All My Mother's Rules (Ch. 70 & Epilogue - 2/13/24)

[Night Rain]

I wonder when she will finally get her chance to chat with someone about that?

[Baby_B_UK]

People that are commenting that this parent is a bad parent and she should be done for abuse, in the real world yes I agree. However, this is a STORY, it is fiction, it isn’t real. How the writer wants to make the characters is entirely up to them.

[Nat]

53 minutes ago, Sarahbedwetter said:

People that are commenting that this parent is a bad parent and she should be done for abuse, in the real world yes I agree. However, this is a STORY, it is fiction, it isn’t real. How the writer wants to make the characters is entirely up to them.

So this was written out of a fetish and kink?

 

I thought it was written out of a ordinary story but using the ABDL theme to justify underage characters. 

[spark]

45 minutes ago, Sarahbedwetter said:

People that are commenting that this parent is a bad parent and she should be done for abuse, in the real world yes I agree. However, this is a STORY, it is fiction, it isn’t real. How the writer wants to make the characters is entirely up to them.

I think that's a tribute to Minnesotawriter.  Most stories, even Hollywood movies, have 1 dimensional protagonist and antagonist.   Most have the characters- I don't really care about.    I watched a movie where Liam Nielson killed a drug dealer who had killed his son and it's costs him his marriage.  The drug dealer was this complicated guy who tried to perfect things for his son, who Liam kidnapped the son.  The movie ended with a cool old indian dude and Liam riding in a plow.  Two hours that didn't suck- but I didn't care about the characters.    But I cried at a commercial when ET visited Eliott again.  FTR- not admitting that I cried at the the first movie- because I was 12 and 12 year-old boys don't cry during movies?  I vividly remember the scene where Michael killed Fredo and my suspicions Michael is not a good guy was confirmed.

Obviously, this isn't at that level, but Minnesotawriter has done something very difficult.  There are two multi-faceted characters that I'm fascinated by.  There is a little bit of a Wile E. Coyote aspect to this story.  It's ABDL fiction, and we know how that ends, but the journey is fascinating.

[Nat]

Often times minor characters are frowned upon in ABDL stories because ABDL is a fetish. But if you wish to write underage characters, then the story must not be sexual and it has to be an ordinary story using a diaper or ABDL theme. 

 

Look at The baby for example, the movie that was made in 1973 or when Rugrats had a couple ABDL themed episodes. Stu has amnesia so he regressed into a baby and the other where Angelica was now 3 and didn't want to be a big girl. That is doing it right. I think that is what the OP is doing. 

[MinnesotaWriter]

16 hours ago, Lost Little Neppy said:

Something else I caught was that Sarah remarked that her mother was in a good mood because she was babying Emelia. Let's say a parent was doing this as a punishment to teach their child that being a baby isn't fun. While I personally don't think anything good would come of that, it's a gray area as far as abuse is concerned. But when the parent in question is enjoying it and getting a rise out of it, that's a huge red flag if ever I saw one.

For Sarah's and Emelia's sakes, I hope that they have a family member who sees this and decides to get the law involved. This mother has mental issues and she's taking it out on her children, even if they don't realize it.

Good catch.

15 hours ago, Nat said:

I am sure ordinary parents have treated their kid like a baby as reverse psychology to get them to quit wearing diapers. Like they would do something like "Oh no, you have to go to bed because you're a baby, big girls stay up later. babies have to be in bed sooner than big girls because they get cranky if they stay up too late."

"Oh no, Sarah is a baby, she can't play with that toy, it has too many little pieces because babies can choke on it, only big girls can play with it."

Then the kid decides to go back to wearing underwear again and being a big girl again. You know how little kids will sometimes want to regress and be a baby again when they are jealous of their baby sibling or a baby that is over their parents are baby sitting. 

But context is all that matters. There is no humiliation involved. Just the kid seeing how limited choices are when you are a baby and they drop the baby act and go back to being a big kid again. They got to make that choice. 

 

 

I'm going to guess you've had experience raising actual kids.

6 hours ago, Night Rain said:

I wonder when she will finally get her chance to chat with someone about that?

We'll have to see what she figures out.

5 hours ago, Sarahbedwetter said:

People that are commenting that this parent is a bad parent and she should be done for abuse, in the real world yes I agree. However, this is a STORY, it is fiction, it isn’t real. How the writer wants to make the characters is entirely up to them.

Sarah's mom is intended to be the bad guy, not in a Billie Eilish kind of way but as in being the primary antagonist in the story. Bad puns aside, the way Sarah's mom is treating her daughter isn't intended to be looked on as good or normal. I'd be rather concerned about someone (and their potential offspring) if they read this story and thought that the mother was the model of good parenting.

So the main question isn't about whether or not Sarah's mom is bad, cause she is. The question is whether or not she gets the just ending that readers seem to think she deserves. 

As far as realism goes, my intent is that the story is realistic, or as realistic as a diaper story is going to get. For me, realism doesn't mean that the events and reactions of characters have to stay in the realm of what is probable or likely, but does still has to be constrained by what is possible given the context and setting of the story.

I am glad to see the strong opinions that the mother is getting out of people. Sarah's mom is inspired by a mother in a story I read on Daily Diapers a long time ago. As a reader, I tend to heavily empathize with the protagonist, and I remember feeling the same way about that mother, outraged and shocked at her behavior and desperately wanting the protagonist to get free of it.

5 hours ago, Nat said:

So this was written out of a fetish and kink?

 

I thought it was written out of a ordinary story but using the ABDL theme to justify underage characters. 

The protagonist is the age she is because that is fundamental to the story, which is about a parent/child relationship. If Sarah where 18, 21, or  even older, it would be vastly different story in my opinion in terms of the interaction between Sarah and her mom.

One of my pet peeves is when a character is 18 simply for the sake of making the character not underage when it doesn't make sense in the context of the story that the character would actually be that age. For example, an author says a character is 18, but by the way the character is behaving and being treated by the other characters in the story,  it would have been more realistic/accurate for the character to have been given a younger age. 

4 hours ago, spark said:

I think that's a tribute to Minnesotawriter.  Most stories, even Hollywood movies, have 1 dimensional protagonist and antagonist.   Most have the characters- I don't really care about.    I watched a movie where Liam Nielson killed a drug dealer who had killed his son and it's costs him his marriage.  The drug dealer was this complicated guy who tried to perfect things for his son, who Liam kidnapped the son.  The movie ended with a cool old indian dude and Liam riding in a plow.  Two hours that didn't suck- but I didn't care about the characters.    But I cried at a commercial when ET visited Eliott again.  FTR- not admitting that I cried at the the first movie- because I was 12 and 12 year-old boys don't cry during movies?  I vividly remember the scene where Michael killed Fredo and my suspicions Michael is not a good guy was confirmed.

Obviously, this isn't at that level, but Minnesotawriter has done something very difficult.  There are two multi-faceted characters that I'm fascinated by.  There is a little bit of a Wile E. Coyote aspect to this story.  It's ABDL fiction, and we know how that ends, but the journey is fascinating.

That's very true, the "descent into diaper use" is for sure the most common theme in ABDL fiction. I've not tried to avoid the diaper story cliches (sleepovers, cheerleading, etc..), but I do hope that the spin on them has been unique. 

4 hours ago, Nat said:

Often times minor characters are frowned upon in ABDL stories because ABDL is a fetish. But if you wish to write underage characters, then the story must not be sexual and it has to be an ordinary story using a diaper or ABDL theme. 

 

Look at The baby for example, the movie that was made in 1973 or when Rugrats had a couple ABDL themed episodes. Stu has amnesia so he regressed into a baby and the other where Angelica was now 3 and didn't want to be a big girl. That is doing it right. I think that is what the OP is doing. 

Fully agree, and the story will definitely adhere to those rules. 

[Nat]

8 hours ago, MinnesotaWriter said:

One of my pet peeves is when a character is 18 simply for the sake of making the character not underage when it doesn't make sense in the context of the story that the character would actually be that age. For example, an author says a character is 18, but by the way the character is behaving and being treated by the other characters in the story,  it would have been more realistic/accurate for the character to have been given a younger age. 

That is because people sexualize it and ABDL is a kink so they think if they did a underage character, they are a pedophile and a sicko. That is because it is sexual for them. Plus minor characters are often frowned upon some places don't allow any underage characters, no exceptions. 

 

I don't see any issues with underage characters just as long as it's not sexual. If done right, it can be done without it being sexual. 

[jaycanrdezum]

Just wanted to post that  I'm enjoying this story and eagerly awaiting more!

[MinnesotaWriter]

Chapter 19: My Only Wish

“I told you already. The pull-up is dry.”

Mom gave me a look that suggested she wasn’t entirely sure I was telling her the truth. I had barely finished taking my shoes off inside the front door and Mom was already interrogating me about whether I’d had any accidents at school.

I told her that I’d had none. That was a lie, but since it was my sister’s pull-up that I had wet, there was no way Mom would be able to know otherwise. But I was also a bad liar, so while there wasn’t any proof that I hadn’t told Mom the truth, I suspected that she could tell something was amiss.

“Well, let me see the pull-ups I sent with you to school.”

I made sure to reach into the section of the backpack where I’d placed the nighttime pull-ups. I’d kept those separate from the pull-ups I’d taken from Emilia to reduce the chances of Mom finding out how I’d been disobeying her potty-training rules. I removed the two dry and unused pull-ups from the backpack and handed them to Mom.

“Let me see the other one.”

That gave me a brief jolt of terror. Had Mom sent me with more than two of the nighttime pull-ups to school? I was certain it had been just those two. How could I have lost one?

“Those were the only two you gave me,” I said at last.

“Sweetie, I meant I need to see the one you were wearing.”

I did not want to strip off to just a pull-up in front of her and my sister.

“Mom,” I said in a drawn-out whine. “You didn’t need to. Of course it is dry. What do you expect?”

“It wasn’t dry this morning. Now let’s get your pants off.”

That wasn’t fair. I couldn’t help what happened while I was asleep. Before I could utter a word in protest, Mom was already undoing my belt and buckle. Seconds later my jeans were in a pile on the floor. I avoided eye contact with Mom as she examined the pull-up I had on. Once Mom was satisfied that it was dry like I had said it was, she sent me off to my bedroom to get started on homework.

I hadn’t doubted that Mom would make me wear pull-ups for a week, but I had kind of hoped she would at least spare me the indignity of having to parade them around the house for the whole time. I took a seat at my computer and began working on an essay for one of my classes.

I hated not being able to cover up the pull-up. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep myself from constantly glancing down at it. But the pull-up remained wrapped around my waist as a humiliating reminder of how I’d been losing control of my bladder. Every time I tried to wiggle into a more comfortable position in my chair – sitting too long in one spot caused the fabric to make my skin feel uncomfortable – the tell-tale crinkle from the pull-up was there to remind me.

I’m sure there were things I could look up online that might help me figure out what was going wrong with my body. I knew I wasn’t the only teenager to ever experience this problem. The pull-up I’d found at school stood as evidence of that. But Mom had those child monitoring – spying was what they actually should be called – apps on my computer and my phone, so any searches about the subject would raise way too many questions.

The nurse at school was a no-go as well. The school district’s policy was that parents had to be informed about any visits to the nurse. That policy had gotten put in place after a spat over students being given medications without their parent’s knowledge or consent, but the policy extended to parents being informed of any trip to visit the nurse and the reason for that visit.

I struggled to get started with the essay for the history class. It only needed to be five paragraphs. Why did it have to be so hard to write even that much? I’d rather do a whole page of algebra equations. The paper wasn’t due for a week, so maybe I could offer to do some of Samantha’s math homework in exchange for her ghost writing this assignment.

“Sarah, time for a potty break.”

Again? Already? I took a look at the word count: sixty-three words. How was I supposed to get my homework done if I keep getting interrupted like this? I’d gone to the toilet a little less than twenty minutes ago.

“Mom, it hasn’t been thirty minutes yet.”

“I know, but Emilia needs a potty break, so we may as well get yours done with. It’s so much easier to keep you two on the same schedule.”

Remind me, why in the world had I ever wanted a younger sister in the first place? I got up from my computer desk with a loud sigh. I did need more frequent bathroom breaks than normal, but this was ridiculous.

“What did I just hear, young lady?”

“Nothing, I’m on my way.”

I entered the bathroom to see that at least part of Emilia’s potty break had already happened in her pull-up, as its wetness indicators had all but faded away. Mom had Emilia seated on the toilet, but the silence suggested that my sister didn’t seem to have anything left in her bladder.

“Emilia, look at your sister,” Mom said, while pointing her finger directly at my pull-up. “You see how Sarah’s pull-up was still dry. That’s what you need to be doing too. She isn’t going potty in her pull-up.”

“Sarah, let Emilia see your pull-up,” Mom added a second later.

I hadn’t even realized that I had been subconsciously holding my hands over the front of the pull-up. I raised my hands to show Emilia that my pull-up was indeed dry.

“Sarah, come here and show Emilia how to go potty like a big girl,” Mom said, helping Emilia off the toilet seat and removing the potty-training booster seat from it.

Peeing was not supposed to be a performance art. It took me two full minutes before I was able to generate a brief stream of urine that splattered into the toilet.

-----

I kept my pull-up dry the remainder of the evening. Given my previous accidents that might seem like an accomplishment, but Mom made me go to the bathroom every half-hour, meaning that I had taken about a dozen trips to the toilet since coming from school. I’d given up on any attempt to argue with Mom over it. All I had to do was make it to the end of the week and then I could get Mom off of my back and work on dealing with my bladder issues on my own terms.

With the constant toilet trips while at home and with using my sister’s pull-ups to hide any accidents that might happen at school, I was confident I could make it to Sunday evening without Mom discovering any daytime accidents. What happened at night was another story. I’d now wet my bed twice – once without Mom noticing – after going years and years of keeping it dry every single night. My only saving grace with that if Mom was truly making me follow the same potty-training rules as Emilia, then at least nighttime accidents wouldn’t count against the daytime potty training.

I finished my final trip to the toilet before bedtime, cautiously optimistic that it might be enough to hold off my bladder until I wake for school in the morning. Mom was being more cautious than optimistic.

“If you have an accident...”

“Mom. I’m not going to. That was the first time in like forever.”

“I’m just saying. If you do have an accident. You need to let me know so I can get you cleaned up.”

Just a few days ago Mom had been trusting me to change Emilia’s pull-ups and diapers. Why couldn’t she let me change my own? Having Mom put me in a pull-up was bad enough, I didn’t want to deal with her changing me after I’d wet one. But there was an easier solution than arguing with her. I just needed to wake up dry.

-----

I woke up long before my alarm was set to go off. I was filled with that sense of foreboding that you get when you know you were worried about something the night before but were still too tired to recall precisely what it was that had concerned you.

The reason behind that concern didn’t evade me for long, as I only had to shift slightly in the bed to become aware of the wet sheets I was laying on top of. Fuck. I didn’t want to do anything. I didn’t want to deal with this. I couldn’t deal with this. At last I forced myself to roll from being on my back to being on my stomach, even though that again forced me to confront the feeling of the wet sheets against my skin.

I buried my face into my pillow and cried. This had to be a dream, a nightmare that I would eventually wake up from to find myself in bed, wearing panties that most definitely were not soaked through with urine. But I didn’t wake up. I didn’t even manage to fall back asleep. I just lay there in bed, listening to the sound of my sister breathing softly as she lay asleep in the crib. I was still too tired to think straight, but I knew I didn’t want to lay awake in a wet bed until morning.

The last thing I wanted to do was wake Mom up in the middle of the night to tell her that I had wet the bed again. However, I wasn’t going to fall back asleep in a wet bed. I rolled over to the side and looked at Emilia’s crib. She appeared to be sound asleep. Every sound felt as though it was being amplified in the dark, as I tried to stealthily maneuver around the room. The creaking floor. The groan of the dresser as I pulled it open. And, of course, the pull-up just wouldn’t stop with the crinkling noises.

I knew Mom had told me not to change myself, but at the rate I was going, this next pull-up would probably be wet in the morning as well, so maybe she wouldn’t notice. I grabbed a dry pull-up and slipped into the bathroom so I could have enough light to get myself cleaned up and changed.

Once in the bathroom, I took a closer look at the pull-up. These were made for kids who wet the bed, so why on earth had it leaked twice on me? Could it be a bad batch? Did it rip somehow? As I looked the pull-up over, it was clear the only reason it had leaked was because it had already absorbed as much urine as it could. Completely useless. May as well wear panties to bed for all the good these pull-ups were doing me.

With a fresh pull-up and dry pajamas on, I stripped the wet sheets off of the bed and replaced them with clean ones from the closet. It would be too noisy to do laundry now, but I could at least put the wet sheets in the washing machine and get it started in the morning before school.

With the wet blankets and sheets wrapped in my arms, I tiptoed down the hallway and past the kitchen to the laundry room.

“What is going on here?”

I jumped as I turned around to see Mom standing at the door to the laundry room with a full view of me placing the wet sheets into the washing machine.

“The pull-up leaked, so I was putting the wet sheets in the washing machine so they could get cleaned in the morning.”

“Your pull-up doesn’t look wet at all to me.”

I’d forgotten that I hadn’t replaced the wet pajama bottoms that I’d taken off, which left my pull-up completely visible to Mom."

“It was...” I started to say very wet, but I couldn’t bring myself to admit how bad the accident had been. “...uncomfortable so I took it off.”

“Don’t you remember what I told you last night?”

“I thought.”

“No, you didn’t think. You didn’t take the time to think. Because if you had, you would have thought about how I had specifically told you to come to me if you needed to be changed.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say in response, so I instead mutely nodded my head.

“You know better than to disobey me. We’ll need to deal with that before you go back to bed. Go sit on the living room couch. I’ll be there in a second.”

I knew what was in store for me right away, but I was tired, and I didn’t care. I just wanted to get this over with and get back in bed. I had expected to see Mom holding the spanking paddle when she walked into the living room. That’s usually what happened when she would have me wait there for her to go get something. Mom came back without the paddle in her hand, but she didn’t come back empty-handed. I couldn’t make out what the small object was that she appeared to have enclosed in her fist.

“Put this in your mouth. I don’t want you waking your sister.”

Mom held out one of Emilia’s pacifiers.

“Mom. No.”

“Quiet. I’m not dealing with Emilia waking up as well.”

Mom jammed the pacifier into my mouth. I really hoped she had washed it. It wasn’t as bad as I had thought it would be. The pacifier material was bland, tasteless, and squishy. It didn’t quite fit right in my mouth, but I guess they didn’t exactly make pacifiers big enough for teens. I was grateful Emilia was asleep in bed and not witnessing the spanking this time around.

Mom patted her lap, and I knew what she wanted me to do. I laid down across the couch so that my bottom was squarely on her lap. Mom placed her hand firmly on the part of my butt cheek that wasn’t covered by the pull-up, marking the spot where she was going to be hitting me.

Whack. Even without the paddle, the first strike to my bottom still stung. Had it not been for the pacifier in my mouth, I probably would have let out a yelp. Instead, I shut my eyes and bit down onto the pacifier as hard as I could. I didn’t know if the effect was real or just a placebo, but it certainly felt like the spanking hurt much less because I was using the pacifier, not that I would ever tell that to Mom.

Mom alternated her swats between both sides of my butt, always striking my bare skin, and not where I was covered up by the pull-up. After the first five or six hits, I at last opened my eyes again. Emilia was peering out from the edge of the hallway, her own pacifier nestled in her mouth. We made eye contact briefly, but before I could spit the pacifier out of my mouth to say something to Mom, she disappeared around the corner.

The spanking continued for another minute before Mom finally relented. The good part about Mom using her hand to spank me meant that it hurt her as well if she struck me too hard.

“Mom, Emilia was watching,” I said as soon as Mom took the pacifier from my mouth.

Mom turned around instantly to look at that hallway.

“I don’t see her.”

“I know. She went away when she saw that I had noticed her.”

If I had to get a spanking for getting out of bed, then I wasn’t keen on letting Emilia escape without facing similar consequences. Mom didn’t seem as concerned. She turned her attention back to me.

“Now what have you learned?” Mom asked, as she helped me off of her lap and on to my feet.

“To make sure to let you change me.”

“No, that wasn’t the lesson. Try again.”

“Not to disobey you.”

“Right, now get yourself back to bed.”

Mom followed me back to my bedroom. Emilia was indeed back in her crib with her eyes closed. Mom gave Emilia a nudge, but my sister didn’t stir. Either that brat was faking it, or she had really managed to fall asleep again in only a minute or so.

“She’s asleep, just like you should have been,” Mom said, ignoring the fact that I had to wake up to deal with the wet pull-up and bed.

I didn’t respond as Mom left the room. I simply pulled back the sheets and crawled into bed. My only wish at this moment was to be able to be able to sleep a full night and not have a wet bed to deal with in the morning. Was that too much to ask for?

 

[kerry]

3 hours ago, MinnesotaWriter said:

Peeing is not a performance art.

One of my favorite recent lines. ?

[Sarah Penguin]

[Night Rain]

I wonder if Sarah's mom would ever make her wear a skirt as a means to having an easier time. Checking Sarah's pull-up to see if it's dry or not?

[thedman]

I feel as though leaking pull ups won't be an acceptable solution for mom for very long

[WBDaddy]

1 hour ago, thedman said:

I feel as though leaking pull ups won't be an acceptable solution for mom for very long

True, but I'm not entirely sure she's savvy enough to identify better solutions for a teen.  Even if she went to a local medical supply, all they'd offer were shitty medical diapers that are designed to be changed every two hours, not to take 8 hours of urine from anyone. 

[MinnesotaWriter]

18 hours ago, kerry said:

One of my favorite recent lines. ?

Thanks! I hoped it would get a laugh or two.

16 hours ago, Sarah Penguin said:

?

13 hours ago, Night Rain said:

I wonder if Sarah's mom would ever make her wear a skirt as a means to having an easier time. Checking Sarah's pull-up to see if it's dry or not?

For now, I think Sarah's mom is content with making sure that there isn't anything covering the pull-up when Sarah is home for the day. We'll have to see if that changes at all in the future. 

11 hours ago, thedman said:

I feel as though leaking pull ups won't be an acceptable solution for mom for very long

Wet beds aren't fun for anyone.

9 hours ago, WBDaddy said:

True, but I'm not entirely sure she's savvy enough to identify better solutions for a teen.  Even if she went to a local medical supply, all they'd offer were shitty medical diapers that are designed to be changed every two hours, not to take 8 hours of urine from anyone. 

Very true. We'll have to see what mom does to handle it.

5 hours ago, paddedpiplup said:

One of the things I really like about this story is that the mother is completely out of line but is still entirely believable. She's an actual character. You see so many low-quality stories where the mother just goes batshit crazy out of nowhere for the sake of the 'plot' and starts treating their grown child like an infant, but you're a good enough writer that you've actually managed to do the trope in a way that's realistic and engaging. Imagine that. On my ABDL story forum? Lol. 

So anyway, I'm really enjoying disliking mum and following Sarah's descent into (looking like?) babyhood. This story has taken a while to ramp up, but it's been worth the wait. You're a great writer Minnesota!  

Thanks. We've definitely made it into the middle of the story. There's a lot of stuff that's going to be going down soon.

[Arendeth]

Thanks for the chapter, I wonder if she can look up stuff in the library at lunch to go around the issues at home with the spyware here mother has installed.

[Bonsai]

 

Now that, thanks to Emilia and mommy, her maneuvering room has been reduced, will her facade crumble also on the other battlefronts (cheerleading, her friends circus, the Fortnite team)?

Will there be an occasion for Sarah to return the “help in handling mom” to Emilia?

PS: Emilia and mommy surely deserve each other...

[MinnesotaWriter]

On 6/1/2020 at 11:14 AM, Arendeth said:

Thanks for the chapter, I wonder if she can look up stuff in the library at lunch to go around the issues at home with the spyware here mother has installed.

You're welcome. That would be an intriguing idea.

21 hours ago, Bonsai said:

 

Now that, thanks to Emilia and mommy, her maneuvering room has been reduced, will her facade crumble also on the other battlefronts (cheerleading, her friends circus, the Fortnite team)?

Will there be an occasion for Sarah to return the “help in handling mom” to Emilia?

PS: Emilia and mommy surely deserve each other...

Sarah has helped her sister in the past. We'll have to see how her current predicament impacts that attitude though. Will she decide to help her sister as well or try to get back at her?

[GQLF]

I think Sarah and Emilia's potty training relation maybe a swap, but Sarah it may not happen.

[MinnesotaWriter]

Chapter 20: Group Project

Does waking up in the morning with a dry pull-up really count if you had to change out of a wet pull-up in the middle of the night?

Mom must have thought so. She was in a better mood in the morning when she pulled back my sheets to find that I had managed to keep my pull-up dry for the remainder of the night. I guess I should have been grateful for those little accomplishments, but the events over the last night had only served to compound the stress I was under.

I rubbed my eyes as I attempted to force myself to wake up. Having my sleep cycle interrupted like that was no good. I knew the shower would wake me up, but I could hardly summon the energy to get myself up and out of bed.

“Come on, you need to get going,” Mom said as she gave me another gentle nudge on the shoulder.

I pulled myself out of bed, the pull-up still visible as Mom gave me a re-assuring hug.

“I’m sure this was just a phase you’ll get over,” Mom said. “No one wears diapers to college.”

That phrase wasn’t all that re-assuring. The last time a doctor had told me that bedwetting was just a phase, I’d gone on to do it for another three years.

I hopped into the shower while Mom took care of changing Emilia out of her wet diaper and getting her dressed for the day. A week ago, I would have given anything to get out of diaper duty. Now, I’d give anything to be back in charge of caring for Emilia rather than having Mom treat me like a toddler. I knew I couldn’t dawdle in the shower or I’d be late for school, but I also wanted to savor one of the few moments of freedom that I got from wearing a pull-up. If today was anything like yesterday, after the shower, Mom would be waiting for me again in the bedroom, ready to get me dressed.

I didn’t put up any fuss as Mom dressed me. Being cooperative meant it was over with faster, and that’s all I wanted. I didn’t care for the hoodie she selected – gray with “Girl Power” emblazoned on it in pink, glittery letters. Sure, I’d worn it a ton in middle school, but that childish stuff wasn’t what I want to be seen wearing to high school. I suppose if Mom was going to be dressing me, it might be worth taking a look at my closet later and moving anything I don’t like to the very back and out of her sight.

Mom chatted away while getting the clothes on me, which was nice, as the situation still felt too weird for me to want to say anything.

“I checked your grades online last night...”

Please. Please. Please. Let there be no assignments with grades other than “A.” I didn’t need another spanking.

“... and none of them were bad.”

Mom had gotten me completely dressed besides from pulling on my jeans when she motioned for me to get off the bed.

“Come on, you need to hurry up and eat breakfast before school.”

“Mom, I’m not going to school like...”

I couldn’t bring myself to mention the uncovered pull-up.

“...this.”

“You don’t need the jeans now. I’ll put them on you once it’s time for you to head out the door.”

I chose not to argue. I just wanted this over with, but Sunday felt so far away. After pouring myself a bowl of cereal, I joined Emilia at the table in the kitchen. She glanced up at me as I sat down at the table, but other than that, she didn’t pay any attention to me or the pull-up that I was wearing. Not that she should be able to say much, given that she had on a fully exposed pull-up as well.

I hated this. There was a reason people didn’t just waltz around in their underwear all the time, and it wasn’t only for the sake of modesty. While the pull-up covers everything it needs to cover, it doesn’t cover the things it doesn’t need to cover. That was to say, that meant a good portion of my bottom was exposed to the cold, hard surface of the chair. I wolfed down the cereal as fast as I could. I didn’t mind the idea of being early and waiting outside for ten minutes or so for the bus as long as that meant I could at least be fully dressed.

I was still in shock at how rapidly my life had changed. Of how what I had once considered normal has been replaced with this new normal. Of how swiftly my mom and sister have grown accustomed to it in just a matter of days. But this wasn’t normal. And I didn’t want it to ever become normal.

Even as I outwardly accepted the situation – stealing Emilia’s pull-ups to use at school and letting Mom potty train me and treat me like a toddler – I struggled in vain to see a path forward to get back to the old normal. Looking weeks and months ahead was hard to do when I was so focused on the minute by minute struggle of keeping my bladder in check.

---

One last class to go. I didn’t know how I had managed to pull it off, but for the first time in about a week I’d made it through my first six classes without so much as a tiny leak into the pull-up. That was either really good or really bad. Depending on how you believe in statistics, that either meant I was guaranteed to have an accident to make up for not having one earlier or the trend was going to be my friend in keeping me dry today.

My bladder, however, was not being my friend. I needed to pee. I’d been trying hard to avoid slipping out of my classes to go to the bathroom and had managed to avoid doing so today. I hated drawing that much attention to myself, but having kept the pull-up dry all day long, the chance to be able to make it a whole day without peeing myself wasn’t something I wanted to pass up.

Fifteen minutes to go in the class. I crossed my legs, but even that couldn’t stop the need to squirm. An inch to the right. An inch to the left. What was it that causes everyone to do that distinctive potty dance when their bladder comes close to reaching its breaking point? What was it about the urge to pee that makes you feel the need to move your body?

I was completely zoned out of the class as Mr. Higgins wrote down dates and names on the chalkboard. I’m sure they were important, but not near as much as the almost painful urges coming from my bladder. I hated being the center of attention. Even at the back of the room, the thought of having to get up to grab the hall pass and risk people turning around to look at me was embarrassing.

I steadied my breath as I gradually worked up the courage to get out of my seat. I could do this. I could do this.

I stood up. But so did Lisa. And her desk was to my left, right between myself and the door. We paused and exchanged an awkward glance.

“Sorry, I need to go,” Lisa whispered to me as she made an antsy shuffle of her feet followed by a semi-dash to the door.

I watched in silent horror as Lisa grabbed the only girls’ hall pass from the hook next to the door. Why did she always have to do that at the most inopportune times? This was so unfair. I returned to my desk as discreetly as I could. Thankfully, it didn’t appear as if anyone besides Desi and Samantha had paid any attention to me getting up. I didn’t bother raising my hand to ask Mr. Higgins if I could be excused to the bathroom as well. I knew already that his answer would be no.

I twiddled my thumbs, doodled with my pencil, bit my lip – anything to just keep my mind off of my bladder and to keep the contents of my bladder from ending up in the pull-up. It was working. I readied myself to make a dash to the bathroom as soon as the bell rung, since Lisa wasn’t likely to get back to the class until right before the period was over.

“Not fair,” Samantha muttered under her breath.

What’s not fair? Her remark drew me back into paying attention to Mr. Higgins, who was finally back to facing the class and not the chalkboard.

“The project would be a group presentation about a U.S. President. Since that would be a lot of work to put together, we’ll be putting you into groups to create the presentation and deliver it as a team.”

Another large assignment? I swear, every teacher was always saying that their homework was only thirty minutes a night, but when you have seven classes, that comes close to four hours of homework every single evening.

“Since the number of students in the class wasn’t divisible by three, one group would just have two of you in it...” Higgins said.

He read through the list of students who would be in each group. If we had to get stuck with more homework, at least Samantha, Desi, and I could all feel miserable about it together.

“...and the next group, covering John F. Kennedy, would be Samantha, Desi, and Jonathan.”

What? I’m not in the same group as Samantha and Desi? Mr. Higgins had to see that we always did stuff together. After all, he’d put us in the last group project he had assigned. We’d gotten an “A” in that. And by we, I mean Samantha had done most of the work on that paper, but still.

Higgins continued reading through the list of teams, seemingly ignorant of the fact that his assignment had disrupted the social order of his classroom. There weren’t many people left. Who was I going to be paired with?

“... and for our group of two students: Sarah and Lisa, who would be covering George H. W. Bush.”

It could be worse, though that might leave me with doing most of the talking for the presentation. I turned to look at Lisa’s desk. Mr. Higgin’s talk about the project had temporarily distracted me from my need to use the bathroom. The urge to go was present but not as strong as before, but Lisa wasn’t back yet, and the bell hadn’t rung to dismiss us from the class.

As I adjusted my position in my seat so I could turn to talk to Samantha, a squishy, wet, warm sensation pressed against my bottom. Wait. What? I’d leaked some into the pull-up? I’d been so caught up in listening to Mr. Higgins that I hadn’t noticed. So unfair. It wasn’t even my fault. If not for Lisa, I’d have been able to stay dry.

“I’m sorry you had to be stuck with Lisa,” Samantha said, giving me a pitying look.

She must have taken my look of unhappiness – really from the wet pull-up – to mean that I was displeased with how Mr. Higgins had split us up for the project. I was unhappy that I wouldn’t be doing it with Samantha and Desi, but if it had to be with someone else, it wasn’t bad that I had gotten paired up with Lisa.

“I’m not unhappy with her. It’s just strange that Mr. Higgins didn’t keep us together like last time.”

The ringing bell announcing the end of the period interrupted Samantha’s response. Probably just as well, since she never had anything nice to say about Lisa, who had arrived back at her desk.

“So... I heard we were going to be partners for the group project,” Lisa said as I turned to face her.

“Yeah.”

“What president did we get? Uncle wouldn’t tell me ahead of time.”

“Bush. The first one.”

“Oh, weren’t you needing to go to the bathroom?”

I didn’t have a big urge to go anymore, but I couldn’t exactly admit that. I could see how my relaxed attitude right now would seem strange given how I had previously indicated that I had an urgent need to go to the bathroom.

“Oh. Yeah. I do.”

I grabbed my backpack and slipped past Lisa and out into the hallway, leaving her in the classroom with Mr. Higgins. With any luck, being paired with my teacher’s niece might make this an easier assignment to get a good grade on.

[Shotgun Diplomat]

Nice chapter, thanks bud! Small inconsistency here, you changed their assigned president from George H.W. Bush to Reagan. Regardless this is a story that I love and I appreciate. The Mum still strikes me as a little unhinged, but it takes all kinds. Thanks for the update. Have a gooder!

[MinnesotaWriter]

8 minutes ago, Shotgun Diplomat said:

Nice chapter, thanks bud! Small inconsistency here, you changed their assigned president from George H.W. Bush to Reagan. Regardless this is a story that I love and I appreciate. The Mum still strikes me as a little unhinged, but it takes all kinds. Thanks for the update. Have a gooder!

Oops. Got that fixed. Thanks for the catch.

[HelloIam]

Nice that she had an accident without noticing. Love to see where this story is going. Keep the updates coming!

[Sarah Penguin]

[spark]

You have to wonder how mom will react to the wet pull-up.  I'm pretty sure it will be the same rules- along with a punishment for not telling mom the truth.