETTER!   Just because science has delivered a nappy that can last 24 hours doesn’t automatically make it a good idea I guess.

I think I understood for the first time why babies sometimes cry and fuss until they are changed.

[oznl]

Nappy new year!

I wet my pants last night.  I suspect many people do on New Year’s Eve for various reasons.  As I understand it, at Times Square in New York City, wet pants at midnight are par for the course.  In my case, wet pants would not have be in anyway unusual except that I mean literally, not metaphorically.

I was in an evening-shift Abena L4.  I was a bit out of sync with respect to nappy changes but had planned one before bed.

We long since gave up the “waiting up until midnight” thing…  Neither of us can be bothered.

My beloved retires first.  More of a night owl myself, I remain in the lounge watching all the kind of desperate YouTube rubbish that I would not be able to watch with lest I marinate in the cold, sour sauce of her disapproval as well as warm wee.

After another 30 minutes or so, having finished my last flower-vase of Shiraz, I reluctantly arose from my comfy chair.

I almost immediately felt the tell-tale coolness of wet clothing against my skin.

The front of my shorts was soaked.  Not damp, soaked…   At least they were black (these days I don’t buy pants in any other colour).  Additionally, my (grey) t-shirt was visibly wet below my belly button.  Being grey, it had helpfully turned black where I had managed to pee on it.

Being an evening-shift nappy on a three-nappy day, I hadn’t bothered with plastic pants.  I didn’t think I’d be using them enough to worry about that.  The nappy was on with only a compression pant over the top to hold it in place.

Somehow, the armchair had remained dry. 

The t-shirt and shorts were a write-off.  They went straight into the washing machine and I changed into my night gear. 

Outside of the bedroom with no shorts, I had to enter the marital chamber clad only in a nappy and plastic pants before in order to retrieve some camouflaging pyjamas.  Fortunately, my beloved falls asleep like a rock falling into a pond.  I don’t think she noticed and even if she did, well, it’s hardly new news these days that hubby wears nappies.

I’m assuming I’d just experienced a catastrophic failure in the Abena waterproof layer that allowed my pee to percolate slowly-but-directly out through the “waterproof” front into my pants and t-shirt.  The rear thighs of my disposable was still dry suggesting the capacity was not a factor at play.

I was aware that I was using my nappy as the evening rolled on but lately, specific recall around this has been markedly muted.  I’m quite commonly finding myself in need of a change but lacking specific insight as to how this requirement emerged.

The thing that is baking my noodle so to speak on this is that on the balance of probabilities, I most likely was sitting with a fairly visible wet crotch when she leaned over me to kiss me goodnight.

I thought she’d have made some comment for the sake of the furniture if nothing else…

In any case, it’s 2023 already from my time zone and I’ve just woken up to my 5th consecutive New Year’s Day in a nappy.  The available evidence suggested that a lot of the action it saw happened whilst I was asleep which has been quite a thing for the last few days.  I haven’t had a “dry” night since Christmas.

Who’d have thought the ride would have lasted this long.

[oznl]

My fifth consecutive Christmas/New Year’s break is drawing to a close.   The semi-permanent flight to disposable nappies was a bit annoying and the reduction in personal space (perhaps a glimpse towards a future in retirement?) means that my beloved inevitably saw my dreaded nappies more often but nothing has been said.  Generally speaking, everything worked the way it should and as a kind of evidence-by-omission, I’ve sailed through a 12 day break without giving my nappies much thought at all.  They are just THERE.

I’ve gone back to work this week although my beloved remains on leave.

Pursuant to her preferred “on leave” lifestyle, the only part of me that has been getting any kind of a work-out is my liver.   Whilst I’d have to confess I could have done more to reassert the odd alcohol-free day into the holiday calendar, my own private Baroness of Bacchus was on a hair trigger after 5pm for “wine time”.  It’s her fault.  That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.

Perhaps it is this, a regime of repeated semi-soused bedtimes that has triggered what seems to be my descent into “every night” bedwetting.  I haven’t had a dry night since Christmas eve.

I’ve made no particular effort to test this claim for as I’ve mentioned before, contriving “tests” seems to inevitably disrupt the process I’m attempting to measure.  I’ve spoken earlier of the infuriating nexus between quantum indeterminacy and bedwetting (or for the unscientifically-minded, think of conditioned adult bedwetting as being like the infamous “Kit Kat Panda Bears: amazingly hard to catch on film”).  When you try to haul it before a lense, it hides.  It’s a little more robust these days but still an aggravating thing.

This insight was spawned by the realisation, a few days in to my holidays that I’d woken up in a sodden nappy every morning and found myself completely unable to pee in it any further, the tank being empty.  Furthermore, upon reflection I realised that I had little or no recollection of when or how events had unfolded thusly.  Sometimes there’d been jumbled pee dreams.  I can recall one or two such “pee dreams” that didn’t even feature pee so much as the situational realisation that it would be “ok” if I just went ahead and peed wherever I was in my dream.  Presumably my body went ahead and did just that.

Another vector on this may be derived from my Christmas present from my beloved:  a smart watch that includes sleep monitoring.  Whilst I’m not 100% convinced as to the veracity of this particular metric, it did suggest that on many nights, I simply didn’t wake at all which does rather conveniently explain why I had zero recollection of using my nappy.

I’m not reading too much into this.   Too many progressions down this strange road are simply preludes to subsequent regressions.  Although I CAN recall a sudden, marked uptick in the frequency of bedwetting occurring very quickly at around the 3 year mark, it’s too soon to conclude that this is a similar paradigm shift. 

It could all be “back to normal” this time next week but for now it seems, I’m a full-time bedwetter.

I greet EVERY morning from a soaking nappy, with an empty bladder and armed with little to no insight about that.  My last dry night was last year.

They’ve been very strange days.

[Little Sherri]

On 12/22/2022 at 4:07 AM, oznl said:

It’s one thing to get a bit careless in leaving plastic pants lying about in the marital walk-in-wardrobe.  It’s quite another to wear giant toddler nappies to the dentist.  Familiarity does indeed breed contempt.

I've wrestled with this myself. I'm so used to doing "this" that I've begun to think it's "normal", and therefore not to take all the precautions I used to. That has led to situations where I've had to deal with unexpected window covering sales pitches while wearing a big plastic nappy under lightweight athletic pants when my wife surprised me with company at 10 AM in the kitchen. 

On 12/29/2022 at 1:34 AM, oznl said:

Eww…  I don’t know why “Eww” but that was my visceral reaction to re-wearing my used nappy.  

On 12/29/2022 at 1:34 AM, oznl said:

Just because science has delivered a nappy that can last 24 hours doesn’t automatically make it a good idea I guess.

On 12/29/2022 at 1:34 AM, oznl said:

Naturally I chose the Mermaid, the weapon of choice for long haul nappy travel.

- I very rarely put on a used nappy, even if it isn't anywhere near capacity, so I understand exactly what you mean. I have done it, but it's against my religion, even though consigning a $4 diaper to an early grave is also against my religion. 

- Regarding the 24-hour diaper, I've made the same observation. I generally luxuriate in the soft, warm confines of a diaper in the autumn of its life, when that autumn is at hour 10 of a shift, but I've been in that Mermaid Tale at hour 22, and I felt the same way... strangely annoyed. Enough is enough. Even the best products eventually lose the battle and "life finds a way" in there. 

On 12/31/2022 at 9:17 PM, oznl said:

Who’d have thought the ride would have lasted this long.

Agreed! I'm a bit amazed as well, over here in the frozen North (where it's raining and 5 C, unusual for January). I'm on my third New Years day in diapers, because I started up at the end of March, but I'll be in year 4 in less than 3 months. I had no idea I'd make it this long. I'm also somewhat amazed that I'm not living in a van. Yet. 

8 hours ago, oznl said:

I haven’t had a dry night since Christmas eve.

To this, and the quote below: I went to the UK with buddies in October, got soused every day basically, and wet the bed, even when I didn't want to because I was in shared accommodations and also technically renting the bed from a buddy's employer. I got soused every day over Christmas and... awoke dry in the morning. I went to the Caribbean and got soused every day after Christmas, sharing a room with my family and dealing with limited disposal options... and wet the bed twice. So much for alcohol consumption being a reliable predictor of these things. I remain reliably unreliable. For the purpose of keeping the playing field even, I guess I need to continue getting soused in the new year. 

8 hours ago, oznl said:

Too many progressions down this strange road are simply preludes to subsequent regressions. 

As above. Although we're both employing a somewhat unconventional use of the terms "progression" and "regression"...

[ppdude]

On 12/15/2022 at 7:20 AM, oznl said:

 

Suitably re-attired, nappy held taut by silicon rubber grips pulled so tight that you could play them as a kind of pee-banjo, I made for the bedroom door.  En route at around step 7, somewhere, deep within the thick padding at the front of my pants, there was a muffled but distinct “twang” and a concomitant relaxation of terry towelling.  

It seems that my Snappy was the third lemming of the week to march off the “reusability” cliff edge.

 

I know the diaper pin blues all too well. My visual impairment makes it very hard to use pins without jabbing myself, so I get shy around them. Snappi's work OK, but they're just "not right".

When my children were infants/toddlers a hundred years ago, they were swaddled in cloth and we used diaper clips we got from Babies R Us. Of course, I can't find anything like them; not even close. They were great as the were placed over the top of the diaper and then pushed down (snapped) thus securing the diaper. Way better than pins. I wished they could make a come back.

If it weren't for the pins, I'd do much more cloth than I do now. You should reinvent those clips that worked so well.