You're Just Not Ready_ Updated January 8, 2022

[spark]

Hopefully I will be able to finish this story.  It’s a coming-of-age story starting with a late bloomer.  I’ve got it written up to him being twelve, and an outline into adulthood.

Kindergarten

I was nearly seven years old the first time my mom put me back in diapers.  I had just completed Kindergarten.  Mom had started me a year later than normal because I still hadn’t mastered the potty on my fifth birthday and my mom didn’t think I was ready.   Mom stopped putting me in diapers because some people told her I would never learn to use the potty if I still wore diapers.

            For the next year, we tried to get me to use the potty, but I was still having frequent accidents.  If she watched me closely, and made me go to the potty, I would use it, but I rarely initiated it.  She was feeling pressure as a parent because my sister, Emily, was two and not potty trained either.   Her friends told her to stop treating us like babies, and we will both learn.

            Mom put me in kindergarten just after my sixth birthday.   I was still having a lot of accidents, but if I was prompted- I would use the toilet.   Mom initially told the school that I still had accidents and wondered if I should wear Pull Ups.  The school said, “No, don’t put him in Pull Ups.  It will be harder to adjust to school, and the kids might tease him.  Just put extra clothes in his backpack.”

               Unfortunately, I kept having accidents.  The other kids all teased me because most of them were potty trained, but I was wetting my pants at least once a week.  Eventually the school asked mom to start sending me in Pull Ups.  That kept me from having accidents, but I almost always was wet by the end of the day, and frequently had another wet Pull Up in my backpack.

            The school didn’t know what to do because 1^st grade was a longer day, and I was not potty trained.    On the other hand, I was reading 2^nd grade books, and already knew my times tables up to ten.   The special class that could handle kids in diapers were for kids way lower than me.

            I also started to regress in other ways.  I sucked my thumb and tended to pout.   I started to resist when mom wanted me to go to the potty.  She would tell me to sit on the potty, and I refused.  I told her I didn’t need to go, and ten minutes later I wet myself.

            That summer we were going to visit her family in Australia.   My sister, Emily, had just turned three, but still not potty trained.   Mom decided she wasn’t ready and at least wait until we got back from Australia.  She then decided to do the same with me, so I was put back in diapers for the summer.

            My mom was no stranger to diapers, or nappies as she called them.  She wet the bed until she was fourteen.  Her younger sister wet the bed until she was ten, and her brother wet until he was sixteen!  My grandma used nappies on them.  My mom told me that grandma would make her were a nappy on the weekend if she had more than three wet nights in a week, and that happened until she was fourteen.  For my uncle Eddy, it was sixteen!

            My mom treated me just like Emily.   We both wore diapers.  Mom had two highchairs at home, but we didn’t use them while we were out.  But we did use sippy cups, and a double stroller.   I think the stroller was more for control than punishment.  I had a habit of walking off, or getting sidetracked when we were out in public, and I would lose my parents.  Even though I was six years old, she used a stroller even when I wasn’t diapered.   Fortunately, I wasn’t a big kid, but I was bigger than most kids who still used strollers.

            I don’t know if my mom thought of this as punishment, or if she really believed that it was necessary.    She didn’t make me feel bad or tell me that I was acting like a baby.  She never told me I needed to use the potty like a big boy.  In fact, she made a point of noting that I wasn’t potty trained and still needed diapers.

[Pierry Louys]

Interesting story 

[maly]

Good start.

Maly.

[Kaleros]

Good Start and I wonder where things will go from here.

[Baby Billy]

cute ?

[spark]

6 hours ago, Kaleros said:

Good Start and I wonder where things will go from here.

Thank you

[spark]

Elementary School

            We spent about two months in Australia visiting my grandma, aunt, and uncle.   My grandma and grandpa didn’t seem to think it was a big deal that I was still in diapers.  I had a baby cousin who was about a year younger than Emily, and still in diapers.  All three of us were treated pretty much the same.   My diapers were checked just like the other two, and I wasn’t expected to use the potty.

            Even when we were younger, mom never really prompted us to use the bathroom.  Once we were out of diapers, we were expected to use the potty when we needed.  When my mom determined that it was a good time to begin potty training, she would start to take us to the toilet.  She could tell when we needed to poop and have us poop in the toilet.  We still had diapers, but mom wanted us to tell her when we needed to use the potty and tell her if we had wet our diapers

  If there was any resistance, she would say “Ok, we will wait a few weeks.”

If we were still going in our diapers, mom would pause for a few weeks.  If we could make it through the day without using diapers, we would get Pull Ups.    Pull Ups were mostly to test if we were ready for underwear.   At most, we would only get a few weeks to prove that we could reliably use the potty by ourselves without accidents.   If mom didn’t think we were ready, we would go back to diapers and start over.

            I don’t know what she would have done if we were the typical age for potty training, but I was still in diapers on my fifth birthday.  It was the same for Emily, and my youngest sister Bianca.

            I’m not sure how long my mom thought it would take to get me potty trained, but it took much longer than she thought.  We were in Australia for most of June and July, and we didn’t come home until the end of July.   Mom found a homeschool program for me, so we didn’t have to worry about starting school and still needing diapers.  The diapers were part of the reason, but she also wanted me to have harder work, so it worked out.

            I was still using diapers on my seventh birthday in September, and really didn’t make much progress until after that Christmas.    Emily was nearly four and finally started to move from diapers in February.  She was wearing underwear by her fourth birthday, which pushed me to start using the potty.   I remember being in diapers on her fourth birthday, and then mom finally let me wear Pull Ups.   Unfortunately, I still wasn’t ready, and I had two accidents my very first day in Pull ups.  We tried again six weeks later, and I didn’t even make it to Pull Ups.  That pattern continued all the way through my eighth birthday, and I was still in diapers on my eighth birthday.  

            Whether we had a birthday in diapers always became a tracking point for us.  We still remember which birthdays we were diapered, and which birthdays we were in underwear.   For me, I was in diapers on my first five birthdays.  And the only reason I got to wear underwear on my sixth birthday is that mom hoped it would help me get potty trained.  I was back in diapers on my seventh and eighth birthdays.   Emily was out of diapers by her fourth birthday, but that wasn’t the end of her struggles.

            I was now in second grade.  My mom was due with my little sister in December.   Emily was mostly dry during the daytime, but still using diapers at night.  I used diapers day and night, and mom started to pressure me to use the potty.  After a month, she finally had some success and I managed to ‘earn’ my big kid underwear.

            My sister, Bianca, was born just before that Christmas.  I still wet the bed but had only had occasional accidents during the day.  Emily barely had any accidents during the day and started to wake up dry at night.   I’m sure mom felt there was light at the end of the diaper tunnel.  Unfortunately, the addition of a baby sister caused Emily to regress.

            At first her bedwetting regressed, and then she started to wet and poop her pants.   She had two accidents, which meant taking a break and staying in diapers.   Mom didn’t have as much time for me, and I started to regress as well.   Once again, I was back in diapers.

            My mom kept us in diapers for about six weeks without doing anything to get us to the toilet.  In her mind, we weren’t ready to use the potty, so we were diapered just like any other toddler.  She continued with the baby treatment, but that didn’t really change much of what we thought was normal.  I had always slept in a crib.  If my diaper was wet at night, I had to sit in a highchair for breakfast. And our bedtimes were always about eight o’clock.  Other than the afternoon nap, not much changed.

            After six weeks, mom started to potty train us, but Emily didn’t seem to care.  Whenever we were in potty training mode together, Emily would usually be the first to earn underwear.  I typically didn’t make much progress until Emily started to use the toilet.  When I realized my little sister was using the potty, I would begin to get to the potty myself.  This was the first time I ever led the way.  I remember that Bianca was born in December, and we were both in diapers by the end of January.   By Emily’s fifth birthday in March, I was wearing Pull Ups and Emily was still in diapers.

            Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of my struggles.  I just never got to the point where mom would trust me to wear underwear until after my ninth birthday, and I was back in diapers on my ninth birthday.   Emily took more time and spent the whole year in diapers.  She was mostly potty trained and out of diapers by her sixth birthday in March and even got herself out of them at night.  That summer we went to Australia, and I was mostly potty trained, but still wearing diapers at night.   Mom had me wear Pull Ups during the flight to Australia, but Emily didn’t have to, because she wore panties to bed.  I stayed dry the whole time, but Emily peed her pants on the flight and had another accident in Australia.  Mom decided to put her back in diapers and She had to be potty trained when we got back.  Emily didn’t want to wear diapers to first grade, and a month later was completely out of diapers.   Even though she was younger than me, I at least was out of diapers before Emily.

            After all of that, I finally lived a somewhat normal childhood for the next few years.   I still had the occasionally accident at night, but they were slowly going away.  Mom let me go on a sleepover later in fourth grade and I willingly wore Goodnites to prevent embarrassment.   I usually didn’t sleep very good on sleepovers, so I never was wet.  A few months later mom wanted me to wear one, but I didn’t.  This time I did wet the bed, which was embarrassing.

            By fifth grade I’m not even sure if you could say that I wet the bed.    I remember that Emily went an entire year without any accident that year (she was eight), and mom made a big deal about her completing her toilet training.  She took out the rubber sheet and gave Emily a gift.   I was dry for a month, and then six weeks dry, and then I went three months dry, but I never made the full twelve months.

            I’m not sure what happened in sixth grade, but my bedwetting began to return.   Mom still tracked my accidents, and my percentages gradually grew.   I was wet 10% in December, 20% in February, and 30% in April.   It wasn’t enough to go back to diapers, but it was enough to be concerned.

[Babytom948]

Kinda clinical,no dialogue at all.

[Babypants]

Can't tell whether this is fiction or autobiography.  If it's fiction, the absence of dialog is glaring.

[spark]

13 hours ago, Babypants said:

Can't tell whether this is fiction or autobiography.  If it's fiction, the absence of dialog is glaring.

You have to be kidding me.   There isn't much dialog, but it's written from the perspective of an grown adult remember what happened when he was a kid.   And- to that it's glaring is gross hyperbole, because there is in fact dialog.   It's meant to be more of an introspective peace, so naturally it wouldn't necessarily be super heavy on dialog.  FTR- it's a fictional autobiography.  There obviously will be more dialog and character interaction as I set up characters

23 hours ago, Babytom948 said:

Kinda clinical,no dialogue at all.

I'm sorry it doesn't have the FAP power that you want.  The primary event so far is a seven year old boy, and there are no major characters except for mom and little sister.  What meaningful dialog can you have between a 4-year-old and seven-year-old?    I think your criticism is off base.

[spark]

Back to diapers

            At first Bianca looked like she was going to get out of diapers by her 3^rd birthday, which was record pace in our family.    That may seem the norm in some families, but both Emily and I were in diapers on our sixth birthday.  Emily was not diapered on her fourth birthday, but then regressed and stayed in diapers until Bianca was nearly two.  Bianca wanted to use the potty like her big sister and started to pee and poop in the potty.

            Unfortunately, Bianca started to hold her bowel movements and got very constipated.  She started to have frequent accidents, and then she had a very hard poop that caused her pain.   She refused to sit on the potty and mom put her back in diapers before her fourth birthday.

            She made some progress, but at the end of May she was still having accidents.   We were going back to Australia once school was out, so mom decided to just keep Bianca in diapers for the trip.

            I don’t know if that was a trigger, but I started wetting my bed a lot more often.  I had three consecutive wet nights, and mom said, “I think we are going to make some changes to take care of your bedwetting.”

            I got home from school that afternoon and saw the rails attached to my bed again.   These were rails that we could move up and down, and they came up to about four feet over the mattress.  It turned my bed into a crib.  I cried out, “Mom, why did you put the rails on my bed?”

            “You’re bedwetting is getting worse, so we have to put you back in diapers until it gets better.”

            “What?  I don’t need diapers.”

            “I’m afraid you do.  If you can string together some dry nights, you won’t have to.  But you’ve had three accidents in a row, and five in the last week.”

            Debating with my mom never worked.   She never changed her mind, and I would get in trouble if I kept trying.    And for some reason, I didn’t necessarily hate the idea of going back to diapers.   I didn’t understand it at the time, but I was kind of looking forward to it.  I just knew that I had to act like I was upset, so that’s what I did.

            I changed tactics to focus on the bed.  “Why do I have the rails on my bed?  It looks like a crib.”

            Mom gave a terse reply.  “It’s supposed to.  You can’t sleep in bed if you need diapers.”  I started to say something else, but mom shot me a harsh look.  “Am I going to have to put you in time out?”   I shook my head.   “Ok, go play.  I don’t want to hear from you until dinner.”

            The rest of the day seemed to drag on.  I was anxious for night and had a strange sense of excitement for my bedtime.   My brain was telling me that I should be upset and embarrassed that my mom was going to make me wear a diaper, but my body was saying “Alright, I’m going to wear a diaper again.”

            After dinner was cleared mom said to me, “Go up and take a shower, I’m going to give Bianca her bath.” 

            “But mom! It’s only 7 o’clock.”

Mom gave me a stern look and said, “It’s 7:15, your bedtime is 8:00.  Now get!”  She looked at Emily and asked, “Emily, do you want to take your bath now with Bianca, or do it after they go to bed.”  That was not unusual.  Emily might have been nine years old, but her bedtime was 8:30.  So mom would frequently ask if she wanted to take her bath with Bianca or wait.  Emily usually wanted to take a bath with her little sister.  I once heard her ask my mom, “Mommy, am I too old to get a bath from you?’

Mom’s response was, “You will know when you are too old.  Your sister likes taking baths with you, and it’s fun for all of us.  There’s nothing wrong with letting your mommy give you a bath.”   Emily seemed relieved to hear that mom wasn’t trying to rush her to the shower.

Emily and I would take baths together when we were little, but that stopped when I was six years old.  I was old enough to know boys and girls shouldn’t share bath time, and I didn’t want to take a bath with a girl.   My dad taught me how to take a shower, and I began to shower.   Even when I was diapered full-time, I was allowed to shower by myself, as long as I passed inspection.  If not, my dad would be there with me, which I didn’t like.

This was a Friday night, so I normally wouldn’t have a bedtime.   Mom was trying to wean me off bedtimes, and I was allowed to stay up if I wanted, provided I woke up by 8:30 and got enough sleep.  On school nights it was in my room by 9:30 and lights out by 10.  Now I was back to early bedtimes.

I came in and saw Bianca lying on the change pad while mom was finishing up with her.  She helped Bianca up and patted her rear.  She turned to me and said, “It’s Brian’s turn.”

“Can’t we do that in my room?”  I cried in a pouty way.

Mom wasn’t hearing any of it.  She exclaimed, “I’m getting tired of you whining.”  She picked up a pacifier and stuck it in my mouth.  I was very familiar with the pacifier treatment, and it was mom’s way of telling us we had exhausted our chances.  We had to keep it in our mouth until she was convinced, we would stop complaining.

Exhausted and beaten I laid down and let my mom put me in a diaper.   She was affectionate and it seemed like I was the only person in the world.  The baby powder and lotion mixed to this pleasant perfume that calmed me.   I was done fighting and just let my mom do her thing.  I heard Emily snicker a little bit, but mom quickly squelched it.  She looked at my sister and said in a firm tone, “Emily Jane, you know better than that.”

I couldn’t see her face, but a heard a muffled, “Sorry.”

We finished, and all three of us climbed up so mom could read us a story.   Storytime was another thing that I had given up as I got older and was always jealous that Emily and Bianca got to monopolize my mom for those fifteen minutes.  Mom finished the story and told Emily, “Emily, you can watch television while I get these two tucked in.”

This was the first time I had been sent to bed before my little sister, which I think was the point.  Mom wanted to make sure I realized diapers meant I was treated just like a little kid, and Emily wasn’t a little kid.  We walked to our bedrooms and mom said, “Bianca is first tonight, go and climb into your crib.  I’ll be there shortly to tuck you in.”

I had a twinge of dignity because mom was allowing me the freedom to be last.  I found out later that the child that needed her more always went last.   If Bianca had a bad day, mom would tuck me in first with a few sweet words and give Bianca more time.  But this time I needed my mommy more than Bianca did.

I had climbed into my bed/crib.  The rails on the side were dropped low enough for me to climb in.  Emily came to my door with a teddy bear in her hand.  At first, I thought she was going to tease me, and I was already starting to cry.  I tried to shout, “Get out!” in a strong manly way, but the sobs only made it sound like a whimper.   Emily spoke before I could start and said, “I’m sorry I laughed, and I’m sorry you have to wear diapers again.”   I saw the teddy bear was Tuffy, which was her favorite bear.  Emily loved teddy bears, but Tuffy was always the one she took when she could only take one.

Emily handed me Tuffy and said, “Here.”

I was confused and said, “That’s Tuffy, he’s your favorite.”

“I know, he’s the best bear when your sad, but you need him more tonight.”

I took Tuffy and wanted to say something more, but all I could say was a meek “Thank You.”

Mom watched the end of that exchange.  She whispered, “That’s very sweet of you,” to Emily as she walked out of the room.  She got close to me and said, “You look tired, do you just want the quick version tonight?”

My mom had many flaws as a parent, but was world class when it came to tucking us in.  No matter what, she always made sure we knew we were loved and secure when it was time to tuck us in.  Even when we had been super bad, she would do something to let us know she loved us.  Tuck-ins was another casualty of getting older, and having my mommy back was nice.

I looked at her and asked “Mommy, why do we have to do this?”  

I was afraid that it sounded whiney, but mom didn’t seem upset.  “Do you like to wake up in wet beds?”  I hated waking up in a wet bed, so I shook my head.  Mom continued, “Well, the diaper is going to allow you to be comfortable overnight.  If you can’t make it to the toilet, it’s better to wear a diaper.”

That made sense, and I replied, “I get that, but why this?”  I pointed to the bars on the bed.  “Why all the baby stuff?”

Mom smiled and said, “Do you know why babies get all of that care?”

“Because they don’t know how to do it by themselves, but I can.”

Mom nodded, and said, “It’s because they need it.  Did you know mommy used to wet the bed when she was your age?”

I already knew some of that, but not the full story.  “When you were twelve?”  I asked.

Mom replied, “Until I was fourteen.  In fact, I sometimes wet my knickers too.  And when I did, grandma used to make me wear nappies, like a baby.  When I complained, she told me that even though I could do this stuff by myself, I still needed somebody to care for me.  My accidents were my brain’s way of saying I still needed somebody to care for me like that.   I would stop when I didn’t need it anymore.  And she was right.   I wasn’t ready for that yet, but at fourteen I was.  Does that make sense?”

I didn’t completely understand.  “I guess so, but I want to be a big kid.”

She kissed me on the forehead and said, “I know you do, and you will get there.  Everybody is different.  Uncle Eddy needed nappies until he was sixteen.  Now it’s time to sleep.”  She pulled up the rails to it’s full height and said, “Stay in here until I get you.”

“What if I wake up at night needing to pee?”

“You never wake up, but the monitor is on if you do.  Just cry out and I’ll take you.”

My Uncle Eddy was my mom’s youngest brother, and the thought of him being in diapers at that age was strange.  Rather than make me feel better, it scared me.  Sixteen-year-old kids were high school age, which seemed like a true big kid.   It was three years away, and I wondered if I would still be in diapers until then.   I was determined to prove that I could stay dry at night and tried to stay awake just to make sure I wouldn’t pee.

I had no idea how late it was.  I had no clock in my room, but I could see sunlight come through the shades.  It was still light outside.   Our home was mostly isolated, but our neighbors had a pool, and I could hear kids playing.   Most of those kids were younger than me.  I was tired and clutched Tuffy hard against my chest.  I looked around and felt strangely secure.

[Sarah Penguin]

[spark]

36 minutes ago, Sarah Penguin said:

That means a lot coming from you.

[spark]

Saturday and Sunday

I’m not sure how long I held out, but I don’t think it was very long.   I drifted off to sleep and the next thing I remember was my mom waking me up.   She cheerily said, “Good morning, how did you sleep?”

I never understood why people asked that.  Because I always slept well.   I was one of those kids who zonked out once my head hit the pillow.  My mom used to say I could sleep through a freight train.   I answered, “Pretty good.”

She dropped the rail and put her hand on my diaper.   “Are you wet?”

I shrugged my shoulders.  I was still too groggy to think and couldn’t remember much about the night.  “I don’t know.”

Mom felt the diaper and said, “It is wet.   I guess that’s why you’re wearing a diaper.”   Right away I noticed the difference in tone from the previous morning.   Mom tried not to get upset at me when I wet the bed, but I could tell she was disappointed when I was wet on Friday morning.  I was wet again, but this time I was in a diaper and mom didn’t seem remotely disappointed.  She said, “Let’s have breakfast, and then we’ll take care of that diaper.”

This was the same routine that we had when I was younger.  If my diaper was dry mom would take it off and let me get dressed and then get breakfast.   But if I was wet, I would eat breakfast first in the wet diaper.   And since I was wearing a diaper, I would sit in a highchair.  I was hoping to avoid that, and asked “Can’t I change first?”

“That’s not how it works.  I’ll change you after breakfast.”

I didn’t want to push this much further and risk a serious punishment, so I replied with a muffled, “Fine.”  For a twelve-year-old boy wearing a diaper, it was a pretty good impression of a teenager’s sulk.

  Mom ignored my sulk and walked with me to the kitchen.  I suspect if I was a tad bit smaller, mom may have opted to carry me, but even my slender sixty pounds was a little difficult to carry.   Dad was making waffles, which I always enjoyed, but I also realized why there were two highchairs on the table.  “Do I have to sit there?” I begged.  It was directed at mom, but I was hoping my dad might come to my defense.

Mom didn’t bite.  She just replied, “Until this stops, yes.”  I reluctantly got in my highchair.  Mom cut mine and Bianca’s waffles into bite sized pieces and placed it on the tray.

As much as I hated the humiliation, this was the norm in our family.  Emily knew better than to snicker, and it was not that long ago that she had been subjected to the same treatment.  I don’t know if Bianca realized it wasn’t normal.  My dad might have been an ally, but he never seemed to interfere.   My dad unfortunately passed away a few years after I finished college, and I never knew how he felt about all of this.  He did admit that he had wet the bed when he was a kid, and he was punished severely by his parents for it.   His dad, my grandpa, apparently used to whip him for wetting the bed, and then would make him run laps around the block.  His mom would berate him and call him names when he wet.   I never really got to know my dad’s parents.  I met my grandmother when I was seven and remembered that I didn’t like her, she was a mean lady.

Fortunately, my dad was not a bad man.  My mom was clearly the dominant force in the marriage and was the main breadwinner.  But I always enjoyed doing things like camping, fishing, and building things with my dad.   He did all the daddy/daughter dances and just adored his kids.  Dad taught me how to ride a motorcycle and after high school we went on a road trip together.   But he never interfered with my mom on the toileting issues.  Mom was almost always around to change diapers, and I don’t recall my dad ever taking part.  He certainly wasn’t going to take part when I was nearly a teenager.

I finished my breakfast and mom let us down from the highchair.  She first changed Bianca and then me.  She gave me a slight leg massage, kissed me on the forehead, and sent me to my room to dress for my day.  My big kid status was restored for the next ten hours.

I’m not sure what happened, but I remember it felt just like it did right before I peed in the toilet.  My bladder muscles just seemed to do the opposite of what it would typically do, and I felt the pee drip into my underpants.   I froze and realized what I had just done.   I peed my pants!   I hadn’t peed my pants since I was nine.  I looked down at my shorts, and there wasn’t much evidence so far.  I could see the outline of a spreading damp spot and knew that ignoring this very long would only make it spread further.  I wondered how mom would react if she knew.   I didn’t think I would go directly back to diapers, but it would put me on the watch list.   I went to my bedroom, being careful to avoid my parents, and changed my pants- hiding the old pair in the bottom of the laundry basket.   As far as I knew, I had gotten away with it.

Saturday night was the same as Friday, but I was used to the routine.  I ate another breakfast in the highchair and was back to being a typical twelve-year-old boy by 9 o’clock Sunday morning.   I was working on my fort in the back yard and felt the same feeling again.  However, I was engrossed in my project, and didn’t want the disruption.  I felt a little bit of pee come out, but when I tried to stop the stream more came out.  Enough that a puddle formed, and Emily noticed.  I looked at Emily and said, “Don’t tell mom.”

Mom heard that and asked, “Don’t tell mom what?”  I stammered and mom noticed my wet pants. Mom replied, “Don’t tell me you wet yourself.”  She was clearly disappointed and tried not to let on how upset she was.   “All right, when did this happen?”

I looked confused and answered, “I don’t know.”

Mom replied, “What, you don’t know when you wet yourself.”   She grabbed my hand and began to pull me inside.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Inside to get some nappies.”

“What?  Please, I don’t need diapers.”  I was beginning to cry.

Mom stopped and looked me firmly in the eye.  “Look, you just told me you don’t know when you wet yourself, and don’t think I don’t know about your accident yesterday.  If you don’t know when you pee yourself, you need to go back to nappies.  We aren’t dealing with this right now.”

“It happened outside.  I was in my fort.”

Mom replied, “Ok, show me.”   We went to my fort and mom saw the small puddle.   “Why did you wet yourself?”

At some point you can’t think of a logical lie, so only the truth would work.   “I was working on the wall and needed to pee.  I thought I could hold it, but then it just came out.”

Mom said, “Ok, let’s practice.   Say to Emily, ‘Excuse me, I have to go to the potty.’”

“Mom!” I rolled my eyes.

“I’m not kidding, say it!”   Her tone was calm, but firm.

“Excuse me, I need to use the potty.”

Mom looked at Emily and said, “Honey, can you stay here, Brian needs to practice getting to the potty.”

We walked to the toilet and mom said, “Now sit on the potty.”

I whined, “But I don’t need to go now.”

Mom was getting upset but didn’t make a threat.  “You need to practice sitting on the potty.”  I sat on the toilet and simulated peeing in the toilet.  “Pull up your pants and wash your hands.”  I did that, and mom said, “Do you know what to do you now?”  I nodded, and mom replied, “Good, now do it again.”

This used to happen when I was in kindergarten and mom was trying to potty train me.  This time I went back and forth between my sister and mother and repeated it four more times.  Finally, mom was satisfied that I had learned my lesson and told me to clean up and get new pants.  She warned me “Please don’t hide accidents from me in the future.”

[Pierry Louys]

Like the way you put flashbacks and the sametime we see everything happening ! Like a narrator in the wonder years series !!

[spark]

1 hour ago, Pierry Louys said:

Like the way you put flashbacks and the sametime we see everything happening ! Like a narrator in the wonder years series !!

Thank you, that's kind of where I'm going

[Sarah Penguin]

[spark]

Monday

Later that night I was lying in my crib and thought about what happened.  I peed my pants two times over the weekend, but I didn’t know why.  Both times it just kind of happened.  I wasn’t sure if they were really accidents, or did I just let it happen.   I wondered if I could stop them if I wanted.  I began to think about Australia.   If I was having accidents like this when I was younger, mom would put me in a diaper for the whole trip.   But I wasn’t a little kid anymore.   What would mom do if I had any more accidents?

I thought, “This has to stop.  I’m almost a teenager.  I’m not going to be in diapers when I’m thirteen years old!”    Once again, I tried to stay up as long as possible, but it was really boring sitting in my crib, and eventually I fell asleep.   The next thing I remembered was my mom checking my diaper.

Mom had a cheery demeanor, which made me think I had stayed dry, but then I felt the soggy diaper.  Mom didn’t seem to mind, “Looks like you peed a lot, I’ll have to change you before school.”

“Can I sit in a regular chair?”

Mom looked annoyed and shook her head.  “Not if you’re wearing a diaper.”

“But I don’t need them during the day.”

Mom was even more annoyed and stuck a pacifier in my mouth.  “Really?  I hope so.”

Once again, I sat in the highchair and ate my breakfast.   I felt the familiar urge and wondered if mom would let me use the toilet.  But then how would mom react if I filled my diaper in the highchair?   Either way, I decided to hold it.  Fortunately, we didn’t have much time before school.  Mom only gave me five minutes and then said, “We need to get you ready for school.”

But the change wasn’t rushed.  I laid down on the pad and mom carefully took away the soggy diaper.   She wiped my butt and looked at the brown wipe.  “Why aren’t you wiping yourself?  I didn’t know what to say.  After mom finished, she handed me some underwear and said, “Don’t hold your pee today.  Make sure you go every hour.”

Mom was talking to me like I was just a little kid.   I knew that if this continued, and I had any more accidents between Monday and Friday, I would be back in diapers.  And that would be for the entire two months that we were in Australia, and then would have to be potty trained after.   If I failed, it might be another six months before I would earn my underwear and I would have to live under the diaper rules the entire time.  I was determined not to let that happen.

Mom must have emailed my teacher before school, because she took me aside and said, “I understand you’ve had bladder issues lately.”   I blushed, and she said, “Don’t worry about it, I’m sure it’s not a big deal.  But if you need to go, just wave your hand to let me know, and then go.”

I now had a level of freedom that few 6^th graders ever have.  I could just leave class whenever I wanted.   This was the last week of school, and we weren’t doing all that much in class.   I didn’t have to wait until recess, and I wanted to get the most of last recesses I would have.  I left the class to use the bathroom three times.  Normally Ms. Martin would get mad if you asked to go more than once a week.

I made it through the entire day without wetting myself and felt strangely proud.  I was wondering ‘Why do I feel proud?  I’m almost a teenager, and this is something I’ve been doing for nearly 4 years.’   Mom asked how school was, which I think was code for “Did you wet yourself?”

I answered, “It was fine.  Ms. Martin told me I could go to the bathroom whenever I wanted to.”

Mom replied, “That’s good.  I emailed her in the morning to let her know that you’ve had some problems this weekend, and to keep an eye on you.”  She paused just a bit, and then warned, “Let me know if you are even just a little bit wet.  I hope you’re still dry when it’s time for bed.”

I was a bit annoyed that mom didn’t seem to trust me.  I guess I had earned that, because I wasn’t forthcoming with my first accident, and my other accident was big enough that it was easy to spot.  We got out of our school clothes and mom sent us outside to play.

This was another privilege of being older, because mom would let me ride my bike throughout our development, while Emily was only allowed to stay on our street.  This was a privilege that I had earned recently, because mom wanted to prepare me for the freedoms of being a teenager.   My friend Bobby and I went to the skateboard park and rode our skateboards for a few hours.   I wasn’t very good, and worried that the bigger kids would bully me, but they mostly ignored us.  It was kind of fun and I kind of forgot about my bladder.   I started to feel the pressure and knew I was about to pee, but I was able to stop it until I could get to the bathroom.   That was a little close, but I was still dry when I got home.

I resolved to stay dry not only during the day, but during the night.   I was worried mom would make me wear diapers on the flight to Sydney.  I also know that I would be subjected to diaper rules at my grandma’s house, unless I could convince mom that I didn’t need nighttime diapers.   She might give me underwear if I stayed dry until Friday morning.

We finished story time and I asked, “Mom, I need to pee before bedtime.”  I was trying hard not to sound like a baby, and not use ‘mommy’ or ‘potty’, which for some reason had become a regular habit once I was in my diapers.

Mom thought this was just a stalling tactic.  “You just went, and it’s bedtime.  Just cry out if you need to potty overnight.”

“Ple-ease mommy, I don’t want a wet diaper.”  So much for my hope of acting like a big kid.  I was now begging my mommy to take me to the potty.

Mom was annoyed and replied, “Emily, can you take your brother to the potty.  Make sure he goes.”  She turned to me and said, “No standing.”

I was going to complain about Emily watching me pee in the toilet, but I quickly realized that was not a good idea.  Mom was already annoyed, and any further pouting would end up getting me into more trouble.  I resigned myself to having my little sister take me to the potty like a was just a little kid.

Emily had amazing powers to switch between the big and little sister role.  I guess she had always been used to the notion that diapers meant you were effectively a three-year-old, regardless of your biological age.   That’s how it’s always been.  My mom was also trying to emphasize Emily’s big sister role once I got put back in diapers.  Emily tended to regress at times when she didn’t get the same attention.  Bianca and I were getting more of the attention, so mom wanted to let Emily help with the diaper changes and getting us ready for bed.

The extra trip and attention to my bladder worked.  Mom was there in the morning and checked my diaper.  “It’s still dry.”  Mom seemed surprised, but I couldn’t tell if she was happy, or disappointed.  Either way, she took off my dry diaper and let me get dressed for school.  I was back to being a big kid, and no highchair.

[Sarah Penguin]

 

[wetdiaper55]

nice story

[spark]

Tuesday Morning

It was field day at school, and that was just like a long recess.   We travelled around the different activities, and I soon got lost in the action.  I suddenly felt the same pressure, and even felt some pee come out.  I tried to stop it and felt a little more come out.   I looked down at my shorts and saw a small damp spot.  It wasn’t big, and the dark color hid it.  Fortunately, it wasn’t noticeable, but my underwear was wet enough that it grew by the end of the day.  Mom noticed the discoloration, and asked, “Did you wet your pants?”

I was stuck.  I guess I could have lied and say I spilled on my pants, but it was right in front of my penis.  Mom would have been suspicious and checked.   She probably would have realized it was pee, and I would be put back in diapers.   But I wasn’t sure what would happen if I told her that I had wet my pants, especially if I admitted I wasn’t paying attention.  And this time it was a real accident.   Unfortunately, I was a terrible liar, and mom could always tell when I wasn’t being truthful.   My mom was like a human lie detector, and my face always gave away my lies.   “I peed at little bit, but then I stopped it.”

Mom looked disappointed and said, “It looks like it was more than just a little bit.”

Everybody was quiet for the ride home.  Bianca was lost in her world and barely realized I had peed my pants, but Emily knew I had wet my pants for the third time in four days.  The last time I had a string of potty accidents like that, mom said “It doesn’t look like you’re ready to use the potty.  Let’s take a break,” and she put me back in diapers.

We parked, and mom coldly said, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”   Mom and I walked into the nursery, and I wondered if mom would reach for a diaper.  She grabbed a Pull Up, and said, “I’m really concerned about your potty accidents.  That’s three accidents in the last week, and you’ve been wet every single night.”

“Not last night.” I protested.

“Ok, almost every single night.  It’s still not what I expect from a twelve-year-old.  You’ve always been slower in that department.  Do you just want to go back to diapers?”

I shook my head, and said, “No, I want to be a big kid.”

“Good, I don’t want you to be a baby either.   At least you admitted that you wet yourself.  I’m going to let you prove that you can use the potty on your own.   You will have to wear Pull Ups, and if you don’t have any accidents, you can get your underwear back for our trip.  If not, you will have to go back to diapers.  I can’t have you wetting your pants on our trip.  Do you understand?”

I nodded, and asked, “What about the flight?”

Mom replied, “I guess wearing diapers on the plane isn’t right for a big boy, huh?”  I nodded.   “Ok, if you are dry, I’ll let you wear Pull Ups on the plane.”

“Thank you, but what happens if I wet the Pull Ups?”

“Then you stay in diapers.”

She handed me the Pull Up and said, “Now be a big boy and get yourself changed.”

I put the Pull Up on and changed my clothes.  Mom pulled down the front of my shorts and checked my Pull Up in front of my sister.  I guess she just wanted to check if I was wearing the Pull Ups.

My mom wasn’t threatening me.  This was a promise.  I had four days to prove I didn’t need diapers, and the only way I would do that is if I stayed dry the whole time.   Of course, that should not have been a big deal.   Just a week earlier it was unthinkable that I would even wet my pants.

I was surprised that my mom wouldn’t let me go to the skate park, but I wasn’t allowed to go there by myself while wearing Pull Ups.   I guess I was more like a little kid, and mom didn’t trust me to be that far from home.   At least I wasn’t very far from a bathroom, and I was still dry when mom checked my Pull Up that evening.  One day down, and three more left.

The next day was the last day of school, and my last day in elementary school.   I had spent most of my school life in home school because of potty issues.  I was also pretty advanced for my class, but I had spent the last two years at a regular school with no issues.  This was the first time I had to wear Pull Ups to school since kindergarten.

I was very aware of the Pull Ups and didn’t want anybody to see me.  Fortunately, we didn’t’ have to do much of anything that day, and I had a pair of regular underwear over the Pull Up to conceal it even further.  Unfortunately, I began to pee while I was standing in line for our class party.    It was barely an hour into the day, and I was already wet.

If I didn’t have the Pull Up, my friends would have noticed, but the Pull Up contained all the pee.   However, I couldn’t think of a way to keep this from my mom.   I didn’t want to take off the wet Pull Up in the bathroom and risk having one of my classmates see it.   A kid found a used Pull Up in the 5^th grade bathroom once and made a big deal trying to find out who was the culprit.   I didn’t want to be the guy who got caught.   I also was smart enough that I knew my mom would know something happened if I wasn’t wearing a Pull Up.   She was going to check it as soon as I got home and would know if I took it off.

Eventually I just stopped thinking about it.  I know it’s hard to imagine, but the Pull Up absorbed enough of the pee that I didn’t even notice that I was that wet.   I knew I had done it, but I was more concerned with the class party and celebrating the fact that I had finally reached middle school.   However, that feeling of accomplishment was knocked down a peg by the urine-soaked padding under my shorts.

I was so excited when mom picked us up that I didn’t even remember that I had peed in the Pull Up.   Fortunately, mom waited until we parked at home to check.   She didn’t even ask if I was wet.  She just put her hand on my crotch and said, “It feels like you peed.  Let me check closer.” It felt like an executioner as she unbuttoned my shorts and dropped them just enough to notice the swollen Pull Up.  

I thought my mom would yell at me, but mom just seemed disappointed and sighed.   “I guess you need more time.   You need a break from this potty training.  Let’s get you changed.”

Mom took my hand and walked to my room/nursery.   I tried to resist, but mom had a firm enough hold that it was hard to escape.  I probably could have gotten free, but it would have taken a hard tug.  And where would I go after that.   I tried to negotiate my way out of this.   “Please mom, I can do it myself.”

Mom wasn’t hearing it, and calmly said, “We’ve been through this.  No, you can’t.  You’re not ready.   I can’t trust you to take care of the mess and use the potty by yourself.”

I started to sob and beg.  “Please mommy, I’m not a baby.  I can do it.”  Mom didn’t match my meltdown.  The more emotional I got, the calmer she got.  

I begged, “I don’t want to wear diapers.  Please don’t make me.” 

Mom took a pacifier out and put it in my mouth.  “That’s enough of that.  Brian, I don’t want to put you back in diapers, but I don’t trust you to use the potty.”

I pulled the pacifier from my mouth to protest some more, which was always a big no-no when my mom was using the pacifier as discipline.  We called it ‘The Pacifier Punishment’ which mom used whenever we pouted or talked backed.  She even used it on us when we were teenagers.   Mom looked at me and with a firm voice said, “You know better than that.  Put that back in your mouth.”  She must have used some kind of Jedi mind trick because that’s what I did.   “let’s go to the corner.  I want you to calm down and think.   I’ve got to get Bianca down for her nap.  Stay in the corner until I get back.”   She pulled down my shorts, which left me only in the wet pull up.   She turned to Emily and said, “Make sure he stays in the corner.”

I don’t know how long I was in the corner.  I was still mad when mom came back, but I was beaten.  I had no more resistance left.  I stopped fighting and followed mom to my nursery.   Mom cleaned me up, and then put a fresh diaper under my bottom.  She kept saying “I know you’re upset.  I want you to calm down.  It will be all right.  You’ll be fine.”   She finished with the diaper and said, “You’re tired and cranky, and it’s naptime.  We’ll talk after you wake up from your nap.”

I laid down in my crib and mom turned out the lights.  I was upset, but I was mostly upset at myself.  How could I allow this to happen?  I peed my pants five times in less than a week, and now I was going to be in diapers for the next two months.   It wasn’t just the diapers, but the whole baby treatment.   And this wasn’t going to be some temporary thing.   My mom didn’t think the crib, highchairs and bottles were meant as punishment.  She seemed to think that I needed those things.

There was no way for me to know how long I was in my crib.  There was no clock, and I couldn’t really see anything through the shades.   I got home after lunch, but then had to stand in the corner before mom put me in diapers.   I resigned myself to my fate and fell asleep.

I guess it was about 3:30 when mom came in, dropped the rail and sat next to me.   My tantrum was over, but I was still upset.  Mom asked, “How are you doing?”

I wanted to scream, “What do you think?  You put me in a f-ing diaper!”, but that would only get me in more trouble.   I took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry I had so many accidents.   Do I have to wear diapers all the time?”

Mom nodded and said, “Yes, at least for a while.”

“Why?”  I was trying not to whine and hoping that I could convince her that I was mature.  Unfortunately, my lack of maturity was exactly why I was in this position.

“I’m afraid that you will keep having accidents, and it’s better to just start fresh when you’re ready.”

“But I can use the potty by myself.”

“You were, but not anymore.  The diaper stays until that stops.”

“How long will I be in diapers?”

“You need a break from potty training.  We will have to wait until we get back from Australia to try again.”

“How can I show you that I’m ready to use the potty if I have to use diapers?”

“That’s the point of the break.  It gives you time to think about it.”

Mom led me to the living room, and I saw a playpen set up.  With my mom, the punishment didn’t just end with the timeout.  Normally, when I wasn’t in diapers, the punishment after a meltdown was time in my room, and then something that related to the tantrum.  So, if Emily and I fought, we would be sent to our rooms to cool down, but then we would have to stay in the same room until we proved that we wouldn’t fight with each other.  That might sound cruel, but Emily and I stopped fighting after that.   However, this time the punishment included a playpen because I wasn’t a big kid anymore.

“Mom, do I need all the baby stuff?”

“Until you stop pouting, I need you to stay in the playpen.  If you’re good and don’t whine, you won’t need it.  I’ll even give you some big kid privileges, if you show me that you can handle them.”  That’s how my mom handled our discipline.  If we got in trouble, we lost privileges.  If we were patient and didn’t try to negotiate with her, she would give them back, but the more we fought her, the longer we were stuck.  I had no choice but to play in the play pen.

My dad travelled a lot for his job.  He broadcasted baseball games and travelled with the team.   He had been gone for ten days, which was five days before mom put me back in diapers at night.   He typically worked at nights during the baseball season and was sleeping when mom was dealing with the wet beds, so I didn’t know how much he knew about it.

In the past, dad had always followed mom’s lead when it came to the potty-training issues.   He didn’t make a big deal about the diapers, nor did he seem to care about the baby treatment.   However, I hoped he would think it was ridiculous to treat a twelve-year-old like a toddler.  Unfortunately, my dad’s attitude was the opposite.  It was ridiculous for a twelve-year-old to wet his pants, and he had no issues with mom treating me like a baby.

Dad came through the door and my sisters ran to the door to greet him.  “DADDY!” they cried in unison.   I was confined to the playpen and couldn’t greet him.  I also was ashamed and stayed silent.  Dad came to the playpen and said, “I hear you’ve been having potty accidents.”  I shamefully nodded.   “Well, I’m sorry that you need to stay in diapers, but it’s better than dealing with accidents.”

“Can’t I just use Pull Ups?”

“Mommy told me you just used those as a diaper.   I’m afraid it’s diapers until you can stop wetting yourself.”

There it was.  I was no longer a soon-to-be teenage boy with burgeoning independence.  I was now a three-year-old little boy who wasn’t even potty trained, and I would be that way for the next two months.

[Pierry Louys]

Loved the chapter 

[Sarah Penguin]

[spark]

2 hours ago, Pierry Louys said:

Loved the chapter 

Thank you;+

I'm about one chapter ahead of my posting, but I have to finish editing the chapter. 

This chapter was easier to write because it flowed pretty easily from the dry night to the eventual diaper.  The one I just wrote is the most interesting, because I have to address the fine line between an abusive environment and loving family.  I also get into Brian's self-awareness in regards to how he feels about his diapers.

I doubt I can get it edited until Saturday- at the earliest, because I have to deal with a monster that is even worst than the potty monster.  It's the work monster.

[Pierry Louys]

Yeayyyyy