forced regression Alternative Therapies

[SweetLittleEmily]

On 8/11/2023 at 9:47 AM, nadine_enough said:

I only just found and read this story recently and I really like it. It's really well written. I love it when older sisters end up back in diapers while their younger siblings succeed with potty training. Really looking forward to reading more, thanks for sharing!

 

On 8/12/2023 at 12:10 AM, CCApril said:

I really like this story. Is mom playing the long game? Did she really pay for school?  She let a lot more people know about her daughters state than she implied at the start.

It seems that Emily has reached the regression bottom and is ready to accept potty training both mentally and physically. But is mom?

Thanks!

[ItsYourBoi]

Just wanna say i really like this

[CDfm]

I just saw this and read what you have. I must say you are doing a fantastic job writing. The story is flowing very well and it’s a pleasure to read. 
I am curious as to how mom has been able to cause Emily’s regression. The way things are going though she isn’t going to need to worry about what cloths to pack for school in London. All she is going to be wondering is what mommy packed for the nursery in the event her diaper should leak. Eventually Sophie will likely be in charge of her care. 
I am looking forward to reading more of this. 

[SweetLittleEmily]

Chapter 13

I awoke the next morning completely rejuvenated. For me, waking up so rested in the early morning hours was still an unfamiliar sensation, but it showed that the habit of going to bed early was at least beneficial in one aspect.

I turned my head to the side, allowing my gaze to drift slowly across the dimly lit room. It eventually came to rest on my sister's bed, nestled in the far corner of the room. Her gentle, rhythmic breathing and closed eyes confirmed that she was still sleeping. This was an uncommon sight in the morning for me. I realized that for the first time since my therapy had begun and I shared a room with my sister, I had woken up before her.

It was somehow strange to wake up in such total silence. Typically, when I woke up, the room was enveloped by the familiar sounds of daily life - the gentle chatter of my sister, my mother's voice, and the inevitable creaking of footsteps in the house. However, this morning was an exception; an encompassing silence reigned in the room, punctuated only intermittently by the rhythm of raindrops drumming against the window pane.

From my bed, through the window, I could see a sky painted with heavy, dark clouds. The sun, which would usually have begun to spread its soft glow across the landscape by this time, was utterly concealed. The gloomy weather outside didn't match the state of mind in which I had awakened. For the first time in weeks, I felt a sense of inner peace, a sort of equilibrium that I had missed for a long time. Lea, with her speech and her kind of care, had truly managed to kindle within me a newfound hope and enthusiasm.

Feeling at peace with myself and the world, I nestled deeper into my bed. I was enjoying the quiet before my mother would wake us up. Without thinking much about it, I comfortably emptied what was left in my bladder—what my body hadn't already expelled during sleep—into my diaper. The diaper, which had been cool, damp, and uncomfortable, now matched the welcoming warmth and coziness that enveloped me under the rest of my duvet.

It was only after I completely emptied my bladder that I realized it would have made more sense to use my potty for my little business. Not necessarily because it would have significantly changed the wet state my mother would find my diaper in - after all, the diaper had already been wet before. It was more about the fact that in the long run, I would only get dry if I consistently tried to use the potty. Until now, I had lived by the principle that it made no difference whether I peed in an already wet diaper or not, because sooner or later it would become apparent anyway that I had not managed to stay dry. In fact, I had preferred to use an already wet diaper again instead of signaling to a caregiver that I needed to go potty - so at least my wet diaper and failure had not always been noticed immediately.

But it was Lea who had opened my eyes and made it clear to me that becoming dry was a process—a process one primarily went through for themselves and not for others. Through her, I realized that every single step counted, that one mustn't relent, even when faced with setbacks, and ultimately, it mattered less what others saw or noticed, but more about recognizing one's own progress. So, instead of being upset with myself and the world as I would have been in the past, I calmly accepted my setback and simply resolved to visit my potty more consistently in the future.

The soft creaking of footsteps suddenly echoed down the hallway. The sound grew steadily closer until, finally, the door to our room slowly opened. My mother peered in, offering a loving smile when she noticed I was already awake. "Good morning, sweetheart," she said gently, approached my bed, and planted a kiss on my forehead. The fatigue etched on my mother's face was unmistakable. God knows how long she had been occupied in her law firm the previous night. When she glanced at the bed on the other side of the room and noticed my sister was still asleep, she decided to let her continue resting. She then turned to the wardrobe to pick out our outfits for the day.

Loaded with a bundle of clothes, she finally closed the wardrobe doors and placed the portion of clothes she'd chosen for my sister on the chair next to her bed. The remaining pieces, clearly picked out for me, she laid out on the changing table. She then gently woke my sister and asked her to get dressed while she asked me to lie down on the changing table.

"So, how did it go with Lea yesterday?" my mother inquired, half yawning casually as she loosened the tapes on my diaper with heavy eyes. A smile crept onto my face as my thoughts drifted to Lea. "It was nice. Lea is really great," I returned sincerely, which brought a satisfied smile to my mother's face. "So, has Lea gained another fan in this house? So can I hire her again in the future when I need a babysitter?" she asked with a grin. I enthusiastically nodded in agreement. It was hard to believe that I was actually looking forward to the prospect of being babysat again.

As my mother disposed of my wet diaper in the diaper pail, her gaze fell back on Sophie. Sophie sat motionless on the edge of her bed, still half asleep and still clad in her pajamas. Normally, Sophie was always wide awake in the morning, but the later bedtime seemed to have taken its toll on her as well. "Sophie, no daydreaming, it's time to wake up," my mother admonished her with the familiar slightly nagging tone that all mothers seem to master, "Take off your pajamas and get into your clothes!"

Sophie reluctantly got rid of her pajamas. Then she picked up the first item from the pile of clothes - her Snow White underwear. Instantly, her face lit up with joy. As she put them on, a realization seems to hit her. This was going to be a special day. For the first time ever, she was going to kindergarten without wearing pull-ups or diapers. Her excitement was clear and her smile was radiant.

A twinge of envy washed over me as I glanced at Sophie in her undergarments. I too owned an identical set of Snow White undergarments. It was in this moment, I yearned to don the very underwear that I, just weeks prior, had considered profoundly childish. This seemingly trivial garment had suddenly become a symbol of maturity, a status I desperately wished to attain. However, as I dwelled on it, I felt that the goal of this maturity appeared further out of reach than ever before.

Rather than guiding me into one of the Snow White underwear, eagerly waiting in the drawer to be adorned by me, my mother, after a swift cleaning of my nether regions, unveiled a fresh diaper, much to my surprise. Initially, I attributed this to her being in a somewhat drowsy state, possibly mistaking the diaper for the usual pull-ups. But as she started to explain her decision in response to my surprised look, not only did my hope that it was simply a mistake fade, but also my newfound optimism regarding my situation.

"Emily, I know you've always worn pull-ups at kindergarten," my mother began explaining in response to my surprised look, "but yesterday, I had a very detailed phone call with Mrs. Weber. She told me about your frequent accidents, and together we concluded that it's currently best for you to wear diapers at kindergarten, until you manage to use your potty more regularly."

"But, …, but..." I desperately searched for the right words, "I don't want to wear diapers. No other girl in the big group wears diapers. The other kids will laugh at me," I sobbed, tears uncontrollably rolling down my cheeks.

"Emily, no one will laugh at you. Besides, we have decided that you will be moving to the younger group for now. Many children there still wear diapers anyway. You currently need more support than Mrs. Weber can provide in the older group. The younger group has significantly fewer children, so the kindergarten teacher there can better attend to your needs," she revealed, dropping another piece of news that felt like another punch in my gut.

My mother's words echoed in my ears. I could feel more and more tears streaming down my cheeks. The crushing realization that I required more support in a group that I was actually too old for than the caregiver could provide, felt like a stab to my heart.

I had been well aware that I had peed my pants more often than the other children in the group, but I only now became aware of the full extent. A wave of shame wash over me that seemed to almost swallow me up. A feeling of powerlessness spread through me, making me feel small and helpless. The confident feeling with which I had awakened this morning had completely vanished.

"Emily, it's only temporary, until you get better at using your potty," my mother tried to console me. Yet, her words couldn't lift the weight that was now pressing on my chest. Trapped in my sadness and frustration, I fell into a silent stupor, unable to utter a word or make a move. If everyone believed that I was a baby, then I might as well behave like one completely. From now on, I would simply not do anything at all, I decided defiantly.

After my mother had tried several times in vain to get me to lift my hands so she could remove the top of my pajamas, she took matters into her own hands. With some effort, as I was not willing to move a single muscle, she peeled off my pajama top and pulled a dress covered with colorful children's drawings over me.

Since I didn't move to the bathroom to brush my teeth on my own, my mother eventually picked me up and carried me there. She gently placed me on a stool in front of the sink. With a practiced hand, she squeezed a small amount of toothpaste onto my Minnie Mouse toothbrush and tried to pass it to me. Yet, all her encouraging words and attempts to get me to grab the toothbrush were unsuccessful. After several failed attempts to win the silent power struggle, a flicker of desperation filled her eyes. A quick glance at the clock made her groan; she grabbed the toothbrush and gently opened my mouth. With calm, mechanical movements, she brushed my teeth while I quietly and impassively let her. Visibly drained and at the edge of her patience, she then carried me to the wardrobe where she put on my shoes and jacket. A silent form of satisfaction filled me as my mother, with her face covered in sweat and fatigue, carried me to the car and buckled me into my child seat.

However, my satisfaction quickly faded as I realized that a dress was probably the most unsuitable garment to hide a diaper while sitting in a child seat. No matter what I did, the seatbelts prevented me from pulling the dress far enough down to hide the diaper underneath. In addition, the five-point harness that held me securely in my seat constantly pressed the diaper against my skin.

In the meantime, I had figured out how to release the child safety lock on the belts of my seat. All it took was a pointed object like a key, carefully inserted into the narrow slot next to the buckle while pressing the release button. But naturally, I didn't have such an item on hand. So I had no choice but to sit through the drive to kindergarten with my diaper visible to anyone who looked into the car.

My gaze landed on Sophie, who was also already sitting in her child seat in the back. I couldn't help but notice how much more grown-up her clothes seemed compared to my colourful dress. Her short jeans, her simple t-shirt, and her rain jacket, unlike my clothes, bore no colourful children's patterns. And in her crotch, there was no thick diaper adorned with little princesses and unicorns, as was the case with me. Embarrassingly, I noticed that Sophie not only looked more mature than I did, but she had also behaved so this morning. While I had stubbornly resisted every action like a toddler, she had dressed herself, brushed her teeth on her own, and even went to the toilet by herself. I may have been the older of the two of us, but I had behaved like a small, whiny child.

[nadine_enough]

25 minutes ago, SweetLittleEmily said:

Besides, we have decided that you will be moving to the younger group for now.

This is one of my favorite tropes, now the older sister is treated as the little one. I like the struggle between Emily's resolve to work harder towards potty training and then her decision to immediately give up and throw a silent tantrum after the very next setback.

Thanks for the update and continuing to share this story!

[CDfm]

Wonderful new chapter. 
I guess it’s easy to agree with Emily’s decision to act like the baby she is being treated like.  At the same time, it was her accidents and actions that led to their treatment. She seems to understand that at least a little bit but is her being stubborn going to keep her in with the babies?  I hope to find out very soon. 

[SweetLittleEmily]

On 8/29/2023 at 1:01 AM, nadine_enough said:

This is one of my favorite tropes, now the older sister is treated as the little one. I like the struggle between Emily's resolve to work harder towards potty training and then her decision to immediately give up and throw a silent tantrum after the very next setback.

Thanks for the update and continuing to share this story!

Thank you! I also like this kind of stories the most😊

[BabyGirlieJess]

This is a wonderful story!

[SweetLittleEmily]

Chapter 14

Even though I now saw that my rebellion was more like a child's defiance, I couldn't give in to my mother. I continued my passive resistance, even once we had arrived at the kindergarten. At first, my mother tried to encourage me to get out of the seat on my own and walk to the entrance by myself after she unbuckled my belts. However, she quickly gave in when she noticed that her words fell on deaf ears.

So, with a sigh, she took me into her arms once more, shouldering a bag of fresh clothes for me on her other side, and carried me into the kindergarten. In the cloakroom, she briefly set me down to put on my indoor shoes, only to then pick me up again and carry me to the group room for children under three years of age. I watched my sister enviously, who, as usual, headed into the group room for the older children - the very room I had attended up until yesterday.

As we entered the room, I felt like a stranger in a familiar world. I had seen the children and their caregiver almost daily through the glass pane that separated the two group rooms, but up until now, this world, though it had been so close, felt incredibly distant to me. Yet now, they expected me to become a part of it. In disbelief, I stared at the five little girls already sitting at the table eating breakfast, and for the life of me, I couldn't imagine that I was now one of them. Compared to my usual group, they seemed so much younger, almost like babies. Some even still wore bibs to protect their clothing from food spills, and given their clumsy movements as they consumed their breakfast, it seemed absolutely necessary.

"I'm sorry for the delay," my mother apologized to Mrs. Müller, the caregiver in charge of the younger group. She had immediately risen from the breakfast table and rushed over to us as soon as we entered the room. "Emily was a bit reluctant to come to kindergarten this morning."

Mrs. Müller, who appeared to be in her early twenties, contrasted subtly yet distinctively with Mrs. Weber, my previous caregiver. Though only a few years younger than Mrs. Weber, Mrs. Müller exuded a fresher, more youthful vibe and seemed less worn by the rigorous daily demands of working with young children. Her features were notably softer, and her smile conveyed such a genuine warmth and affection that it was immediately captivating. Unlike Mrs. Weber, who occasionally displayed a strict, somewhat teacherly demeanor with the older kids, Mrs. Müller, in the group of younger children, seemed to embody more of a nurturing maternal figure—at least, that's how I had always perceived her from a distance.

"Oh, that's no problem," Mrs. Müller replied understandingly in response to our tardiness. "I can understand that Emily might be a bit nervous about switching to a new group. It's quite normal for children." How I loathed it when people talked about me in my presence, as if I were incapable of understanding what was being said. And the fact that my mother still held me in her arms only made the situation even more uncomfortable and surreal than it already was. I should've just walked on my own.

Then Mrs. Müller lovingly turned to me and added, "But you'll see, Emily, that we have at least as much fun here in the small group as we do in the big group." I said nothing and continued my silent rebellion. I would maintain this stance at least until my mother had left.

Fortunately, it seemed that my mother decided to do just that – to leave. "I really would like to stay a bit longer to help Emily adjust to the new group, but I have an important appointment at my law firm and I'm already running late," she explained. "Oh, that's no problem. Emily is already familiar with the kindergarten; she'll surely adjust to the group quickly, even if you're not here," Mrs. Müller reassured my mother. "I hope so," my mother sighed, "I hope she doesn't cause you too much trouble today." "Don't worry, Emily is such a sweet girl; we'll manage just fine." "She's indeed sweet when she's asleep," my mother chuckled. My mother placed me in the last available seat at the breakfast table and handed Mrs. Müller the bag with my fresh clothes. "Alright, I better get going. Take care, Emily, see you this evening," she said, gave me a kiss on the forehead, and hurriedly marched out the door.

Thus, I was left alone on a chair that was much too small after my mother had closed the door behind her. The chairs in the older group had been small too, but these ones really took the cake. Even for me, who was barely 150 cm tall, it wasn't painless to sit on them. But I would probably have to get used to this because these chairs and this group represented my new reality. This would be my everyday life from now on. My only hope was that I would manage to use my potty again as quickly as possible so that I could get out of here quickly.

It fit the picture that Mrs. Müller served my desired orange juice for breakfast in a sippy cup. When I asked to use a regular glass, Mrs. Müller declined, although kindly, yet firmly: "I know, Emily, that you used regular glasses in the older group, and I'm sure you can drink wonderfully from them. But in this group, we exclusively use sippy cups. Anything else would just create too much of a mess and I'd spend all my time cleaning up."

As I resignedly sipped the juice from the small opening of my butterfly-decorated sippy cup, I incredulously observed my new surroundings and the individuals who were a part of it. Next to me sat two girls who struggled to get their spoons into their mouths properly. It seemed to be quite a challenge for them to get the cereal they were eating into their mouths without scattering half of it across the table or the floor. A little girl to my right, whose bib was already colorfully adorned with cereal residues, milk stains, and juice spots, suddenly let her spoon drop into her bowl without warning. A milk-soaked clump of cereal was catapulted out, zipping straight towards me. I could barely dodge in time before the sticky projectile reached my spot. Disgusted, I slid away from her, towards the other side. But just as I felt safe, from that very new direction, a drop of milk splashed onto my arm.

I quickly wiped the drop away, trying to keep my composure. This couldn't be happening. I couldn't, for the life of me, imagine spending my future days with these little mess-makers. The fact that I managed to leave the breakfast table without getting dirty felt almost like a miracle.

After the chaos at the breakfast table, I had little desire to spend time with my new companions. So, I reverted to an old habit from my early days in kindergarten: coloring in coloring books. In the older group, I'd only colored when no other activities were available or when no other child wanted to play with me. Now, I deliberately chose a table as far away from the others as possible, just like in my first weeks of kindergarten

While coloring, I watched as Mrs. Müller placed the items from my mother's bag into my new spot on the changing table. Unlike in the older group, where the changing table was placed in a side room, here it was situated directly within the group room. Every piece of clothing and every diaper she put in that compartment seemed to cement my place in this new environment. To my dismay, my eyes searched in vain for any of the pull-ups that had been my daily companions up until yesterday. Their absence felt like a statement, suggesting that no one expected me to make significant progress with potty training anytime soon.

I won't let what others think bother me. Lea said others' opinions shouldn't matter. What's important is believing in oneself. Yes, moving to the younger group was a setback, but I'm still determined to achieve my goal and get dry. They'll see they were wrong about me.

It didn't take long for me to get the chance to prove it to them and to myself. Deeply engrossed in my coloring book, it took a moment for me to realize that the warm sensation in my lap meant I was wetting my diaper. However, instead of being discouraged by this unexpected realization, I summoned all my willpower to stop the flow of urine, and to my immense relief, I succeeded.

I hurried over to Mrs. Müller. "Potty," I blurted out, with my knees pressed together in panic. The fear that the rest of my bladder might empty at any moment made it impossible for me to say more. But fortunately, that one word was enough for her to understand: She quickly fetched my potty, opened the sticky tapes of my diaper, and helped me sit on the plastic seat. I sat there, feeling satisfied. Even Mrs. Müller's skeptical look when she noticed that some of the urine had already ended up in the diaper, which she then discarded, couldn't dampen my spirits. I was proud of myself. After all, I hadn't seen any other child use their potty today.

It was a bit odd to be sitting on my potty in the middle of the group room. In the older group, there was a separate side room for changing diapers and potty breaks. But here, everything was compactly located in a small tiled corner. Probably, this was to ensure that the caregiver could always keep an eye on the less independent, younger children during a diaper change or potty visit.

The situation wasn't made any better by the fact that, once I had sat on the potty, I simply couldn't manage to squeeze out even a drop of urine. I was certain that I had stopped my bladder before it had emptied entirely. But as nothing seemed to come out, I began to question that. Probably, my bladder had been completely empty, and that's why the urine had stopped, not because I had controlled it myself. After five unsuccessfull minutes on the potty, Mrs. Müller gently lifted my dress to take a peek inside. When she saw that the potty was still empty, she said with a warm smile, "I still think it's wonderful that you tried to use your potty. You have every reason to be proud of yourself, Emily!"

Her words felt like sheer mockery. How could I be proud of myself when I had just wet my diaper like a toddler instead of using my potty? My self-image took another blow when, only five minutes after Mrs. Müller had put on a fresh diaper for me, the remaining contents of my bladder emptied into it. "This can't be happening," I thought as I felt myself relieving into my diaper again. At least I hadn't been wrong in assuming that there was indeed something left in my bladder.

I decided not to mention my wet diaper to Mrs. Müller.  It was easier to endure the discomfort of a wet diaper than to admit another failure, especially after my recent potty attempt. I kept my full diaper a secret, just like the other girls in my group. But while I did it out of embarrassment, they simply didn't seem to mind a full diaper. This became particularly evident when we sat at the lunch table, and a progressively intense smell began to spread. Pure disgust rose in me as the scent of feces first reached my nostrils. During mealtime, this smell was almost unbearable. However, apart from me, none of the other little girls seemed to be bothered. They continued to eat as if everything was normal.

It wasn't until the scent reached Mrs. Müller that something happened. Initially, Mrs. Müller asked aloud who had soiled their diaper. But when no one came forward, she started circling the table with a detective-like determination, her nose slightly scrunched up, inspecting every child seated there. She didn't even spare me. As she approached me, she leaned down slightly, took a brief sniff, lifted my dress, and gently felt my diaper. I felt mortified as she pulled back the diaper's waistband to peek inside. Was she really suspecting that I had been the one? She noted my diaper's dampness but said she'd change me after lunch. After this brief yet endlessly embarrassing moment for me, she moved on until she eventually found the culprit. Taking the girl's hand, she led her to the changing table.

Without hesitation, Mrs. Müller stripped the girl of her clothing, revealing the bulging diaper. The sight of its dark contents, clearly outlined, made me freeze on the spot. My hand, previously en route to my mouth with a forkful of pasta, now hung suspended in mid-air. The diaper change was like witnessing a car accident — I didn't want to look, but I couldn't pull my eyes away. My stomach churned at the sight, and I felt like I might regurgitate the meal I'd just eaten. Why was the changing table positioned directly in my line of sight? I remained paralyzed throughout the entire ordeal. Only when Mrs. Müller had finished changing the girl and turned back to the table did I return to reality. And then, disaster struck. My fork tilted, sending pasta tumbling onto my chest. Frantically, I tried to remove the mess, but the stubborn, dark red stain from the tomato sauce refused to budge from my dress.

I was so engrossed in trying to clean my dress that I didn't notice Mrs. Müller suddenly stepping up behind me. "I think I may have overestimated your eating skills. Let me put a bib on you before you leave any more stains on that lovely dress of yours," she said, as she draped a large bib over me and tied it around my neck.

I felt as if the rug was pulled out from under me as I incredulously stared at the brightly decorated bib around my neck. This was a new low in what already seemed like an endless chain of humiliations. One minor slip-up during a meal, and suddenly I was treated as if I had forgotten how to eat. Just because I was struggling with incontinence didn't mean I was incapable of other basic tasks. Such a mishap could happen to anyone while eating. My fingers trembled as I reached for the bib's string. "This really isn't necessary," I murmured, my voice tinged with a mix of anger and plea. But Mrs. Müller remained unimpressed. She held my hand with a gentle yet firm look. "Emily," she said in a soft but resolute tone, "your mother surely doesn't have the time to constantly wash stains out of your dresses. Show me you can eat without getting your clothes dirty and maybe... maybe we can think about leaving the bib off again in the future."

I knew I could have continued to rebel and simply taken off the bib. However, the constant condescensions and corrections I'd experienced in the past weeks had completely broken my will to resist. Challenging such a directive seemed as unthinkable to me as it would be for a toddler to defy a parent's order. So, the bib remained around my neck. As if it wasn't enough to prove that I could make it to my potty on time, now I was also expected to demonstrate how neatly I could eat.

After what had happened, all I wanted was to leave the dining table as quickly as possible and get rid of that stupid bib. I ate the remaining pasta in my bowl so hastily that I almost choked. "May I get up?", I asked Mrs. Müller, after I had gulped down my portion. "Already done?", she replied, surprised, as the other children hadn't even come close to finishing their meals. I nodded. "Alright, wait, I'll help you with the bib." She undid it and examined it closely. "Do you see these little red spots? Without the bib, they would have all ended up on your beautiful dress," she explained in a tone that sounded as if she had known all along that this would happen. If only I had eaten a bit more slowly. Now, I had stripped myself of any argument against having to wear a bib next time. How could I be so foolish!?

I wanted to quickly retreat to my drawing table to escape the embarrassing situation, but Mrs. Müller held me back. "Wait a moment, young lady. I need to put a fresh diaper on you. You surely don't want to spend the rest of the day in a wet diaper." As we made our way to the changing table, she added, "And after lunch, we all take a nap anyway. So, you can continue drawing afterward."

"A nap!?" I exclaimed incredulously as I climbed the ladder to the changing table and lay down on it. "Yes, in our group, it's customary to rest for two hours after eating," Mrs. Müller said. She gently removed my dress and placed it in a small plastic bag. She would later hand it over to my mother, so she could wash the dirty dress at home. I had dirtied clothes often enough to know the process well. "But I'm not tired!" I continued, hoping to avoid the nap. The last thing I needed was more sleep. Because of my early bedtime, I was already sleeping more than I liked. "You don't have to sleep," she assured me as she undid the adhesive strips of my diaper, "you can just rest your eyes."

"Can't I continue drawing while the others are sleeping? I promise to be very quiet." Mrs. Müller tossed my old diaper into the diaper pail and then shook her head firmly. "During nap time, every child stays in their bed. As I said, you can just rest your eyes if you don't want to sleep." With that, she ended the discussion, and my fate of taking a nap was sealed.

Mrs. Müller carefully cleaned my intimate area, applied some baby powder, and then put on a fresh diaper for me. Before she let me get up, she opened a compartment in the changing table and pulled out my Minnie Mouse nightgown, which she promptly put on me. Reluctantly, I followed her to the beds lined up on the opposite wall of the room. There were a total of four high bed frames, each offering two sleeping places – one bed below and another one above. The beds themselves were covered with clean, white-lilac bed linens, and each bed was equipped with a soft blanket and a stuffed animal. At first glance, the sleeping quarters even looked inviting, albeit just as childish and girly as my bed at home.

Mrs. Müller led me to one of the bottom beds. "This is where you'll rest," she said gently. As I lay down, it quickly became apparent that the bed wasn't sized for adults. For the other children, these beds might seem enormous, but for me, they were clearly too short. I had to lie diagonally and bend my knees just to fit in.

Just as I was adjusting myself, I heard a soft click. Before I could realize what was happening, Mrs. Müller had pulled down a set of wooden slats that I hadn't noticed before, much like the side of a crib. The feeling of confinement was immediate, as was the sensation of being trapped. A cage, I thought. I'm in a cage. "How do I get out of here if I want to get up?", I asked, barely concealing the panic in my voice. Mrs. Müller smiled reassuringly. "You can call me if you need something, like if you need to use the potty. I'll let you out then."

"Can't I open these bars myself?", I persisted, gripping the wooden bars in front of me and futilely trying to push them back up. She shook her head. "The mechanism is on the outside. It would be chaos if all the children could decide to get up during rest time on their own. It's better this way, believe me." Mrs. Müller then leaned slightly down towards me, briefly stroked my forehead, and said, "Try to relax and get some rest. I wish you a good sleep." I lay back down, searching for a more comfortable position. But no matter how hard I tried to push away the feeling of being trapped and ignore the reality of my situation, the disconcerting confinement and discomfort simply wouldn't fade.

Through the narrow gaps between the wooden bars, I watched as Mrs. Müller now tended to the other girls. Some of the girls seemed as reluctant as I was, while others appeared to have already grown accustomed to the routine of naptime and obediently went to their beds. Mrs. Müller moved with a routine and skillfulness that showed she had done this countless times before. Once the other girls had finished their meals, Mrs. Müller cleaned their faces one by one, changed the diapers of those who needed it, and dressed them in their sleepwear. Then she gently laid each girl in her respective bed. Soon they all disappeared from my field of vision, tucked away in their little cribs.

After all the girls had been taken care of, Mrs. Müller went to the window and drew the heavy curtains. The room was immediately bathed in a soft, dim light. She double-checked to ensure all the children were securely and comfortably positioned in their cribs. Then, she turned on a quiet music box that played a soothing melody. The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The children, once lively and full of energy, became subdued. A deep peace enveloped the room, punctuated only by the gentle hum of the music box and the occasional rustle of a diaper.

While the others seemed to drift off to sleep shortly after, I tossed and turned in my little crib. Every time I found a somewhat comfortable position, I was haunted by the thought of lying in a child's bed, enclosed by wooden bars. The idea of napping in the afternoon felt downright demeaning. I wasn't a baby; I didn't need a nap!

Bored, I watched through the narrow bars of the crib as Mrs. Müller quietly cleared the lunch table. When she finally finished and briefly left the room, my gaze drifted to the small plush toy beside me, which I had barely noticed until now. In the absence of other distractions, I picked it up and examined its soft fur and cute button eyes. It was a teddy bear, adorned with a red bow around its neck. Playfully, I let my fingers glide through its fur, getting lost in the childlike fantasy that it might come to life and keep me company. As absurd as this thought was, it provided me with a brief diversion. Still, I was aware: a long two hours lay ahead.

[CDfm]

Fantastic.  I missed this story and seeing Emily and her struggles. After reading this chapter it was very apparent that Emily is going to have to really concentrate on the very basics.  Instead of coloring, she might just need so sit quietly and concentrate on her bladder contents.  If she is having problems getting to the potty in time then she needs to pay more attention and ask for the potty sooner.  Same with eating and drinking. She needs to pay attention and not make such a mess.  Granted pasta and tomato sauce is difficult even for adults but she should still be trying harder if she wants out of the littles class.  
 

I am ready for the next chapter now but I will be patient. 

[SweetLittleEmily]

Yes, Emily should definitely try to be more focused on the basics! We'll see if she can manage that

[nadine_enough]

On 9/12/2023 at 5:22 PM, SweetLittleEmily said:

Just because I was struggling with incontinence didn't mean I was incapable of other basic tasks.

Are we sure about that? Because it seems like that might actually be the case here lol

I loved this chapter, thanks for sharing it!

[le yack]

i think very soon a little  girl is going to poop his diaper

[Guilend]

I think so too

[SweetLittleEmily]

Chapter 15

The warm afternoon light woke me up. I snapped my eyes open, shocked I'd actually dozed off. Thanks to the sheer boredom, I ended up napping just like the other little kids here.

Through the thin bars, I could see that many of the other children were already awake. Some were playing on the floor, while Mrs. Müller was helping others out of their beds. The soft dimness I had fallen asleep to had now transformed into a more lively and illuminated setting. The soothing tune of the music box had faded, and the laughter, cries, and chatter of the other girls now filled the space again.

When Mrs. Müller noticed my eyes were open, she approached with a warm smile. "Oh, did someone close her sleepy eyes even after insisting she wasn't tired at all?", she playfully remarked with a wink as she unlatched my crib. "And is our little Emily still all dry, or do we need a fresh diapy?", she immediately asked, reaching down in a practiced motion to check my diaper.

A wave of embarrassment overcame me, because of course I had not stayed dry. True to its routine, my body had drained the entire contents of its bladder while I slept. Mrs. Müller, whose trained fingers needed only fleeting seconds to assess the saturation of my diaper, smiled sympathetically. "It seems like the little princess forgot she wasn't on her potty during her dream journey," she whispered, almost as if sharing a secret, in my ear. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it right away".

Gently, almost motherly, she led me to the changing table and laid me down. She removed my nightgown, then took off my wet diaper and threw it away. A wet wipe, cold and refreshing, removed the last drops of urine from my private parts that had escaped the diaper. She then placed a fresh diaper beneath me, added some baby powder, and closed it up. "There you go, my little angel," she said with a loving smile, "now you're all fresh and clean. All we need now is something pretty for you to wear."

She looked in my drawer in the changing table for some clothes. My dress, that I had worn before my nap, was already dirty, so it wasn't an option. But she didn't seem happy with what she found in my compartment. "I wish I had taken a closer look at what your mommy gave you. These clothes aren't practical for quick diaper changes," she sighed. Then she picked out a pair of pink short shorts with little unicorns and a pastel t-shirt, although she didn't seem too thrilled about them. I wasn’t pleased either. The tight-fitting shorts virtually emphasized my diaper, which was underneath, and because the shorts sat low and the T-shirt was very short, parts of my diaper peeked out. But why should I get upset? After all, the diapers of the other girls in the group were similarly obvious under their clothes. So why should it have been different with me?

The remainder of the afternoon flew by. After a brief snack, during which I was reluctantly given a bib once more, the first parents began to arrive. It was astonishing how much of our day was taken up by the nap. With all the preparation and aftermath, it surely had occupied nearly three hours. After all, the children needed not just to be redressed but also diapered. This, of course, considerably shortened the window of time available for other activities. So it was not surprising that Mrs. Müller hadn’t had the chance to involve us in more extensive group activities, as was common with the group of older children. Thinking about it, I had the feeling that my day had consisted of nothing but eating and sleeping.

It was all the more remarkable then, that when my mother arrived to pick me up, I felt utterly exhausted. The unfamiliar surroundings and altered routines had evidently taken more of a toll on me than I'd anticipated, especially considering I'd spent a significant portion of my time asleep. "Well, someone looks tired," my mother lovingly observed as she greeted me upon her arrival.

Before I could even voice a protest, fearing she might suggest an even earlier bedtime today than usual, Mrs. Müller stepped in. "A new environment with different routines can indeed be tiring for a child. But Emily did remarkably well. For tomorrow, however, I have a small request. Could you bring clothing that's more suitable for quick diaper changes? Dresses, onesies, or pants with a snap crotch would be particularly helpful," she explained. She then handed my mother the plastic bag with my stained dress and added with a sympathetic smile, "Emily does need to learn to be a bit more careful while eating. But it'll come with time." How could she make it sound so much worse than it was!? It had been just a mishap, as can happen to anyone, even adults. I knew how to eat properly.

My mother cast a discerning glance at the stain on the dress before asking the question I had hoped I wouldn't have to hear: "How did she do with the potty today? Did she make any progress?" Mrs. Müller hesitated for a moment, giving me a look that was half pitying, half apologetic, and replied, "Well, Emily made a brave attempt today. She almost made it to the potty in time. But... well, it ended up in the diaper beforehand. She's just not there yet, but I think it's wonderful how hard she's trying." How splendid, I thought sarcastically. Here I stood, after almost twenty years alive, and they were applauding my effort, as if mastering the potty was some grand achievement beyond my reach.

Fortunately, we said our goodbyes shortly after and, after picking up my sister from the older kids' group, headed home. The subsequent dinner went by without any notable incidents, and I was genuinely relieved that my mother didn't have the brilliant idea to put a bib on me, as Mrs. Müller had done.

We had just finished our meal when my sister announced that she needed to use the bathroom. She seemed almost proud to say "bathroom" instead of "potty". It was hard to believe that she already knew the difference, given that she had only started using the restroom a few days ago. Before I could even grasp what was happening, my mother turned to me: "Don't you want to try and go pee too, Emily?" A quick internal check was enough to realize that it might indeed be wise to relieve my bladder before it decided to empty itself into my diaper without my consent.

By now, I hated going to the potty with my sister more than ever. She had made so much progress that she rarely used her little potty. She now preffered the regular toilet with a special seat my mother had bought for her. Every time I saw her on the regular toilet, I was painfully reminded of how she had outgrown me. While my little sister slipped off her panties and sat on the toilet all by herself, my mother helped me out of my diaper, decorated with unicorns and princesses. The fact that my mother placed the potty right next to the toilet, forcing me to inevitably look up at my sister during my potty visit, made the situation even more unbearable for me.

A soft splashing sound caught my attention. But, sadly, it wasn't coming from me. My sister had succeeded. A satisfied smile danced across her lips as my mother helped her wipe. While I still sat on my empty potty, my sister had already gotten dressed and washed her hands. "It's okay, Emily," my mom finally said in that soft, motherly voice I knew far too well by now, once she was sure I wasn't going to leave anything in my potty. "Maybe you didn't need to go as badly after all. But I'm proud of you for trying."

Was everyone just mocking me now!? As if sitting on a potty without producing anything was a heroic act. And if that wasn't enough, my little sister added, "Yes, really great, Emily! You'll surely manage it soon if you keep this up!"

Her words, as innocent as they were, felt like the rug was pulled out from under me. My little sister praising me for a non-existent progress made me feel even more like a complete failure. A part of me wanted to scream, another just wanted to disappear. Why was using the potty so easy for her? It just wasn't fair!

My dry diaper was put back on, and the usual evening routine, which could be predicted down to the minute, continued. And then something happened that robbed me of any remaining composure. Barely ten minutes after my unsuccessful potty attempt, while watching the Pajanimals, my bladder emptied itself into my diaper - without any warning, without hesitation. It felt like the universe was mocking me and all my efforts.

I sat there outwardly calm, my eyes fixed intently on the television screen. Inside me, however, a storm was raging. It felt as though I wasn't just losing my urine in that moment, but also all hope and confidence. All that remained was sheer rage. Rage about the situation, about me, about my body.

Through a haze, I barely registered the end of the Pajanimals show or the soft footsteps of my mother as she re-entered the living room. "Someone's bedtime is calling," she said in that gentle, sing-song tone adults use when speaking to young children. I hadn't even realized she was addressing me. It was only when I didn't respond, prompting my mother to lean down towards me, that I became aware of my surroundings again. "Emily, it's time for you to go to bed. Say goodnight to your sister," she instructed, helping me to my feet.

I stared at Sophie. I hadn't forgotten that since yesterday she was allowed to stay up later, and until just now, I had somewhat come to terms with it. But the newly ignited rage within me compelled me to rebel against this situation, which I still deemed unfair. "Why do I have to go to bed when Sophie gets to stay up?" I protested with a defiant undertone.

My mother sighed and rolled her eyes in frustration. "Emily, Lea already explained this to you. Nothing has changed for you; you're going to bed at the same time as always. It's just Sophie who's now allowed to stay up a bit longer because she's shown she's mature enough for it." I clenched my fists. "I'm just as mature as she is! Why can't anyone see that? I want and can stay up longer too!"

My mother's voice hardened. "Do we really need to go over this every evening? You've always gone to bed at the same time without making a fuss. There's no reason for you to be this upset" "I'm not upset!" I retorted, even though my pursed lips and flashing eyes suggested otherwise. "I'm just not tired, and I want to stay up like Sophie does!"

My mother raised an eyebrow. " Emily, you were already tired when I picked you up from kindergarten. You're clearly exhausted, and that's why you're being so whiny." "I'm not whiny, and I'm not and wasn't tired!" I protested vehemently, stomping my foot on the ground in sheer frustration.

Now my mother was losing her patience, too. Her eyes narrowed into thin slits, and the lines around her mouth tightened as she adopted her "Enough is enough" voice: "Emily, you're going to bed now! And don't think you can make a fuss like that every night. Otherwise, I'll seriously consider putting you to bed even earlier so you're not so overtired and whiny in the evening." She bent down and, without hesitation, checked the diaper I was wearing. "And your diaper is already wet again!" she pointed out. Determinedly, she grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the living room.

Tears of frustration and anger streamed down my face as we entered the nursery. My mother led me towards the changing table. The closer we got to the table, the more I realized something was different about it. It wasn't until my mother hoisted me onto the changing pad that I recognized what had changed: Sophie's diaper supplies were gone, and in their place, my clothes, which had always been stored in Sophie's closet, were now neatly arranged in the compartments.

This new arrangement made me momentarily forget my overwhelming anger. "Why aren't Sophie's things in the changing table anymore?" I asked, completely taken aback. "I don't think Sophie will be needing her diapers much longer. So, I thought it would be convenient to use the space for your clothes. This way, after I've changed you, I don't have to go all the way to the closet to get your clothing," she explained, visibly relieved that my tantrum had come to a sudden halt, as she began to remove my clothes and diaper. "See? Your Minnie Mouse pajamas are right at hand," she pointed out, enthusiastically pulling out the colorful pajamas, to show how easy she could get them now.

I was overwhelmed by a flood of emotions. The realization that the changing table now stood there solely for my benefit felt like my world was crashing down around me. I had, of course, noticed that Sophie hadn't needed it recently, but it was only the definitive disappearance of her things from it that made me grasp she had outgrown this phase in her development. I'd clung to a naive hope that her dry nights were just a temporary stage, believing she might have setbacks, that eventually, she'd be back in diapers like me. Yet, she had mastered this developmental milestone, and my mother was right—it was improbable she'd ever need diapers again in her life.

A storm raged in my mind as my mother cleaned me up and fastened a fresh diaper around my waist. There had to be a way for me to achieve dryness, to leave behind the crutch of the diaper too. But rather than using it less and less, asserting my independence from it, I was relying on it more than ever. It almost felt like my body preferred relieving itself in the diaper. And then it struck me, something we'd learned in biology class: conditioning. It's a process where an organism develops a response to a particular stimulus. Could it be that my body, having always been in the presence of a diaper, had become conditioned to only relieve itself in one? If that were the case, then I would have to uncondition myself to achieve dryness. I'd have to show my body that the potty was the right place for relief. That would mean I would have to get rid of the diaper entirely, ensuring my body had no chance to use it and would turn to the potty instead.

It was weird, but the feeling of having found a potential solution to my problem, no matter how absurd it might sound to outsiders, calmed me and ignited a spark of hope. I was determined to prove to everyone that I wasn't just a little kid who needed looking after. I'd demonstrate that I was mature and clever enough to achieve dryness on my own, without their assistance. And I'd start tonight. I knew the plan sounded downright crazy and that none of my caregivers would back me up—after all, they had little interest in cleaning up potential messes. I was well aware of the high likelihood of failure, but it was worth taking the risk rather than staying passive and merely following the directives of my caregivers, which hadn't led to any improvements so far.

After my mother had put on my pajamas and accompanied me to bed, I was almost relieved when she told me that, due to my behavior today, I hadn't earned a bedtime story. After all, it provided me with the opportunity to put my plan into action before my body decided to use my diaper again. I patiently waited until my mother turned on the baby monitor and left the room. Then, I cautiously began to unfasten the adhesive tapes of my diaper. With every rustle, I flinched, worried that she might have heard it over the baby monitor and would return. But eventually, I managed to remove the diaper and discreetly hide it under my pillow.

I had expected it to feel liberating to be free of the diaper. But instead I felt naked, even though I was wearing my pajama bottoms. There was this fleeting notion that it felt all wrong, but I quickly endeavored to push that aside. After all these weeks, I was simply unaccustomed to sleeping without that familiar protection—that was all. But the nagging uncertainty stemming from its absence persisted. Again and again, my hand instinctively checked my waist, haunted by the dread of a possible accident.

The prospect of sleep also worried me and made me doubt my plan a bit. As long as I was awake, I could dart to the potty beside my bed if I felt my body starting to relieve itself. But while asleep, I'd likely not manage that. So, I spontaneously decided to forgo sleep in the upcoming days of my reconditioning. It seemed like an inevitable sacrifice in executing my plan, but I was willing to pay that price. How I would manage to rid myself of the diaper during the day without anyone noticing, I wasn't sure yet, but I was confident I'd find a solution.

[CDfm]

Wonderful chapter.  I think that absolutely everyone, Emily included believes that taking off that diaper was a bad idea.  Actually the concept is very sound though. I had been told that when potty training a child it was best to change the feel of the protection.  This was when pull-ups were introduced and were a big thing. Kids were taking longer to get trained because the pull-up felt like the diaper so they just went.  When I started potty training my son (he was 19 months old but was interested in the potty chair) I got him some cloth training pants and plastic pants to go over them. That first day he wet and he didn’t like it.  That was the last day he used his pants while awake.  He did have a few accidents at night but for the most part he was potty trained in a day. 
I was very happy to see the new chapter and I am looking forward to seeing more. 

[SweetLittleEmily]

Chapter 16

I was abruptly torn from my dreams when I heard the familiar creaking of a door. Panic surged through me as I opened my eyes just to see my mother stepping through the doorway. Shit, this couldn't be happening. Against my intentions, I had fallen asleep, and it took me less than a fraction of a second to realize the consequence of that.

After weeks in diapers, I had almost forgotten how disgusting it felt to wake up in a puddle of urine. Unlike the diaper, which absorbed any liquid like a thirsty sponge, the mattress seemed to refuse to soak up even a drop of the liquid that had escaped from me.

I barely dared to breathe as my mother approached me. What should I do now? How in the world could I hide what had happened? "Good morning, sweetheart," my mother whispered as she reached my bedside and bent over me to give me a gentle kiss on the forehead.

With every fiber of my being, I tried to hide any hint that something was wrong. I put on a smile that felt so forced my facial muscles almost hurt. "Good morning," I replied. Despite my attempt to sound cheerful, my voice came out so strained and shaky that I was sure my mother would become suspicious. To my surprise, my poor act fooled her, and she moved on to the closet, unaware of the secret lurking under my blanket.

I briefly sighed with relief, only to realize a moment later that nothing about my situation had changed. My bed was still wet and my diaper was still under my pillow instead of around my waist where it belonged. I couldn't understand why I had put it under the pillow in the first place. One thing was clear, the diaper, wet or dry, had to be in its right place before my mother came back to change me.

With a racing heart, I patiently waited for the perfect moment, like a little smuggler, to move the diaper to its rightful place. As my mother leaned into the closet to select my sister's outfit for the day, I seized my chance. Swiftly pulling back the blanket, I created a concealed pathway to the pillow, through which I sneaked the diaper beneath my covers without my mother noticing. Now, all I needed to do was lower my pajama pants a bit, secure the diaper around my waist, and put on my most innocent face when the "accident" was discovered. I could even insinuate that perhaps my mother hadn't been meticulous enough when putting on my diaper. The prospect of potentially pinning the entire fiasco on her brought a smirk to my face.

However, things didn't go as planned. Just as I reached for the waistband of my pajamas to pull them down, my mother, with a bundle of clothes in her hands, turned away from the wardrobe and headed towards our beds. I immediately let go of my pants, afraid she might notice something. Frozen, I had to watch as she placed the bundle of clothes next to my sister's bed, told her it was time to wake up, and then stand by my bed in the next instant. "Come on, Emily, it's time for you to get up too," she said lovingly.

I didn't react. My mind was racing, desperately searching for a way out. But I found no solution. "Well, someone seems too tired to get up," she joked, as my only response had been to stare at her open-mouthed, and gently lifted me out of the bed. But the moment she placed me on her hip, her smile froze. I could pinpoint the exact moment when the wetness from my crotch reached her skin just by looking at her face. "Oh no, Emily, I think your diaper has leaked," she sighed. She quickly carried me to the changing table, pulled down my pajama pants, only to find out that I wasn't wearing a diaper that could've leaked. Her face darkened instantly. "Where's your diaper, Emily?" she asked sternly. I was screwed.

"Under my blanket," I mumbled guiltily. With sparkling eyes and tight lips, my mother marched over to my bed, pulled back the covers with a decisive gesture, and revealed the damp mattress beneath. "The bed is soaking wet! What on earth possessed you to take off your diaper?" she hissed, her voice a mix of horror and anger. Ok, she was mad, and I completely understood why she was.

However, I believed she would understand better if she knew the reasoning behind my actions. "I... I wanted to prove I could manage without the diaper. That I... didn’t truly need it. That... perhaps the diaper is the actual reason for my bedwetting," I began to stammer. The plan, which had seemed so logical in my head, now appeared utterly foolish even to me. Everything had made so much more sense the night before. What made me suspect that I might have been subconsciously conditioned to rely on the diaper? I needed to explain this further to help her see my point of view. But before I could clarify my intentions, she interrupted me sharply. "A compelling demonstration, truly. At least the diaper stayed dry," she remarked with biting sarcasm, retrieving it from the mattress. Couldn't she just let me finish for once?

"I thought," I began, making a second attempt to explain my intention behind everything, but she immediately cut me off again. "Let me guess, you thought the diapers get wet on their own, not because of you?“ she mocked. I took a deep breath and tried again, "Mum, I just thought..." – "...that the monsters under your bed are to blame for your little mishaps and they'd leave you be once you're no longer wearing a diaper?" she interjected, a sarcastic smile playing on her lips. Desperately, I made one attempt after another to explain my original idea to her. Yet, with every new effort, she interrupted me. I tried to maintain my composure, but her taunting remarks were driving me closer and closer to the edge. "I was just hoping that..." I started once more, but she was once again ahead of me: "...your mattress finally gets the pleasure of a shower?"

It felt as if an inner dam within me was breaking. The relentless frustration, the perpetual sting from her biting remarks—it all came crashing down. "I don’t want to wear diapers anymore!" I exclaimed, voice shaking as I fought back tears. "I don’t need them! I’m mature enough to sleep without! I want to wear regular underwear, like Sophie does! I want the privilege of staying up later, just like her! I’m no longer a baby!" My fists slammed against the changing table in raw emotion, and the tears I’d staunchly held back now flowed freely. Although I knew my outburst might paint me as nothing more than a defiant child in a tantrum, I simply couldn't contain myself any longer.

Long-suppressed feelings bubbled up inside of me. Every emotion I had stifled for weeks now demanded to be released. I was ready to scream my state of mind at her if it was the only way she would listen. Yet before I could even utter a sound, my mother unexpectedly shoved something into my mouth. A rubbery object suddenly filled my entire oral cavity, rendering me unable to articulate a single coherent word. Instinctively, I tried to expel the intrusive item, but she held it firmly in place, making it impossible for me to spit it out.

"That's enough, Emily! I don't want to hear another word out of you today! And don't you dare take that pacifier out of your mouth," she said, her voice so sharp that any hint of resistance in me was immediately crushed.

The plastic felt cold on my lips, and the rubber inside was soft yet always noticeable. Every time my tongue moved, it brushed against the pacifier. Its clean, new taste told me one thing: my mother hadn't given me one of Sophie's old ones. It was likely one of the unused pacifiers bought for Sophie before my mother got her to stop using them.

Upset and without another word, my mother began to take off my pajamas. Every movement betrayed her frustration. She half-heartedly wiped me down with a wet wipe, seemingly uncaring that I was still damp when she put a fresh diaper on me.

Before I could even grasp what was happening, my mother, with a determination that nearly startled me, gripped me under my arms and lifted me off the changing table. The soft material of the diaper was the only thing covering my skin as she placed me on Sophie's small wooden chair in the corner. The chair's legs scraped gently against the floor as she turned it to face the bare wall. She then leaned in close, our faces just inches apart. Her eyes still blazed with anger as she spoke to me in a stern voice. "Emily," she began, "you will sit here, facing this wall. You won't move an inch or make a sound until I've stripped your bed and cleaned everything up. And while I'm doing that, you'll think long and hard about what you've done and how you've behaved!"

Her words echoed in my ears as she straightened up and began to strip my wet bed. Every fiber of my being felt weighed down with overwhelming guilt. I felt so incredibly foolish. Why had I taken off my diaper? What was I thinking? I didn't want to cause my mother any trouble, I just wanted to finally get dry.

Tears welled up in my eyes and slowly, inexorably, dripped one by one onto my lap. I tried to stifle the rising sobs, but it was futile. Instinctively, without even realizing what I was doing, I began to suck on the pacifier that was still trapped between my lips. When I became aware of what I was doing, my initial instinct was to stop immediately, but I noticed that the familiar silicone piece in my mouth gave me at least a small sense of comfort and security. And so, I distracted myself from my guilt with my pacifier until another, more pressing sensation took hold. A sensation that I couldn't ignore by sucking on my pacifier, no matter how hard I tried.

Panic surged as I recognized the unmistakable need to pee. But no matter how desperately I needed to use the potty, after what had transpired, I simply didn't have the courage to ask her to get me on it. Resigned, I finally gave in when I realized that I could not avoid what was about to happen and felt the diaper that had just been put on me fill with an uncomfortable warmth.

Time felt interminable as I sat on the hard child's chair, the dampness of the diaper pressing against me, my eyes unwaveringly fixed on the wall. The noises my mother made as she stripped the bed and cleaned everything became a tormenting background melody to my own shame. The soft rustling of the bed linens, the scrubbing of the sponge on the mattress, and her occasional frustrated sigh all echoed in my ears, intensifying the guilt I felt inside.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, with Sophie having already dressed and brushed her teeth, I heard my mother's footsteps approaching. My heartbeat quickened as I saw the pastel baby-pink dress she held in her hands. Embellished with tiny teddy bears, pacifiers, and baby bottles, this dress appeared even more infantile than anything I'd worn before. It felt as though she chose this particular dress to highlight just how immaturely I had acted.

My mother began to pull the dress over me, and for a fleeting moment, I felt relief thinking she hadn't noticed my wet diaper. But just as she slid the fabric over my hips, she froze. Her hand brushed against the damp diaper, and her expression darkened. "One would think you're old enough to say when you need the potty," she said, shaking her head. "Thinks she doesn't need a diaper, and then this..."

Without another word, she gently but firmly lifted me onto the changing table and changed my diaper with the same practiced roughness she had shown earlier. Once the fresh diaper was snugly in place around my hips, she set me back on the floor. My feet had barely touched the floor when my gaze was involuntarily drawn to the large mirror on the opposite wall.

I rubbed my eyes repeatedly to ensure that the reflection truly showed what I was seeing. The baby-pink dress I was wearing ended much too short, unmistakably revealing the diaper beneath. It didn't help that the pacifier, which I had completely forgotten about in all the commotion, still rested between my lips. My face, tear-streaked and flushed, completed the childish look. I couldn't recall ever looking so babyish during my entire therapy.

The fatigue evident in my eyes showed just how much the previous night and the last hour had taken a toll on me. I had stayed up for what felt like forever, all in vain. I didn't think it was possible, but I was really relieved to get a chance to sleep at kindergarten. In fact, I was even looking forward to my nap.

The outcome of my failed attempt to get rid of my diaper was that from now on, I had to go to bed an hour earlier. My mother unequivocally communicated that this arrangement would persist until my behavior reflected someone mature enough to stay up until 7 PM.

[CDfm]

I was so happy to see the new chapter posted. 
I think that everything considered, Emily got off better than expected.  Her punishment might not yet be over but an earlier bedtime and a bit of timeout wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been.  I did feel just a little bad for Emily because her mother wouldn’t even start to listed to her explanation of why she removed the diaper.  That had to be very frustrating for her. 
I am looking forward to seeing more of this story. 

[SweetLittleEmily]

On 10/19/2023 at 2:01 AM, CDfm said:

I was so happy to see the new chapter posted. 
I think that everything considered, Emily got off better than expected.  Her punishment might not yet be over but an earlier bedtime and a bit of timeout wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been.  I did feel just a little bad for Emily because her mother wouldn’t even start to listed to her explanation of why she removed the diaper.  That had to be very frustrating for her. 
I am looking forward to seeing more of this story. 

Thank you for your kind words :) Totally agree with you that her punishment could have been far worse. She also more than deserved her punishment, after all, her mother had a lot of work through her.

[Emmi]

If she is going to bed 2 hours before Sophie and Sophie no longer needs the changing table or Potty in the bedroom, will she be upgraded to Emily's old room while Emily remains in the nursery? That way Sophie doesn't have to worry about waking the baby when she gets ready for bed.

[Emmi]

I know your patreon membership is on hold right now, but with the patreon purge are you planing on opening up an account on an alternative website?

[SweetLittleEmily]

20 hours ago, Emmi said:

I know your patreon membership is on hold right now, but with the patreon purge are you planing on opening up an account on an alternative website?

I'm not sure yet what I will do. I'm surprised that I haven't been deleted yet.

Anyway, I'm considering a crowdfunding-like model where I set a target amount for each chapter, say around 100 dollars. With about 50 patrons at the moment, this would be roughly 2 dollars per person. If the target is reached, I will publish the chapter on public platforms like dailydiapers. If not, everyone gets their money back. This approach means everyone can contribute what a new chapter is worth to them. Even if certain targets aren't met, I will probably publish the chapters eventually anyway, as I love writing. Unfortunately, I often don't have the time because I have to work or have other things to do. However, successful fundraising would probably allow me to publish more frequently due to the financial freedom it offers.

Do you have any thoughts on this model? I'm also open to any alternative suggestions or ideas you might have.

[SweetLittleEmily]

Chapter 17

The adaptability of the human mind is truly remarkable. It took only a few days for me to accept my new, more restrictive daily routine as an irreversible reality. Whether I did it as a form of atonement or simply out of resignation didn't matter in the end. Just three weeks later, it was hard for me to even imagine that I had once not spent the entire day in a thick nighttime diaper and that there had been a time when I went to bed after 6 PM. I had even finally adjusted to my new kindergarten group. I played with the other girls there as if I had been doing it all my life, and I took it for granted that a bib during meals and a nap in the afternoon were now part of my daily routine. My new life now just felt normal to me, as strange as that may sound to other people.

Yet the illusion of normality that I had felt suffered a harsh setback when a new girl was integrated into our group. However, it was not the one-year-old Viola who turned my world upside down, but her mother. She was exactly my age, and her mere presence during her daughter's orientation period served as an unwanted mirror, painfully highlighting the discrepancy between my current existence and what was considered 'normal' for my stage of life. While she, defying the outcome of a fleeting one-night stand, was raising a child all by herself and already had an education as well as a steady job, I couldn't even manage to reach my potty on time.

I took a seat at the small kindergarten table where two-and-a-half-year-old Nora and I settled in for a round of shape matching. Nora began the game with childlike enthusiasm, pushing the square wooden block she had chosen into its designated hole. My gaze, meanwhile, wandered idly around the room—I still missed the more exciting games in the older group—and eventually settled on Viola's mother. In previous days, she had been preoccupied with calming her crying daughter. But today, today seemed different. With glowing eyes, she watched her daughter, who for the first time since arriving at the kindergarten had ventured away from her to tentatively roll a small ball on the floor with Mrs. Müller. A smile of touching tenderness played across Viola's mother's lips as she observed the scene and brushed one of her dark locks away from her face. It was as if this moment meant the world to her—and strangely enough, it moved me deeply to see her feel that way.

From the very first day they had appeared, it became clear to me that I felt strangely attracted to Viola's mother. At first, I had resisted the feeling, even inwardly fought against it, but it had been in vain. Her entire being, her caring nature towards her daughter, had only captivated me more with each passing moment. I found her enchanting and now wished for nothing more than to get closer to her, although I was aware that she probably only saw a small child in me.

It's your turn,' Nora snapped me out of my thoughts, handing me a triangular wooden block. With a mischievous smile, I pushed the piece of wood through the oval hole in the box instead of the intended triangular one; it fit if you angled it just right. Nora's eyes widened in a mix of astonishment and indignation. 'That's not right!' she exclaimed, clearly upset. I couldn't help but chuckle. When the world around you is boring, you have to make it more exciting yourself, and nothing is more entertaining than an outraged toddler.

However, my good mood was short-lived. By now, not only a slight cough but even the slightest laughter was enough to make my bladder muscles give in. I eagerly tried to fight against the stream that, without any warning, suddenly began to fill my diaper, but it was useless. Almost reflexively, my gaze darted to Mrs. Müller, who was still busy playing with Viola, as if my subconscious wanted to alert her to what was happening. However, as soon as I realized what I was doing, I panicked and immediately returned my focus to the game in front of me

Until now, I had managed to avoid having my diaper changed during the brief time that Viola's mother had been with her daughter at the kindergarten, and I had little desire to change that. I wasn't sure how much Viola's mother knew about the reason for my presence in the kindergarten. What was clear was that she must also be aware that I was definitely too old for kindergarten. Deep down, I hoped she might think I was doing some sort of internship here. More likely, given my appearance, she probably saw me as an overgrown elementary school student being looked after in kindergarten during the holidays because her parents had to work.

To my horror, however, I realized that Mrs. Müller had evidently not missed the subtle signals I had sent out. 'Viola, I'm afraid we'll have to pause our game for a moment. I need to change a diaper,' she told Viola in a regretful tone, and it was clear that she could only be referring to my diaper. Damn, why did I always act so obvious?

Viola's mother, who had been watching her daughter play with unabated joy, wore a look of disappointment. "Oh, that's too bad. Viola was just starting to trust you," she said. Mrs. Müller also seemed reluctant to halt their burgeoning rapport. "I'm truly sorry; I didn't want to pause the game either, especially now that she's gaining some confidence. But I'm certain that Emily urgently needs a fresh diaper. She already has a diaper rash, and it would be counterproductive to let her sit in a wet diaper for too long."

My cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. But it was true. By always trying to hide my wet diaper from Mrs. Müller or my mom, I had done my skin a disservice. By now, my entire diaper area was covered in a red, agonizingly itchy rash. But at that moment, I didn't care. I would have endured all the pain in the world just to avoid having my diaper changed in front of Viola's mother.

And then the unthinkable happened. "How about I just quickly change the diaper so you can continue playing with Viola? I think after a year of being a mother, I've gathered enough experience for that. Which one of the girls is Emily?" I heard the voice of Viola's mother echo in my ears, leaving me stunned. At that moment, I wished I could bury myself deep underground so that no one could see or find me. "Emily is the girl with the mermaid print," Mrs. Müller explained, and even without looking, I knew her finger was pointing at me. "It's really not necessary; I can handle it," Mrs. Müller quickly added, likely aware that Viola's mother might not have expected to change my diaper. But Viola's mother was unyielding. "No, really, it's fine. I'm happy to do it," she emphasized, and the next moment I heard her footsteps, coming inexorably towards me.

I didn't even dare to lift my gaze when Viola's mother finally stood beside me. "Come on, Emily, let's get you into a fresh diaper quickly, and then you can continue playing," she said in a motherly, gentle tone. She extended her hand to me, but I was unable to make even a single move. This was not how I had imagined our first real encounter. Hoping to avoid the inevitable, I kept my hands tightly buried in my lap, but she was undeterred. "You don't need to be shy, Emily," she assured me, before tenderly taking my hand and leading me to the changing table.

The rustle of the diaper, a sound that had become so commonplace for me over the past few weeks that I usually didn't even notice it, seemed to drown out everything else in the room at that moment. It was as if someone had turned up the volume on this small, shameful detail of my existence to an unbearable level as I walked to the changing table with Viola's mother, who was nearly two heads taller than me. Drops of sweat formed on my forehead as I finally lay down on the changing table. Viola's mother sensed my tension and leaned down so close that her sweet perfume was literally pressed into my nose. Damn, how could anyone look so adorable and smell so good at the same time? "Don't worry, Emily," she said softly in my ear, "I'll be just as careful and loving with your diaper change as Mrs. Muller always is." Her words were accompanied by a gentle touch to my forehead, as if to calm my nervousness, before she stood up again and lifted my skirt, exposing the crotch of my onesie.

Since Mrs. Müller had criticized the impracticality of my clothes for diaper changes, my wardrobe had changed again. Now I wore onesies combined with skirts or dresses, as well as shorts and pants with buttons at the bottom. Even the motifs that adorned my new garments seemed to have further adapted to my new more childlike environment. The little mermaid that adorned the front of my onesie was even one of the less babyish designs in this regard, although it seemed unmistakably childlike.

Even after several weeks, I still couldn't get used to the sound that the buttons on the clothes in my crotch made when they were unbuttoned. The fact that I was wearing extra clothes designed for diaper changes was almost more uncomfortable than the diaper itself. It felt as if every snap of the buttons accentuated the uncomfortable reality of my situation, as if it were a fanfare loudly proclaiming my lack of independence.

"Oh, how cute, your diaper matches your outfit perfectly," Viola's mom gushed as she undid the buttons on my onesie to reveal my colorful mermaid-decorated diaper. The constant need for diapers in my life had sent my mother on a shopping spree. New diapers and clothes with new designs and patterns seemed to arrive at our house almost daily. It was almost as if she was pleased that she at least still had me to dress someone to her liking now that Sophie was becoming more and more independent.

I watched in disbelief as Viola's mother, a woman my age, finally, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, loosened the adhesive strips of my diaper, exposing my naked crotch. Embarrassed, I stared at the remnants of diaper cream and urine stuck to my still very irritated and reddened vulva. The last few nights I had fantasized wildly about Viola's mother pleasuring my most intimate parts. But I certainly had not imagined that she would peel me out of a wet diaper in the process. But she didn't seem to mind what she saw. Quite the opposite. She even smiled lovingly at me when she threw my wet diaper into the diaper pail.

She cleaned my crotch after laying out a fresh mermaid diaper under me. And while she carefully freed my labia from the last remnants of diaper cream and urine, I could not suppress the thought that in my innermost being I ardently wished that at this moment she would penetrate me deeply with her fingers. Never before in my life had I felt trapped in such an ambivalent feeling of arousal and shame as she carefully smeared my crotch with the soothing, thick diaper cream. I found myself in the paradoxical state of wishing on the one hand that this moment would last forever, while on the other hand, out of deepest embarrassment, I wished that the whole thing would stop immediately.

And then, just as Viola's mother had almost finished rubbing the cream into me, the unbelievable happened - something I could not have imagined even in my worst nightmares. I suddenly began to pee. A startled yelp escaped Viola's mother as she realized what was going on. Hastily, she pulled up the diaper that lay beneath me to catch the sudden stream of urine.

Mrs. Müller, who had only heard her panicked scream, immediately looked over in concern. "Is everything allright? What happened?" she asked with a hint of concern in her voice. A half-amused, half-embarrassed giggle escaped Viola's mother as she continued to press the diaper against my crotch. "It seems like Emily's diaper change didn't go fast enough. I was able to pull my hand away just in time before she peed on me."

Now Mrs. Müller laughed, too. "Well, you always have to be prepared for surprises when changing diapers," she replied with amusement, adding with a smile, "You're lucky to be changing a girl. Once when I was diapering a little boy in another kindergarten, he literally pissed all over me before I even had a chance to react!". They both squealed with laughter, only to stop the next moment and exchange a brief, silent, fleeting glance that, brief as it was, inevitably revealed the deep sympathy the two felt for each other.

I, on the other hand, was in no mood to laugh. My face, which had already been red before, seemed to glow now. When Viola's mother finally asked me if I had stopped peeing, all I could manage was a nod. It was as if my vocal chords had lost the ability to speak at that moment due to embarrassment. "I guess we'll start over, then," Viola's mother said in a motherly voice, throwing the wet diaper away. "I'm afraid this was the last mermaid-themed diaper you had. But the others are just as cute, even if they don't go so well with your nice outfit," she tried to cheer me up, as if I was the one who cared that my diaper matched the rest of my outfit. She began to clean and cream me again, and in the end she put on a brightly colored diaper with lots of cute little bears on it, before closing the buttons of my onesie with the unmistakable loud click that goes with it.

 

If you like my story and would like to support me, you can do so on Patreon (patreon.com/SweetLittleEmily). There, you will also find additional chapters, and a new chapter is published twice a month.

[ken2988]

I can feel for this character, and it feels a lot like my life growing up when I was around 12.  My sister is 5 years younger than me and she stopped wetting the bed when she was around 3, while I wet the bed until I was almost 12 years of age.

I remember my sister and her friends teasing me about wetting the bed when she was around5 years of age until I stopped wetting the bed when she was 7.

[Emmi]

Out of curiosity how much time has passed since she started her therapy? Does she even remember why she started or that she will be allowed to see a doctor after the 3 month mark?