Strange days indeed - a 24 x 7 experiment

[oznl]

I wet the bed last night.  Well, really I just wet my nappy.  I’d gone to bed in a dry terry pullup with another (dry) Babykins cotton pull up nappy over the top underneath encased white plastic pants.  A “shapewear” compression pant over the lot to keep everything tight and in position, I hit the hay at beneath the soporific hum from the bedroom AC above me as it was still hot outside.

I woke up at around 5am because I was unable to pee.  For unknown reasons, Mr Happy had decided to stand to attention inside my nappy in his justly famous impersonation of a teepee except consequentially the “pee” bit of teepee was off the menu.  There was a “kink in the hose” so to speak.

I had to manually re-arrange myself for relief but when doing so, digging around inside my nappy I found myself to be wet.  Evidently I'd already peed during the night.

I then vaguely recalled gradually surfacing into semi-consciousness at some hours earlier in the night to find I was wetting myself.  It may well have been that the act of urinating in my nappy is what woke me.  Emerging into that twilight zone between fully sleep and fully awake, I realised that I could feel my bladder contracting and that there was a small hot trickle going on at my crotch along with the characteristic sensation of slowly spreading warmth.  This doesn’t shock me anymore.  I have no clench reflex left to stop it anyway at this point so I don’t really do anything when I realise it is happening and it doesn’t worry me.

There wasn’t very much, it was coming out very slowly and I cannot recall it finishing.  I suspect my level of wakefulness was so low that having recognised what was happening was harmless in the context of my safe and securely-fitted nappy, I simply sank back into sleep still peeing.  I didn’t even look at the clock so I’ve no idea what time that was. 

Mr Happy having been “uncapped” so to speak, did add a little more to my nappy but it wasn’t much.  The urge was out of all proportion to the volume of pee stored.  That’s something else I’m noticing a lot lately. My nappy was warm, wet, secure and comfortable and I fell back asleep in it.

Later that Sunday morning sitting in bed sipping coffee 4before my morning nappy change, I could feel that my bum was wet.  When I pulled my nappies and plastic pants down in the bathroom before rinsing them in the shower, I found the toweling to be pee-drenched front, back and sides although I had not leaked.  I must have gone more through the night than I recalled.

As I’ve noted previously, the void event that woke me was quite unrelated to having a full bladder.  It was just a random bladder spasm that resulted in me peeing a bit during sleep light enough that the physical sensations of doing it roused me.  I couldn’t remember any relevant dreams.

Whilst most people would be aghast at the thought of uncontrollably wetting their bed, I actually find it quite comfortable and strangely relaxing.  Waking up wet puts me in a better mood.  I don’t know why. 

I’m kind of looking forward to the time where this happens every night.  Not long now I expect.  It happens often enough.

[WBxx]

9 hours ago, oznl said:

Whilst most people would be aghast at the thought of uncontrollably wetting their bed, I actually find it quite comfortable and strangely relaxing.  Waking up wet puts me in a better mood.  I don’t know why. 

I’m kind of looking forward to the time where this happens every night.  Not long now I expect.  It happens often enough.

Bed-wetter’s high, know it well.  The euphoria is addicting with classic withdrawal symptoms when denied.  Welcome to the club.

[Little Sherri]

On 2/16/2023 at 3:57 AM, oznl said:

The masking tape didn’t hold nearly as well as the factory hook-and-loop tape. 

This is one of the few downsides of military-grade hook-and-loop fastening systems. Though rare, when they do fail, like a coffee mug made from depleted uranium, they are difficult to repair. I've resorted to staples on occasion. 

As to the question of vegemite desecrating, or being desecrated by being spread on carbonized toast... this is one place where Canadians and Australians do not, for the most part, see eye to eye. The first and only time the I tried vegemite, I was utterly astounded by what I experienced. I lack the vocabulary to articulate how shocking, transfixing, and perplexing that flavour is to the uninitiated. Maybe it's the same for people who were not raised from birth on peanut butter? Every molecule within me shouted "Reject! Reject! Reject!" I'd been presented with half a piece of brown toast slathered with yeast cadavers, and I only got one bite down. 

Maybe I should try it again - my first experience with Islay scotches was similar, but I've since become a devotee of those. 

[oznl]

11 hours ago, Little Sherri said:

As to the question of vegemite desecrating, or being desecrated by being spread on carbonized toast... this is one place where Canadians and Australians do not, for the most part, see eye to eye. The first and only time the I tried vegemite, I was utterly astounded by what I experienced. I lack the vocabulary to articulate how shocking, transfixing, and perplexing that flavour is to the uninitiated.

The first rule with vegemite is that vegemite, like Novichok, is best used sparingly.  Guiding North American friends and colleagues through their first encounter with Australia’s special stuff, I’ve noticed that they use the “if some is good then loads will be awesome” school of condiments.  That rule does NOT work with vegemite.  Think of it as yeast’s answer to the Carolina Reaper.

The second rule is that it truly helps to be exposed to it from birth (as Australian toddlers generally are) although in my experience, there are a few Brits who, through some weird cultural or genetic echo, have been able to adapt to it.

I accept on face evidence that it’s a confronting snack for the uninitiated but as a born and bred Australian who was stuffing my face with vegemite sandwiches whilst nappy-clad in my high chair back in 1967, it’s just great and it deserves more than just carbon as an accompaniment.

I can remember once teasing an Icelandic colleague working with me in Australia (a rare thing) about THEIR taste for Hakarl: rotting shark flesh some decades ago.  They would argue it is not decomposing but rather fermenting but the difference is fairly academic as far as most people’s gag reflex is concerned.

Reaching a crescendo of logic about the biological imperative for humans to innately refute foods that have taste profiles resemblant of toxicity he replied with a steely Scandinavian stare and one counter-word:

“Vegemite…”

I found myself with no further argument.

[Stroller]

39 minutes ago, oznl said:

The second rule is that it truly helps to be exposed to it from birth (as Australian toddlers generally are) although in my experience, there are a few Brits who, through some weird cultural or genetic echo, have been able to adapt to it.

My ears are burning...

I can confirm that being exposed to UK Marmite from birth also readies you for the Vegemite experience.  Nearly every day my breakfast consist of a mug of tea and a slice of toast with either UK Marmite or Vegemite on it.  Not that sparingly applies either.  I oscillate between the two to make sure I don't get stuck in at rut...

And, if I could get hold of any, I'd make it a 3-way rotation with New Zealand Marmite, which is a different thing, but not different enough to break the spell.

I have to admit I sometimes branch out into marmalade on toast instead, usually with peanut butter.  The darkest marmalade I can find, with big bits of peel in it.

If you're in the US, I'd skate over this part of the thread if I were you to avoid getting upset...

[Little Sherri]

6 hours ago, Stroller said:

I have to admit I sometimes branch out into marmalade on toast instead, usually with peanut butter.  The darkest marmalade I can find, with big bits of peel in it.

And I have a deep appreciation of marmalade. It must be that genetic echo thing that @oznl is referring to. 

A question for both of you: are there multiple brands and variations on marmite and/or vegemite, besides the aforementioned New Zealand variant? 

The closest condiment equivalents I have to draw examples from, here in the Frozen North, would be peanut butter, and maybe humus. There are dozens of brands of peanut butter, although only two that really matter, and within them, the main subvariants are "crunchy" (which I like, it has intact peanut fragments in it), and smooth, as well as the less common "extra smooth" (it has the consistency of icing), and low salt and low calorie and peanut only (prone to separation) and organic (the peanuts were "free-range" and had opera music played for them). They also market versions with honey mixed into them. 

Humus comes in a wide variety of flavour profiles: roasted pepper, garlic, onion, spicy, beet, chocolate, tomato, sesame seed, plus another thirty that I'm not thinking of. Vegemite strikes me as being more "savory" (in a putrescent sense of the word) than peanut butter, so, perhaps closer to humus... can you get it mixed with habanero or garlic or herring or whatever? 

We are all interestingly ethnocentric when it comes to the flavour profiles we prefer, and I think it does have to do with what was put on the trays of our highchairs for us to experiment with as tots. My parents are of Scottish ancestry, but far enough removed not to have plied us with haggis or blood pudding, so I had to learn about those things in a self-directed fashion, as was also the case for spicy food and curries and such - my parents do not dabble much in "ethnic" culinary sampling. Having grown up in an ethnically diverse area (Toronto), I eventually stumbled upon weapons-grade vindaloos and Vietnamese and Thai and Korean and "authentic" Chinese (rather than "American Chinese", which is everywhere here), and Ethiopian and Turkish and Afghan and Hakka and on and on and on, but it took me until I was in my 20's to figure out that a lot the flavours people appreciate are universal... but not all of them. Witness fermented fish and marine mammal products and the smell of Durian fruit, and yes, vegemite, and maybe some of the riper cheeses as well - I love aged, sharp cheeses, but I can see how someone might look askance on my dairy-derived mold-discoloured, feet-smelling paste, while I look askance on their fish heads that they buried wrapped in grass three weeks ago.

However, most of us can agree on beer and wine as being gifts from the microbes. 

[BabyJilly_S]

I  expect to not mind vegemite should i have it, being from the UK with Marmite and all. Though i would like to throw my Bovril hat into the ring here, being used similarly by myself, spread thinly on hot buttered toast. 

And as for Marmalade, I shall duck for cover as I profess to being a fan of shredless, for the same reason i don't understand or see the point of having the outside nasty skin in it or in my cakes.....flavour be damned....

 My parents were very "meat and two veg" so it took a while before I got out and sampled other foods. The mouthgasm I had when i sampled my first sit down curry, popadoms and pickles, sizzling sheek kebab starter and then the actual curry itself will live with me til i die...

[oznl]

15 hours ago, Little Sherri said:

A question for both of you: are there multiple brands and variations on marmite and/or vegemite, besides the aforementioned New Zealand variant?

Vegemite is a proper noun and a trademark.  I believe Marmite is also.  I'm familiar with Marmite as I've lived in the UK and we did make recourse to it as vegemite availability at my local Sainsburys was hit and miss.  I'd describe Marmite as a kind of wimpy vegemite but very good for preparing one for the tastebud blitzkrieg that vegemite entails.

22 hours ago, Stroller said:

I can confirm that being exposed to UK Marmite from birth also readies you for the Vegemite experience.  Nearly every day my breakfast consist of a mug of tea and a slice of toast with either UK Marmite or Vegemite on it.  Not that sparingly applies either.  I oscillate between the two to make sure I don't get stuck in at rut...

I have quite a few UK friends who have incorporated vegemite into their cuisine and I'm told it's much more readily available now than it was the few decades back when I lived there.

I've seen Marmite knock-offs but I'm not aware of anybody who's seen fit to attempt a Vegemite clone.

One of my kids likes Vegemite on peanut butter: this of course is an abomination although it works strangely well on cheese (cheddar, not camambert).

I am a huge curry fan.  Something that stood me in very good stead when I worked for years in India and South East Asia.  Ironically, I picked up my love of curry living in London.

 

[oznl]

This week (and next), my beloved is not working.  For the first time in many years, I have a “stay at home” spouse and frankly, I’m finding her wall-to-wall presence is generating more than a few awkward moments for me with respect to my nappy habit.

As strange as it seems, despite being more than 4 years full time in them, the acute degree of discomfort I experience when unavoidably exposing some aspect of my nappy usage to her has not really abated.

When she’s working full-time, there are numerous chinks and opportunities across the day for me to hide some of the more ghastly mechanics of professional pants-peeing in such a way to minimise or avoid her exposure to them.

Lately, there’s nowhere to hide: she’s become omnipresent, and she’s a bit bored.

Workday mornings are the worst.

In normal times, she gets up a few minutes before me (she wants the bathroom first) and I laze away the day under the sheets for another, say 12 minutes or so.  By the time I get out of bed (in what is by then, a reasonably soggy night nappy), she’s already left the room and I can organise a wash and a change in relative privacy.

In the current state of the union, she instead lays in bed watching me as I first of all, waddle over to my nappy hamper and retrieve the day’s nappy.  Sure I’m wearing pyjama pants but stretched over puffy terry-lined plastic pants that are in turn stretched over a BetterDry that’s probably seen a fair amount of nocturnal pee action, they hide little.

Then, I have to strip off those plastic pants, trying to remain out of sight around the corner in our walk-in robe before heading to the shower.

If I’m very lucky, she’ll fall back asleep before I have to go anywhere but the other morning, I stepped past the doorway (there is no door) between our walk-in-robe and bedroom, en route to the bathroom (where there IS mercifully a door) only to find her gazing thoughtfully at me on the way past.  I was wearing nothing but a swollen and distinctly yellow-stained BetterDry, sagging against its stretched taps in accordance with the law of gravity.  It’s hard to maintain a suitably Bruce Willis disposition clad thusly.

Shutting the ensuite door, I then rip off four tapes, each of them sounding as a volley of machine gun fire, echoing off the walls.  Even the dead ants in the sink (subtropical fauna) look up at take notice.

One short rinse later and I then have to run the gauntlet of the crinkly fresh nappy, more resonant tapes followed by rustling plastic pants before emerging back into her field of view carrying a balled up night nappy the size of a dead chicken.

I just don’t find it comfortable.

At the other end of the day she’s not deeply asleep when I return to our boudoir (as she would normally be) because she didn’t get up at 5am.

This has given more awkward moments: hauling up my terry-lined plastic pants over an (already slightly wet) nappy slightly out of her eye-line in the walk-in robe only to have her interrupt my underwear maintenance with a question about what I’ve got on for work the next morning.

Why am I so hung up about this?  On the face of it, it seems paradoxical or even nonsensical.  She knows full well that I wear nappies.   It’s hard NOT to know when you’re in them 24/7.  I never leave the toilet seat up, I rarely even occupy the toilet and I never get 97% through lengthy departure-for-an-outing rituals before deciding, in some moment of urological epiphany on the way to the garage that I actually need to visit the toilet.  Logically therefore, it should not be surprising that they are usually ON me and additionally, I will periodically change them and/or dispose of them.

I think I hate her seeing them because I know she hates to see them.  Am I therefore trying to avoid unnecessarily upsetting her or trying to avoid emotional blowback from her displeasure?

I think it’s a little bit from column A and a little bit from column B.

I know I can never insist upon support from my spouse but my god I envy those that have it.

It’s my non-worked weekday tomorrow.  I usually spend the day lounging around decadently in cloth nappies looking at the internet.  Apparently I’m going to a shopping mall with her.  I hope she’s ok with my choice of day-wear (Rearz Omutsu cloth diaper).

In any case, I’m feeling a little, well, “compressed” but also I’m tinged with guilt. 

Many of us know in our heart of hearts that this “thing” of ours is in some ways, bigger than family.  What will retirement look like?  Where will I find space for myself?  It was hard enough to find time to tap out this quick update, let alone conceal the fact that I’ve changed myself into pinned terries for the evening and night shift and by tomorrow morning, they are going to have a faint pee-whiff and be in desperate need of some alone time with a washing machine.

[oznl]

I tested “positive” for bedwetting again last night.

Whilst I’m well aware that I am by now a regular night swimmer, mostly these outcomes remain submerged (me so funny) in ambiguity as the fact of them is lost beneath general wetness in the pants department prior to falling asleep.

A pulse check for bedwetting requires me adjust changing schedules so as to go to bed (and fall asleep) in a dry nappy or, on the very rare occasions where I have the opportunity to recover from the potential consequences, go to bed in no nappy at all.

Changing just before bed is both burdensome and inefficient on nappy usage so I don’t do it much.

The environmental and hard dollar cost impact of using three nappies per day however is defrayed by cloth and since Friday is a cloth day, I just changed out of my evening-shift Rearz Omutsu cloth diaper (which frankly, had seen enough action anyway) into Babykins pull-up cloth nappies and hit the hay.

For some reason I stirred at around 2:30am.  This is pretty normal for me (my wearable sleep tracker corroborates my opinion here).

I found myself on waking to be a bit wet.

There was zero risk to nappy integrity, it hadn’t been a big pee but a pee had definitely happened, the front of my nappy was quite damp both on the inside and the outside although the sides and seat remained dry.

I fell back asleep.

It was one of those events where there were no “pee dreams”, no dreamy waking because I could feel myself peeing, I simply woke up to discover that I had done a wee at some earlier point.  Judging by the modest quantity and the fact that I’d completely emptied myself into my last nappy for the day only 4 hours earlier, it was highly unlikely that this unconscious decision had anything to do with a full bladder.  It’s just something that my body does now.

Checking my smart watch, it assured me that I’d spent the relevant portion of the night alternating between deep sleep, light sleep and REM sleep in typical cycles: no wakefulness.  I suspect the zero pee dream score suggests that I peed either in light or deep sleep.

Currently around 50% of bedwetting tests are returning positive results.  For the remainder, the typical 2am stirring finds me dry and I am able to use my nappy whilst awake before falling back asleep in it.  Since I’m aware that attempts to “measure” bedwetting for me tend to inhibit it (in the early days it would not be possible for me to experience bedwetting by orchestrating a “dry” test), it is possible that the 50% score reflects a reduced incidence of bedwetting.  It may well be that I wet the bed every night when I don’t attempt to look for it.  That’s all part of the ambiguity I guess.

A known bedwetting event however always seems to put me in a better mood the next day.  Whether this is due to some kind of psychological satiation or it is an indirect reflection of more solid sleep (presumably uninterrupted by my bladder) remains an open question.

[Little Sherri]

On 2/24/2023 at 7:23 PM, oznl said:

Whether this is due to some kind of psychological satiation or it is an indirect reflection of more solid sleep (presumably uninterrupted by my bladder) remains an open question.

This is true for me as well. Confirmable, inarguably "true" bedwetting events are not as common for me as they are for you; first, I tend to go to bed at least a bit wet (on your prescription), and "nappy feels wetter" in the morning isn't a scientific measurement. Second, I often have some kind of dream around a wetting incident. The fact that I tend to remember the dream suggests to me that I may be ascending the consciousness column at least somewhat when events transpire, and that is somewhat supported by the fact that I tend to sleep just in a disposable, usually don't wear plastic pants, and only very rarely actually wet the bed itself, rather than my diaper. I attribute that to the fact that I always roll over onto my back before wetting, when I awaken to do it, so I think I generally do that when I'm sleeping, too, ergo I don't have many sheet floodings to report. However, I also tend to run dry at night - even when I do wet, it's usually not that much. The exception being when I've been on the sauce - then, I can pee lavishly, and occasionally also without rolling over or having any recollection of it, but, I still tend to roll over - I know this because, again, I have very few side-leaks or front run-overs, and, my rear tends to be a bit damp, although I am a stomach sleeper primarily. In fact, my primary diaper failure mode experience in bed is having the front fold down and put the damp interior in contact with the sheets, creating a crescent of wetness. 

All of that said, when I do wake up in a wet diaper with no recollection of having authorized it, it is both disconcerting, and vaguely euphoric. It puts me in a better mood as well. Most people don't come here shopping for a dose of rationality, and we are not obligated to provide it. 

[oznl]

15 hours ago, Little Sherri said:

This is true for me as well. Confirmable, inarguably "true" bedwetting events are not as common for me as they are for you; first, I tend to go to bed at least a bit wet (on your prescription), and "nappy feels wetter" in the morning isn't a scientific measurement.

I hear you.  This is my scenario for at least 4 and more often 5 nights out of every 7.  I *think* that a positive way of looking at this is that firstly, every time we use a nappy in bed we are moving closer to our objective anyway and secondly, Occam's razor says that the explanation behind "wetter this morning than I can remember" is that we wet the bed.

15 hours ago, Little Sherri said:

Second, I often have some kind of dream around a wetting incident. The fact that I tend to remember the dream suggests to me that I may be ascending the consciousness column at least somewhat when events transpire, and that is somewhat supported by the fact that I tend to sleep just in a disposable, usually don't wear plastic pants, and only very rarely actually wet the bed itself, rather than my diaper.

I certainly MIGHT have some kind of dream, usually some bizarre narrative that is my rest-of-brain's way of explaining what it thinks is happening when the boss is asleep.  Other times (such as the example above), I've no clue.  I just wake up wet.  It could have been Martians that crept in and did it for all I know.

I suspect the dream/no-dream/wake-up during/no-clue-how-it-happened menu selection might simply be to do with the stage of sleep that our wetting occurs rather than waking up.  I suspect the decision to pee at night is happening a long way down in the chain of command by now.

[oznl]

Recently, at the behest of an ABDL cyber-friend from way-back, I installed “Discord” and accepted an invitation to a Discord server.  I’d heard of Discord but never looked at it.  ABDL Discord servers ARE a thing apparently and I’m always interested to compare notes with others of our cohort.

To be honest, it’s been something of a confusing and anti-climactic experience.  Since the primary dictionary definition of discord is “lack of harmony”, I can only imagine that the developers and I share a similar sense of humour.

Discussion forums are divided into channels and (at least on the couple of servers I looked at), topicality rules for each channel are maniacally enforced: to the extent that a conversation started on one channel might necessarily migrate to another should the topic drift.  It’s a great way to kill the flow of conversation, fielding a request to take it somewhere else, usually returning the channel that briefly hosted the discussion back into a bit of a dialog wasteland.

“Bots” manically career about, generally annoying people with a kind of ceaseless background artificial stupidity (presumably stupidity is easier to emulate than intelligence) in a kind of Alice-in-wonderland-meets-cyber kind of way.

The user interface (at least on the Windows edition) looks like somebody over-ate at an Android buffer and then threw up through Microsoft-flavoured dentures.  Now I know where MS Teams got its inspiration from.

The original Discord server (more of an ‘instance’ than a physical server I suspect but architectural diagrams were not supplied) collapsed not long after I joined it.    People were forever getting banned  – presumably they eventually ran out of them.  I think I’d only survived by not saying much.

I thought perhaps it might have been something I’d said.  Perhaps I’d used an incorrect grammatical construct for the specific channel I was typing in but my friend told me (using another communication vector) that the site owner had simply decided that the risk of running it outweighed her emotional reward.  I kind of get where she was coming from.

I joined another that had the significant advantage of not being dead but to be honest, I’ve done little to nothing with it.

People do chat on it but for the most part they use emoji, animated gif and highly abbreviated chat-speak.  Whilst George Orwell’s black-hearted “Syme” in “1984” regarded the destruction of language as a beautiful thing, I beg to differ.

The whole thing makes me feel, well, old…  That of course could be the problem.  There are few worse looks than “creepy old guy” at a teen party.

I refuse to accept that the issue is a lack of tech-savvy on my part.  I’ve been in IT tech for decades and I’ve got a fair idea I know how the tool actually works which I suspect is technologically speaking, a long way ahead of most of its users.

It STILL could be my fault though.  I’m wondering if my failure to engage with Discord is because I haven’t actually penetrated it?

I wonder if there is a rich vein of conversation, exploration and discussion that takes place in private channels or perhaps direct messaging conversations (voice or text, I don’t know) that cannot be seen by me.  My desktop Discord app has been stubbornly displaying a red “2” over the private message icon for weeks but I think one of these relates to an incoming friend request from somebody I’ve never heard of, let alone met and the other is some inanity from a ‘bot.

It’s life Jim but not as we know it.

Or, it might be like Venus.  There’s a load of lead-melting action happening but stuck up in orbit above it, my view is completely obscured by clouds.

I’m not writing Discord off.  I just don’t get it and I fully recognise that it COULD be amazing and the problem is me not seeing how but for now, hash-tag me “disappointed”…

[oznl]

Last Saturday I described a positive test for bedwetting: one whereby I contrived to go to bed dry and yet woke up in the middle of the night to find myself wet.

In the interests of balance, and as a foil for those jealous of my apparent bedwetting prowess, last night I did not.

Despite exactly the same routine as the previous week’s test event (suitably hydrated, changed into dry cloth pullup nappies just before bed), I woke up at 3:30am with a dry nappy and an unusually full bladder.

I rolled onto my side and briefly considered trying to go back to sleep to see if things would take care of themselves whilst I was back in the land of nod.

In my experience, that trick NEVER works and in any case, my bladder was complaining, presumably annoyed at having to actually DO something.  I guess I was going to have to operate things manually.  At least, being in cloth, I didn’t need to roll onto my back.  My nappy would be fine where I was.

To add insult to injury, for some reason it took ages before I could actually pee.  There was no “kink in the hose” that I could notice but it was like I’d forgotten how exactly to summon things on command.  I kept expecting to get wet and remained slightly confused as to why I wasn’t.

Eventually nature took its course and that signature spreading warmth and closeness at my crotch before creeping down toward my left hip heralded relief.   Soggy but comfortable, I swiftly fell back to sleep.

Whilst far from rare these days, bedwetting for me remains either difficult to define or unreliable.

[oznl]

Aaand, we’re back to bedwetting…

Saturday night.  Absolutely the same circumstances as Friday night, even the same nappies (well, not exactly the SAME nappies as yesterday’s were worse for the wear and resting in either my used disposable nappy bin, presumably corroding it or, rinsed in the laundry tub disguised by buckets) but you get my drift.

I changed into my Babykins cloth pull-on nappies and plastic pants just before bed, dumping a dangerously-used “Daily Slip Maxi” dubiously fortified by a booster and went to bed.

I can recall nothing further until my usual brief wake-up that occurs 3 – 4 hours after going to bed.

As is usual, I ran a quick digital (the finger variety) nappy check and was somewhat surprised to find myself wet.  I didn’t really FEEL wet (but let’s face it, I rarely do these days) and I wasn’t at all worried about leaking but there’d been enough pee action to thoroughly dampen the front, inner crotch and seat of my nappy.

It had clearly suffered a proper peeing-in, not just a leak.

I forgot to even look at the clock.  The next morning I consulted my smart watch to work out when I’d woken.  Unsurprisingly, it was around 3am.  I was out cold for most of the night and had slept heavily through the wetting period with not even glimmers of wakefulness showing.   I’d had no pee dreams at all and when I woke, I had no clue that I was even wet.

I might quit bed wetter testing for a while whilst I’m ahead and can can claim “two out of three confirmed sightings”…

[Little Sherri]

On 3/2/2023 at 7:41 AM, oznl said:

Recently, at the behest of an ABDL cyber-friend from way-back, I installed “Discord” and accepted an invitation to a Discord server.  I’d heard of Discord but never looked at it.  ABDL Discord servers ARE a thing apparently and I’m always interested to compare notes with others of our cohort.

I'll have to ask my kids about this - I know that they use Discord to chat, though presumably not about the same topics that we would. But given the plethora of conduit options that they have to communicate through - FaceTime, WhatsApp, Snapchat, Messenger, plus 22 paler imitations of the above, some curated by Russian hackers - fi Discord sucks that badly, I'm curious as to why they resort to it?

As an aside, they're all absolutely abysmal communicators on an actual phone, used to transfer audio packets in real time, I believe these are sometimes referred to as "words". I recall my elder daughter trying to set up a lunch date with a friend. It went thusly:

Rinnngggggg

Wanda: "Hey, it's Wanda (not her name, but I'll use it as a stand-in). Do you want to meet for lunch at noon? My dad can drive us."

Friend: "I can't come at noon." 

Wanda: "Oh, okay then, bye."

Wanda: "Dad, she can't have lunch at noon."

Me: "Well, did you suggest an alternate time, or ask her to?"

Wanda: "No."

Me: "Well, if you want to have lunch with her, maybe have a go at it again?"

Rinnnngggggg

Wanda: "Hi, it's Wanda again. What time could you have lunch?"

Friend: "1:00 would probably work."

Wanda: "Dad, could you drive us at 1:00?"

Me: "Yup."

Wanda: "My dad will drive us at 1:00." 

 

[oznl]

11 hours ago, Little Sherri said:

Rinnngggggg

Wanda: "Hey, it's Wanda (not her name, but I'll use it as a stand-in). Do you want to meet for lunch at noon? My dad can drive us."

Friend: "I can't come at noon." 

Wanda: "Oh, okay then, bye."

Wanda: "Dad, she can't have lunch at noon."

Me: "Well, did you suggest an alternate time, or ask her to?"

Wanda: "No."

Me: "Well, if you want to have lunch with her, maybe have a go at it again?"

Rinnnngggggg

Wanda: "Hi, it's Wanda again. What time could you have lunch?"

Friend: "1:00 would probably work."

Wanda: "Dad, could you drive us at 1:00?"

Me: "Yup."

Wanda: "My dad will drive us at 1:00." 

 

The session termination problem here is originating entirely at the "application" layer in the protocol stack.  Physical, datalink, network, transport, session and presentation layers are all working just fine in the above example ?

[oznl]

“Are you alright?”

It was 3am and my beloved was asking me.  I think.  Things can be vague at 3am.

As her question penetrated the fog of my sleep, I began to realise that I could vaguely remember peeing.  I also realised that I was laying on my left side and my left hip felt wet – not a good sensation when one is wearing an adult disposable nappy that doesn’t have any absorbent material at my left hip.

Yep, I’d peed myself in a bad position for disposables and annoyingly but utterly consequentially, my terry-lined plastic pants were now indeed sodden in the relevant locale.  I’d only just washed them.  At least they’d done their job and the bed was dry.

Now closer to truly awake, I still wasn’t sure that she’d actually asked me if I was alright or I’d dreamt it.  Everything was kind of mixed up together like some kind of REM-sleep goulash.  I might have been having a “pee dream”.   I sighed somewhat incoherently and non-specifically, hoping to head off anything resembling a conversation that I wasn’t in the mood for.

I fell back asleep.  Fortunately, so did she.

The next morning over breakfast, I remembered this and, my curiosity piqued, asked if she had indeed decided to enquire as to my welfare at silly o’clock in the morning and if so, why?

“Yes.  That was me.  I was awake.  You were tossing and turning and then you suddenly went really still and I thought something was wrong!”

Oh yeah, it all came flooding back (no pun intended).

There were a multitude of credible-but-untrue explanations and I could have/should have used to close the topic but instead, perhaps distracted by coffee and toast, I tactlessly lobbed the actual truth into the conversation with all the sensitivity, class and social grace of a tossed dwarf.

“I think I’d just peed in my nappy and sometimes when that happens and I’m asleep, it wakes me up but then I often fall back asleep very quickly.”

There wasn’t really a ready rationale to map last night’s sequence with the toss/turn/lay still/fall back asleep behaviour but I’m pretty sure that’s what happened.  I failed to orientate myself correctly in bed, peed myself laying on my side, woke myself up doing that, realised, repositioned myself into a safer orientation, finished and fell back asleep and in doing so, generally freaked out my beloved who assumed I was having some very quiet kind of stroke before I both exhumed the topic the next morning and then tried to re-bury it using the unconventional-but-truthful explanation that what she had in fact encountered was her husband bedwetting.

That went over well.

Her non-reaction to this clearly-unwelcome piece of too-much-information could not have been better executed had she been clinically dead.  The only clue to her underlying displeasure was the frozen nature of the moment: the thousand-year-long-millisecond it took her to recover and move on.  That and the thirty degree Celsius drop in the room ambient air temperature around her.  I’m surprised I didn’t see condensate form in the atmosphere around her.

I swiftly changed the topic to something in more neutral territory and we tacitly conversationally recovered but it was a stark reminder of the distance between us.

I suppose there is tangential interest to be wrought from an eye-witness account of what my sleep-wetting looks like from the other side of my nappy but next time I think I’ll do the decent thing and shut up.

[oznl]

Discord update:

Further to my confusion about the maniacal focus on channel topicality (even if this results in protracted mausoleum-like silences) in the Discord space, I was amused to notice this conversational bon motte on a general “DL” discussion channel the other day. 

I have redacted usernames and original time zones to protect the presumed-innocent.  The channel had been quiescent for more than 2 hours before this occurred.

User A: Yesterday at 4:12 PM  “How’s everyone?”

User B: Yesterday at 4:12 PM “this isn’t the channel for general conversations”

At this point, the channel fell back into righteous, unbroken silence for approximately 7 further hours until another user reported a broken nappy pin…  Nobody answered.

Words fail me, as they have clearly failed on this channel…

[Little Sherri]

On 3/9/2023 at 6:39 PM, oznl said:

User B: Yesterday at 4:12 PM “this isn’t the channel for general conversations”

Does this technology exist solely to provide people with opportunities to police other people's conversations? Let's say we agreed to meet there, to discuss, I don't know, the implications for the Commonwealth of the absence of a headdress on King Charles' first official stamp, but then we end up discussing muscle cars, and then, asparagus, would we have to keep changing venues? And who are these people who sit up all night monitoring dead air for hours only to swiftly stifle any signs of life with "A noose is a ligature, but a ligature is not necessarily a noose, and I think your question is very noose-specific, so please take your cry for help to another channel..."?

[Little_Wade]

16 hours ago, Little Sherri said:

Does this technology exist solely to provide people with opportunities to police other people's conversations? Let's say we agreed to meet there, to discuss, I don't know, the implications for the Commonwealth of the absence of a headdress on King Charles' first official stamp, but then we end up discussing muscle cars, and then, asparagus, would we have to keep changing venues? And who are these people who sit up all night monitoring dead air for hours only to swiftly stifle any signs of life with "A noose is a ligature, but a ligature is not necessarily a noose, and I think your question is very noose-specific, so please take your cry for help to another channel..."?

Honestly, it's one of those, being discord mod is one of the few places someone might have power, and as they are not there for money as they are volunteer, they sometimes weild that small amount of power as hard as they can.  If you don't like how a discord server is moderated, sometimes look around for other discord servers of similar communities, or chat on off-topic channels would be my advice.

[oznl]

This week I wet my pants in the name of hydration and followed that by wetting my pyjamas in the name of science.

The pants-wetting thing wasn’t that major and entirely related to over-hydration.  Summer refuses to fade here in QLD with a low intensity heat-wave accompanied by impressively high dewpoints.  I’d drunk like a fish (water mainly) across the day and furthermore spent most of it sitting on my arse driving.

Nappies don’t really like being used wholly seated.  The padding under your bum gets compressed, wicking doesn’t work as well as it should and eventually, pee splashes back up the front crotch and escapes into your plastic pants, eventually to work its way out.  I’ve often found that peeing my pants all day without standing up much is a ticket to leakage.

The warning signs were a slight evaporative-cool effect at the leggings of my shorts as they were being blasted by the company vehicle AC.  Although I’m the main driver of this vehicle, I’d no interest in leaving pee on the seats and simply grabbed an incontinence chair liner from the open bag in the back (these kind of things are almost always floating around in my industry and get misused for a multitude of things including keeping some laying around the workshop and equipment vehicles).

Ironically I’d stopped by my nappy-dealer during the day (because my route took me so close to him and I wasn’t leaking then) in an attempt to procure more stock of my daily Rearz Hybrid Incontrol Elite+ (aka Barry) only to find he was out of stock. 

Nil desperandum.  I had enough to last until he expected his next container to be delivered.

Not wanting to leave empty-handed though, I bought a pack of Rearz Inspire+ (on a flawed assumption that these were Rearz “night briefs” and also a pack of Rearz “Critter Caboose” (because I thought nothing could contribute to my debonair man-about-town suave fashion credibility more than wearing a giant nappy with a cartoon elephant on its bum.)

By the time I made it back to the office, I realised my bum by then had a reasonable damp patch but my day was done.  I got to my own car, laid down a terry baby nappy that I keep in the door bin for just such a scenario (that and wiping down the windscreen) and made my way home without incident.

I had to change early.  Despite it being only 5pm, my Barry was done.  Tapes undone it fled my nether regions ground-wards like a piano pushed off a balcony.  I had to know.  The coast being clear, I ventured downstairs to yet again misuse the kitchen scales.  At 2260g, this Barry had let go with a smidge over 2 litres of pee which isn’t surprising.

After a quick shower, I contemplated the “Premium Nights Briefs” I’d NOT bought and then the Inspire+ I’d accidentally bought instead.   They weren’t even a little bit dark purple.  Regardless of this design omission, I decided to give the Inspire+ a crack at the night shift anyway and so taped one on.

It’s an experiment and that’s science in my book…

Despite me fitting comfortably enough into Rearz’s new definition of “large”, I fancied that the Inspire+ was a little tighter than the Barrys.  Perhaps it was their extra stuffing.  They certainly were bulkier though.  I’d call them “pleasingly puffy”.   They were comfortable too.  It was like wearing a pillow.

It got better later.

This is THE most comfortable wet nappy I’ve yet to wear.  As the evening wore on, it just got warmer, thicker, squishier and somehow softer.  Although a disposable, I felt “wet” in an almost cloth-nappy-like manner.  There was no haptic ambiguity, none of that moisture-barrier-induced “am I or aren’t I?” thing.  I was obviously wet but it the same time, the nappy felt very, very, well almost voluptuous.

 It was just a shame about the leak.

Wine and beer flowed (mid-week alcohol night) and I waddled off to bed whereupon I swiftly fell asleep whilst pee continued to flow it seems.

When morning rolled around, the clock radio told me about all the terrible things that had happened in the world whilst I was snoring and peeing myself whilst my heavy, warm Inspire+ gave my midriff a warm, wet “good morning” hug.

Then I realised that on the OTHER side of my terry-lined plastic pants, my pyjamas were wet and a bit cold to the touch.

Fortunately, the bed had remained dry and fending off my beloved’s attempt to hug me good morning (in case she noticed), I fled to the ensuite for my morning change.

Forensic examination showed it had leaked in a most unusual way: out the TOP of the nappy at the front.  There’d been a small auxiliary leak somewhere towards the usual location down at my crotch but this was small beer to what had happened up at my waist elastic.  Leaking in this location meant that pee was perilously close to the lycra band of my terry-lined plastic pants, all but bypassing their protection and wicking straight out to my pyjamas: a salutary reminder of a comment made to me by @jonbearab that my gilt-edged disposable sleep nappy insurance policy was somewhat less-than-gilt-edged for stomach sleepers who would, upon reflection, likely leak in the same spot.

This is a shame.  I’m not entirely sure what to do with these nappies now.  I might give them another chance (there are 11 more chances left in the bag) because weighing the dead soldier did reveal another 2 litres of wee had visited it in the 13 hours or so I spent in it.

That’s a lot I guess and those who play in nappies must expect to get wet.

[BabyJilly_S]

21 minutes ago, oznl said:

Nappies don’t really like being used wholly seated.  The padding under your bum gets compressed, wicking doesn’t work as well as it should and eventually, pee splashes back up the front crotch and escapes into your plastic pants, eventually to work its way out.  I’ve often found that peeing my pants all day without standing up much is a ticket to leakage.

This. so. much. 

When I go to the office (which fortunately is not so often now) the fact that I am sat down reduces the capacity of even the most voluminous nappy massively. At home I can move around a lot more, it just looks very odd having teams meetings in the office gradually sliding to a horizontal position in your chair to facilitate wicking.....

[oznl]

Every time I start to imagine we are reaching some level of acceptance on the domestic front, something happens to remind me the cold war isn’t over.

I was in the kitchen getting things ready for dinner.  My beloved was in (one of) the adjacent spare room that we use for drying washing during inclement weather. I could hear her muttering to herself in what was clearly an annoyed voice.

“What’s wrong?” I enquired from the kitchen.

No reply.  Since I was quite sure she’d heard me, that’s usually an invitation for me to attend in person.

I went to the room and asked again.

There’d been thunderstorms and heavy showers practically every day since I’d washed nappies on Sunday.  As it was usually 30C or more with a dew points in the mid 20s (celcius), running the tumble dryer was somewhere NOBODY wanted to go.  Accordingly, I’d dug out an old clothes horse and strung out my nappies on it.  To protect from the highly unlikely scenario of the remaining child-at-home going into that room, I’d grabbed a mattress protector that was curiously on the floor and arranged it over higher rails on that clothes horse to hide the load. 

This she had now discovered.

“My clean mattress protector!” she exclaimed irritably. 

It was on the floor when I picked it up.  It had been there for weeks.  Maybe that particular bit of the floor was unusually clean but it was more likely that her outrage being triggered by misappropriation of prized and pristine available laundry was fairly unlikely.

“I was trying to be discreet and they’re on the rails BELOW it and perfectly clean”.

This was true.  The nappies were spotless and the previously-floor-drobe-stored mattress protector wasn’t even touching.  Do nappies emit radiation?  Were charged nappy particles bombarding the adjacent fabric causing it to become horrific and strange before her?

She made a hissing sound between her teeth like a stabbed car tyre, turned and abruptly walked out.

“What’s wrong?” I called after her.

“Nothing.”

I didn’t feel like a game of “What’s wrong? Nothing!” so I left it there.  The next morning, I went back into the room to retrieve the hopefully-by-now-crispy-dry nappies to discover that the mattress protector was back in a heap on the floor and my not-quite-dry laundered nappies on their clothes horse were now covered by a filthy old blanket that had previously been laying on the floor of a disused wardrobe.  The kind of blanket you’d bury a dead cat in and one I honestly thought we’d thrown out. 

Clearly, my life is not a porn story.  If it was, by now I’d have been regressed to permanent infancy by my beloved, drunk on her new psychological power over me and have experienced a range of humiliations and privations including being periodically nappy-changed a procession of her scornful, dominatrix female friends wearing red stiletto heels (this is not in any way a fantasy of mine but does seem to be a persistent trope of the 24/7 married lifestyle fantasy).

Back in my somewhat grittier and more squalid reality, I shook the nappies out to get rid of the worst of the dirt and cat hair that had rained down into them from the grimy rug on top of them. 

It’s only a small thing.  A micro-aggression I suppose.  It is depressing not of itself but because it is emblematic of her continued inability to accept me for what I am.

[Little Sherri]

6 hours ago, oznl said:

Clearly, my life is not a porn story.

Yup, neither is mine. In actuality, the plot for me would probably go along the lines of:

"Clearly, you need someone to take you by the reins and make decisions about every aspect of your existence. I have decided to step into that breach. Mommy would like you to pack up all your diapers and donate them to a thrift store, never speak of them again, and go paint the kitchen. When you have done that, you may have a beer. One. Good boy. Say 'Yes, mommy' for me."