TOM WETS THE BED AGAIN Part 1-16

[tomchen]

 

FOREWORD:

I experienced some of it like this. However, I've shifted the plot further towards the present day because I don't remember the details of that time well enough.

Tom has just turned 13. His cousin is 12 and they share a similar fate. They are bedwetters. His cousin's brother Paul (4 years old) and his sister Viktoria (8 years old) are also part of the story.

PART 1: TOM WETS THE BED AGAIN 

It wasn't far home now. I had just played a sensational soccer match and scored three goals. Everyone celebrated me.

But now I had to go to the loo urgently. So I left my bike and looked around for a toilet on foot. But there was nothing to be found. But suddenly I spotted a white toilet seat behind a bus shelter. There were no people in the bus shelter at the time and the windows of the house behind the bus stop all had green high shutters and these shutters were all closed. So I could risk sitting down here quickly and peeing in the toilet. Nobody would see me and then I would drive on quickly. Suddenly my mother called."Hello Tom, we're visiting your aunt today. Get ready.

Can't you hear me?"

She suddenly shook me by the shoulder.

Now the events came thick and fast. While my mother was already standing next to me and I was slowly waking up, I noticed my wet pants and the wet bed. I was wide awake, remembering the dream in which I was looking for a toilet and finally found it. My mother reached for my comforter at the same second. 

I reacted too late.

The blanket was gone. I was sitting half upright in a big wet spot, my hands outstretched for the blanket.

My mother immediately realized what had happened.

"Tom! Have you wet the bed again? There's no way! I thought we were past this. You're 13 years old.

Last week it was an ‘accident’, and the day before yesterday too, that's the third time now."

I got hot, the blush was certainly on my face.

It used to happen all the time until 6 years ago, but then it was over.

Well, almost. It happened from time to time. But every 4 to 6 months at most.

Now I was sitting there, wet, again.

“Get up!”

I stood in front of my mother. My pyjamas were sticking to my legs. My shirt was damp all the way down my back. There was a big wet spot on the bed.

The comforter had also taken a beating and even the pillow was affected.

"That can't be right, it's all wet! You're not a toddler anymore."

My head was flaming red. What was I supposed to say? I was ashamed and stood rooted to the spot in the room.

“Take that off”

As I didn't react immediately, my mother pulled my top over my head.

When she tried to grab my pants, I held them tightly.

"No, please don't. I can do that myself." I shouted and ran into the bathroom. As I did so, my wet pants were clearly audible around my bottom.

“Go and have a shower in a minute,” my mother called after me.

When I stepped out of the shower, my wet pants were lying on the floor in front of me. Unmistakable proof that it had all just happened again. It was so embarrassing. With a towel tied around me, I ran back to my mother in my room. I held the wet pants next to me with two fingers.

My mother had already taken off the sheets and put my mattress on the balcony. I was shocked again. Again I had a bright red head.

“Do you really have to put the mattress out?” I moaned.

“Yes of course Tom, otherwise everything in the room will smell”, she replied more conciliatory.

“What should I do with the pants?” I asked meekly.

My mother looked at me with a mixture of disappointment, pity and a bit of anger.

"Go back, wash them out well and take your shirt and the sheet with you. Then hang everything up on the balcony. I'll put it in the machine with the rest when we get back."

My mother looked at me with a mixture of disappointment, pity and a bit of anger.

"Go back, wash them out well and take your shirt and the sheet with you. Then hang everything up on the balcony. I'll put it in the machine with the rest when we get back."

The washing was embarrassing again, but hanging it up next to my mattress couldn't be beaten. Anyone who walked past the house could immediately see what had happened here. Even the neighbors' children, and especially the two girls from the house opposite, would know everything, I thought. We played together almost every week. 

For the third time in the last two weeks, my mattress is out there.

I would never be able to look them in the eye again.

At breakfast afterwards, my “accident” was no longer an issue. Shortly afterwards, we were already in the car on the way to my aunt's house. Part of the family was meeting there today.

My aunt had three children, two girls (4, 8 and 12) and the youngest was a boy. Her brother's two boys were also there.

Laura, the 12-year-old, and I came into the living room from playing to have a drink. 

The adults were talking about bedwetting. I was so embarrassed and Laura was obviously in a hurry to leave the room.

When we got back home in the afternoon, my mother took care of the laundry and put the mattress back on the slatted frame with the stain facing down.

I went to bed around ten pm.

I was almost falling asleep when my mother came into the room.

"Tom! Have you been to the loo?"

“Yes,” I mumbled.

“It's better we go again,” she pulled the covers off me and waited until I got up.

“I don't have to!”

"Then your bed will be wet again tomorrow, darling. Maybe you'll stay dry tonight."

I shuffled to the loo.

“Stay there, I'll come and get you.” 

“Mom, I'm 13 and not a toddler!”

"Yes, Tom, I know, but you'll be happy if you don't have wet pants again tomorrow, won't you? Aren't you?"

“Yes mom.”

She left me sitting there for fifteen minutes. I felt so ridiculous.

“So Tom, successful?”

“Yes,” I lied. I didn't want to wait any longer for permission in such a childish way.

"You see. Then you'll certainly be dry tomorrow, big guy," she praised me.

"Clean up, rinse, wash your hands and you can slip into your bed. Look how good it smells, I've made everything fresh."

She held the blanket open for me and patted the mattress encouragingly.

The next morning, my mother came into the room as I was leaning over the bed. Everything was wet again. She caught me trying to separate the dry parts from the wet ones and stopped in the doorway.

"But Tom! Again? Your pants are sticking to your bottom. Your shirt is all wet."

I turned around and looked shamefacedly at the floor, my hands crossed in front of my wet pants as if I could still cover something up.

"That's not possible if you were in the toilet yesterday like we agreed. Were you?"

I shook my head.

"Tom, that’s like toddler time!

Now take your clothes off, give them to me, I'll do it together with the bed sheets. You go and have a shower."

I stood there undecided. Do I have to strip naked now? In front of my mother?

"Hurry up, you have to go to school. Put your clothes on the bed. I'll put everything in the machine together."

She was still standing in the door. I couldn't walk past her like yesterday.

I bashfully slipped out of my pants.

“The wet shirt too,” she urged me.

Now I was naked, I put everything on the bed and slipped past my mother.

When I came back showered, my mother had already stripped the bed. The wet mattress was already back on the balcony. She held a new pair of underpants out to me.

“Come on Tomi, slip into them.” Naked as I was, I had to put on my underpants like a four-year-old in front of her. “Tomi,” my mother squatted down in front of me as I nervously tried to get into my panties. “Come on, I'll help you,” she held my pants wide open so that I could get into them.

“Tomi, we'll have to think of something if we're going to bed so often again.” “Mom, please, I promise I'll sit on the toilet for a long time tonight.”

“All right, get dressed and come and have breakfast.”

After school, my mother said that we would visit my aunt and her children again today.

“Before we go, please go to the loo, Tom.” “Mom.” 

“Yes, Tom?” “I'm not a small child and you don't always have to remind me.”

"Tom, better to go once more than to wet the bed again tonight. What do you think?"

I meekly sneaked to the bathroom.

When I came back, my mother was already standing in the hallway.

“So, everything done?” “Yes, mom,” I grumbled.

We were playing in my aunt's garden when my four-year-old cousin Paul was called out onto the patio.

“Paul, time to go to the loo,” said his mother. Paul didn't want to. “We're playing so nicely right now.” "Paul, when your pants are wet, you'll go potty again for a week. Is that what you want?" He looked up at me bashfully and ran to the toilet.

“Tom, when Paul's finished, you're going straight away too,” my mother said. With a red head, I looked at my cousin Laura, who looked much more grown-up in her summer dress than her 12 years. Indignant, I wanted to say something back, but my mother's eyes met mine, telling me not to discuss this now. “Sparrow, please go.” I crept after Paul and later mumbled something about “cystitis” in front of my cousins.

Back home, my mother came into my room in the evening after dinner. "So Tom. Time for bed." I was surprised, I had been going to bed on my own for years. "I'll make up your bed and find you some new pyjamas and you brush your teeth and go to the toilet. Okay?"

I was too surprised to say anything. When I sat down on the toilet, she was back.

"Everything's ready over there. Are you finished?" I shook my head as I had just sat down. “Should I wait here?” My underpants at my ankles and otherwise naked, I shook my head vigorously. "Fine, I'll come and get you then. You promised to sit up late today and make a real effort," she reminded me.

After half an hour, she was back. “Ready?” I nodded. 

When I was already in bed, my mother came back. 

“Look, we'll put a thick towel under there so it doesn't all get wet.” 

“Mom, that's childish.”

“Honey, I know it's all a bit difficult for you, but we'll have to think of something to protect your bed.”

“Mom”

“Get up a minute, I'll put this under you.”

 

[tomchen]

13-year-old Tom wets the bed more and more often.

Eventually he goes to a psychologist, actually because of his grades.

I experienced a lot of the conversations myself.

The measures were also similar

PART 2: „WE HAVE SOMETHING TO DO TO KEEP YOUR BED DRY“

My mother woke me up in the night and took me to the toilet. I didn't really wake up at all. I almost sat down with my pants on if my mother had undressed me in time, as she told me later.

I was dry the next morning. My mother knew this at breakfast and was very proud of me. She had checked when she got up and I was still asleep.

For the next two days, my mother also took me to the toilet before she went to bed herself. It was always a struggle until I was awake enough to follow her instructions, leave my room and take my pants off in the toilet.

Only then did I wake up. I was terribly embarrassed and sat down quickly. Sleepily, I heard my mother waiting next to me for the “releasing” sound in the bowl.

Then I usually heard something like: “You've done very nicely, now we'll quickly put your pants back on and you can go straight back to your bed.”

Or: "Such a good boy. Now lie down on your towel. In case you have another accident."

But even these days I was dry and my mother knew that again at breakfast and praised me. 

Apparently, she now checked my bed regularly before I woke up myself.

The idea that my mother might lift the covers early in the morning, as she would with a small child, and check my bed and maybe even my pajama pants made me blush.

At the same time, my performance at school was getting worse and worse and I got into more and more trouble with my mother.

At dinner, my poor grades and my class teacher's assessment on parents' day were a longstanding topic. My mother wanted to make an appointment with a psychologist.

All the discussions didn't help, even though I promised to study more and pay better attention.

“Honey, the psychologist can help you”, or “I think something is bothering you”, or “there are training opportunities there for learning difficulties, that will help you” and “if you're so distracted, there must be a reason, sweetheart” were her answers.

So I went to sleep. "A psychologist, why do I need one? How will it turn out? were my last thoughts.

I woke up in the night. The light was on and my mother was trying to get me awake.

"Baby, you wet the bed again! The towel is all wet. Come on, get up, I'll change you."

I hardly noticed anything.

Only when my mother woke me up in the morning did I slowly remember.

"Tomi, wake up, I'm afraid you're wet again. Twice in one night! That's worse than when You was a toddler and worse than when You started wetting the bed again in first grade. Tom!“

She pulled back the blanket. 

Oh yes, “this night, again”, I thought. So embarrassing, I had wet the bed that night. My mother changed my clothes, made up the bed again and provisionally covered the stain on the mattress. Luckily it stayed very small because of the towel.

The memories became clearer and clearer.

And now I have wet pants again in the same night?

“We probably don't need to go to the loo anymore,” I suddenly had her words in my ear again that night.

Then she folded a towel and put it in my pyjama bottoms while I was standing up.

“There you go my baby, just to be on the safe side, sleep well.” With a pat on my now fat bottom, she sent me back to bed.

But I had only noticed it all half asleep. 

In retrospect, it was so embarrassing that I buried my face in the pillow. I didn't want to have to look my mother in the eye right now.

“This can't be true,” I thought to myself half asleep as I lay back in bed with the thick padding between my legs. “Shouldn't I pull the towel out of my pants straight away?” I thought, but then I fell asleep again.

Now when I woke up, I wanted to complain what this was all about, she can't give me a... Only then did I realize that it had happened again. Any rebellion was stifled.

"Sweetheart, you're all wet again. I didn't have a big towel to put underneath you yesterday, so I quickly put the small one in your pyjama bottoms. But unfortunately the are still wet. I saw it in the morning, but I didn't want to wake you up. We really need to think about something until it gets better. What do you think?"

I got out of bed, which fortunately remained dry.

The wet towel pulled the crotch of my pants down low. I must have looked ridiculous standing in front of my bed as wide-legged as a three-year-old with my pants full.

"Look at that! Come on, I'll help you undress." “Mom, please don't,” I ran past my mother into the bathroom, my bottom wiggling. "Wash your diap…I mean …..  please wash your clothes in the sink. Otherwise everything will smell until I have time to do the laundry. Then you can throw them in with the wet pants and bedding from last night, I've already rinsed them. When you've showered, please come and have breakfast."

Breakfast was all about “last night.”

Whether I had washed everything well, whether I didn't feel uncomfortable lying in a wet bed in the middle of the night and much more.

When I asked my mother about the towel in my pants and again dared to say that I didn't want it, she said: “Honey, we have to do something to keep your bed dry.” “But I'm not a baby,” I sobbed. "No, you're not a baby just because you're wetting the bed again, you're my big one. Now go to school and try to do your work."

That evening I found out that I had an appointment with a “very nice” school psychologist next week. Because of my “poor performance”, as my mother emphasized. Again, I begged not to have to go there. But it didn't help. My mother insisted.

Then my aunt came by. She brought my mother a few things she no longer needed and stayed for dinner. 

I was then sent to my room. After brushing my teeth, already in my pyjamas, I said goodnight. I front of my aunt, my mother wanted to know if I „had been to the toilet.“ With a red head, I stuttered a “yes”, even though it wasn't true, and was then allowed to go to sleep.

The freshly made bed was soaked through and through in the morning. So the mattress was to put back on my balcony to dry. All the bedding was washed and the pyjamas were hung up next to the mattress again. I was so ashamed.

Before dinner, my mother called me in. She rummaged in a bag her sister had given her last night and put a few things to one side.

"Tom, I bought you a new mattress, it's already in your bed. I got rid of the old one. It smelled so bad. 

We said we'd think of some solution to cover your little problem. So before I make up your bed, please put this bedwetting protection over the mattress. I'll prepare dinner in the meantime and we'll do the rest after dinner."

She handed me a folded blue plastic sheet with rubber sewn into it.

I stared at the thing in disbelief.

“Come on Tommi, take it and go,” she said sympathetically.

“But I'm not a baby!” I shouted. "It was just a couple of accidents. Things like that can happen. I promise it won't happen again, please!"

"One mattress for two weeks is enough for me. We'll try the protection for the next six months. The protection will stay on your bed until we know you're dry." "No, please I promise it won't happen again. Where did that thing come from anyway?" 

“Your aunt brought it for you.” was her reply.

I couldn't believe it. My mother had really discussed this with her sister and who knows who else. “How could you just blurt that out!”

"I didn't ‘blurt out’ anything. Your aunt noticed how quiet and ashamed you were, so she asked me what was going on and finally gave me Laura's old bed pad."

Laura! Laura has a bed topper?

"Go and get your bed ready now! We'll discuss everything else later."

“And what is the ‘other’ and what else has she brought with her?” I pointed to the things she had put next to the bag.

"Oh, that. A few aids that Laura no longer needs." 

“What do you mean?” I asked uncertainly.

“Plastic pants and diapers.” was the short answer. She lifted up a pair of white plastic pants and unfolded them. You could see that they could be closed with snap fasteners. 

“Some cloth diapers and disposable diapers that Aunt Lisa recommended in case you wet a lot like tonight.” She also held them up.

"If you keep wetting the bed, we'll have to put you in diapers again. We need a solution. Just like when you were six. Don’t you remember?  „Padded bottom“ we called it. You where so adorable.“

I was horrified.

"Don't look like that, if you stay dry we won't need all that. But if you don't go upstairs right now, we'll start with the pull-ups straight away." She held up one of the pink panties and spread the waistband wide apart with her fingers so that there was no doubt that I would fit in.

Hanging my head, I took the plastic protector and trudged into my room.

“Tighten the ends tightly over the mattress .” she called after me.

When I got to the bed, I saw the bare mattress, the new bedding on the floor next to it and a prepared sheet.

The “bedwetting protection”, as my mother called it, rustled loudly as I unfolded it. It stretched easily over the four corners of the mattress and fitted perfectly. 

You could tell it wasn't new, but it didn't have any holes or tears. It had obviously been well looked after. A particular plastic smell now overlaid the smell of the mattress and that of my wet beds, which had begun to settle very slightly in the room.

There was my bed with the blue plastic protection. „Ready for the bedwetter.“ I thought.

At dinner, I didn't dare ask for a long time why Laura had such “bedwetting things”. 

I didn't want to bring the conversation back to the embarrassing topic. Finally, I couldn't take it any longer and asked.

“Laura did wet the bed.“ was my mother's short answer. 

I sat there with my mouth open. “Since when?”

"For some years as far as I know. First her  bed has been wet from time to time. Than it became more and more frequent. The bed was often wet twice a week. She has been wearing diapers for two years now. With that and a bit of consistency and strictness, it has gotten better, says your aunt. She's been dry for three months now."

I was speechless.

“Eat up and brush your teeth.”

“But it's only 8 o'clock, I don't have to go to bed for a long time yet,” I got up. 

Especially today, I didn't feel like crawling into my prepared bed with the protective cover.

“I'm not a baby anymore!”

"No Tom, you're not a baby. But you're not a toddler either. But at the moment you're behaving a bit like a toddler. And I'm not talking about the bedwetting. Your cousin was also asleep by 9 pm at the latest, as long as she dud wet at night, your aunt said, so that she could sleep as much as possible and relieve stress. Now finish your dinner and I'll put you to bed."

I swallowed and wanted to pour myself some more lemonade.

My mother stopped my hand.

"No drinks after 8 pm. 

Otherwise we have another wet bed tomorrow morning.“

I hung my head and went to the bathroom. When I got back to my room, my mother was in the middle of pulling up the sheets. The plastic was clearly rustling. “Six months....” I thought to myself.

“Have you been to the loo?” my mother wanted to know.

I turned red. My mother just shook her head in disbelief and guided me by the shoulder to the toilet.

When I tried to close the door from the inside, she held it firmly.

"The door stays open. Today I want to hear if you're really going. Last week you lied to me. And if you really did use the toilet last night you probably couldn't have wet yourself twice in one night. 

Now you have to get used to sit next to me, like when you were potty trained at the age of three. At least until I can trust you again. So drop your pants and sit down," my mother was already a little annoyed.

Guiltily, I carefully pulled down my pyjama bottoms and quickly sat down with my legs pressed tightly together. I didn't dare look my mother in the eye.

After a few minutes, I actually managed it and you could clearly hear my bladder emptying into the toilet.

For the first time in years, I peed right in front of my mother.

She praised me like a little child and I was allowed to get dressed again and slip into bed.

My mother stroked my head in a conciliatory manner and switched off the light.

Every movement in bed reminded me of my new status. With the pad, I was now officially a bedwetter again. Of course, I didn't want this to be true and took refuge in “an accident”, suppressed the previous cases and fell asleep with these thoughts.

My mother continued to take me to the toilet at night, not without telling me the next day how difficult it was again and that she often almost couldn't get me out of the room. Sometimes she wouldn't even put my pyjama bottoms on and I would wake up in just my shirt. 

When I got up, it was incredibly embarrassing I had to look for my pants in the morning and imagine that I had walked around naked in front of my mother again that night and.

But I stayed dry for the next few days.

I only had one night where I “inaugurated” the plastic mat under my sheet.

Then came the day when my mother picked me up from school at lunchtime and she drove us to the school psychologist.

At the bottom of the door by the entrance it said “Child psychologist consultant Dr Margit Loffler”

A nice receptionist greeted us. "Oh, you're Tom! Nice to see you. I already have your details. Your mother has already told a lot and filled out the forms, I'll bring them in,“ she smiled encouragingly at me. ”Your mother just has to sign here. The doctor is really looking forward to seeing you. You'll see, she's very nice and you'll like her. Your turn is coming up. I'll call you then."

There was another girl in the waiting room, also with her mother. We were both very embarrassed to be sitting here. We tried to avoid looking at each other, but we didn't always succeed.

Then the lady from reception brought the girls mother a prescription and they left the ordination. Shortly afterwards, a boy and a girl came in with their mothers and we were called in.

The psychologist's room looked almost like a child's bedroom. There was a large desk with three armchairs and a seating area. But there was also a play mat with streets and houses printed on it, a shelf with building blocks, dolls, model cars and everything was very colorful. On the walls were a few diplomas and a few children's drawings.

The woman behind the desk stood up to greet us. She was perhaps 30 years old. She was very slim and had long, thick dark hair. She was dressed in a white blouse and a short black skirt. Her high heels clattered a little as she walked across the wooden floor.

She greeted my mother first and then me, bending a little towards me and also bending her knee a little and looking at me with a friendly smile.

“Hello Tom, nice to see you, let's sit down there first.”

She pointed to her desk.

Her assistant brought my documents and blinked at me encouragingly. I obviously looked very intimidated. 

"I've heard a lot about you. You're already 13 years old. You're a real teenager," she tried to break the ice.

"I have to ask you a lot of questions now. Is that okay with you?"

“Yes, of course,” was my initially confident answer and off we went.

First the doctor asked me questions about school, which class, how I liked it, whether I had any friends. My mother let me answer them all. Only sometimes, when I was unsure, did she help briefly. "...yes, his teachers get on well with him. No, he's not about to change schools."

“Do you coach a sport?”

“Yes, I'm in a soccer club.”

“How often do you train?”

“Sometimes once a week, sometimes three times.”

Then other questions soon followed.

“Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“No”

“Are you often scared?”

Questioning look at my mother

"No, he's not scared. Just a bit shy."

She kept looking at her papers, making notes, smiling at me again.

“Do you often have stomach ache?”

“No”

“Do you sweat a lot”

‘No’

"Nail biting? Do you do that?"

“No!” I answered quickly, even though my mother admonished me for it from time to time. I felt warm and was probably a little red when I gave the answer. A sideways glance at my mother told me that she would let this little lie pass.

The psychologist made a note.

“Are you wetting your bed?”

“Nope!” I replied quickly again. The heat flashed across my face.

A sideways glance at my mother showed me that she wanted answers for me.

The doctor approached her.

“It says here in your documents that you have a little problem with it.”

“She knows,” it popped into my head 

"Why did my mother tell her? Who does that concern? I'm here for school!"

"Tom, you don't have to be embarrassed. Lots of children still wet their beds," she cheered me up.

“So think about it, is your bed wet sometimes?”

I didn't answer, just sat there with a red head.

The psychologist looked at my mother.

“Yes, Tom wets the bed again,” was my mother's short reply. I was to hear this devastating sentence regularly from now on. 

“What do you say to that, Tom?” the psychologist wanted to know. I looked down out of shame and was unable to answer.

My mother added:

"It's happened once or twice a year over the last few years. Hasn't it Tom? So far!"

“But not for a long time now,” I tried to relativize sheepishly.

The psychologist looked at her records and then back at me.

“When was the last time you woke up and you had wet sheets?” she asked cautiously.

Again, I looked bashfully at my mother for a moment, then bowed my head. I replied in a low voice: “On Tuesday.” She made a tick in her records.

“And before that?” I thought about it. “On Saturday.” I was now bright red in the face. I'd never been so embarrassed. Tick.

“And did you wet your bed last week too?”

Again, I didn't answer at first.

"Tom. You can just tell me. I've spoken to lots of children who are bedwetters." Now she had said the word I was so ashamed of. 

“So, did it happen last week too?” 

“Yes,” I answered, looking down at the tabletop. Tick mark.

“More often?”

I nodded.

“How many times was your bed wet last week, Tom?”

“Three times”

My mother nodded next to me.

“And before that?”

I looked at my mother.

“It was twice the week before that too,” my mother answered for me.

I felt caught out. That no longer sounded like an “accident”. 

“And have you ever been dry for longer?”

I nodded.

“And in the past, can you remember having a wet bed a lot earlier too sometimes?”

I nodded again.

The psychologist turned to my mother: "Has Tom ever been dry at night for much longer than six months? Maybe nine months or even a year?

"Tom was dry during the day when he was three. Then something only happened very rarely. At four and a half, we stopped wearing diapers and at five, we stopped wearing them at night too."

"You might even remember that. Or Tom?" the doctor gently continued the conversation with me.

Once more,I nodded silently.

“You must have been proud how you didn't need diapers anymore, right?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“And was your bed always dry then?”

I remained silent.

"But Tom, don't be embarrassed. It still happens to lots of children. Many kids are bedwetters like you are. There's a girl outside who's almost as old as you and she even sleeps in diapers again. Simply because then she doesn't have to worry about the bed."

She looked at her papers.

"I think your bed got wet from time to time later. Right?"

I nodded.

“And then when you came to school, your bed was always dry.”

I shook my head.

"Tell me, did it only happen once every few months? Or was it more often?" She took my hand. 

“More often,” I replied.

She looked at her papers again briefly.

"Tom, look at me, you really have nothing to be ashamed of. When you were six or seven years old. In first and second grade, did you wet the bed more like once a month or once a week?"

I looked at her, but I couldn't make a sound. "Or was your bed wet several times a week? Maybe even every night? Like the girl I told you about." She looked me in the eye very kindly.

“Yes, often, almost always...at night,” I stuttered, looking to my mother.

"Tom, look at me, you don't need your mother right now. You really have nothing to be ashamed of. Tell me, what were you doing there?"

“Mom put my old diaper pants back on me,” I said quietly. I had to assume that my mother had already told her that.

"There you go, then you know that anyway. And what are you doing now?"

“I have a pad in my bed.”

"That's a very good idea. Then the mattress won't get wet. But of course you'll be even wetter. Until your mother helps you. Right?"

I nodded again.

She was still holding my hands and was now squeezing them a little.

“Tell me, does it also happen that twice in one night you have wet pants?”

I blushed again.

“Yes, it has happened,” I grumbled. I would have loved to die, I was so ashamed.

“When did that happen?”

“On Saturday, but it only happened once.”

“Shall we send your mother out and the two of us can discuss something between us?” the doctor suggested. I didn't know what to say. In the pause that ensued, she gave my mother a sign and she went out the door.

The psychologist grabbed my hands again.

“I had a long talk with your mother”, now it was out, I thought.

“Your mother is worried and she sees how you are getting worse at school as a bedwetter.”

There it was again, the word “bedwetter”. She called me a bedwetter, but it only happened a few times, accidents.

“I'm not a bedwetter! I just always have these dreams.” I tried to salvage what little dignity I had left.

The psychologist smiled. “What kind of dreams? Would you like to tell me about them?”

“Well, they're always different.”

“What did you dream last time?”

I blushed again. Should I really tell this strange woman about these embarrassing stories?

“Come on, I want to help you.”

I gathered all my courage.

"I was playing in the garden, but it wasn't our garden. I had to go to the bathroom, so I went into the house that was in the garden, but I couldn't find a bathroom. Then I saw a basket of dirty laundry next to a washing machine. And then I thought to myself that it was going to be washed anyway, so I unzipped my pants and peed in it. I was just surprised that it took so long.“

”Very interesting. Did you wake up?“

”No, in the dream I went back to my friends."

“And did you feel better?”

“Yes, I was glad we could continue playing.”

"You see, the dreams are trying to tell you something. Something is weighing on you. Maybe school, maybe something else. We need to find out. You're looking for a solution, but you haven't found it yet.

Do you want to help me, Tom? Do you want to help your mother?"

“Yes,” I sobbed.

“Don't you think it's very bad if you get up twice in the night so that your mother can change the bed?”

I nodded.

“I think you'd be a bit better at school if you had a good night's sleep.”

I didn't know what she was getting at.

"You've been wetting the bed almost every other night for the last two weeks. Unfortunately, these are not accidents. Many two-year-olds only do it once or twice a week."

Again, I lowered my eyes in shame.

“I'd like you to wear diapers again.”

I widened my eyes.

“Like a baby!” I exclaimed in horror.

"No, Tom. Like a child who doesn't always want to wet the whole bed. In the morning, you just take your diaper off and nobody notices. Only your mother and I know about it."

“I don't want diapers, it doesn't happen often.”

“Your mother has a lot of work to do too.”

I hung my head.

"I know you're ashamed. But I know from the other bedwetters I treat, they're ashamed even when they wake up all wet. Their pyjama shirt is often wet all over their back, their pants anyway and the smell. You're ashamed when you stand in front of your mother like that, aren't you?"

I nodded.

“Look, if you're wearing diapers, you don't need to be afraid of these dreams. You just let it go. Into your diapers. That's what they're there for. No one will be mad at you. Children need different amounts of time before they stop wetting their pants at night. So we'll just give your body what it needs. Then your head will be clear again to tackle the problems at school.”

I wanted to crawl under the table in shame. 

"So, Tom. Are we in agreement? You're going to put your diapers back on to sleep until the bedwetting gets better? Then we can call your mother and we're done for the day."

I was totally taken by surprise. I didn't want diaper pants. But what could I do? I wanted to get out of here. I was so embarrassed that the psychologist knew all this about me. But I would have preferred to become invisible.

So I nodded in the affirmative.

“Good Tom, can you tell me that too, so that I really know you're okay with it,” she said very gently.

I sat there a little helplessly. She squeezed my hands again. “Just tell me that you want to wear diapers again until they stay dry for, let's say, two months.”

“Two months?” I sighed.

"All right, let's say one month. You can manage that, can't you?"

I nodded, a little relieved.

"And your mother can help you with that. That's very important."

I nodded sadly again.

“So”

I tentatively formulated the sentence:

“I'm going to wear diapers again until I'm a month dry.”

"You've done a great job. Now we can get your mother and tell her all about it."

I didn't know what I had let myself in for.She let go of my hands, went to the door and called my mother in. She sat down again and the psychologist took the floor.

"We've decided that as long as the bedwetting doesn't get better, Tom will wear diapers to sleep. Is that right Tom?"

I nodded my head gently.

My mother was very surprised, you could tell.

“He's very ashamed,” she added in my mother's direction. 

"But there's a good thing about being ashamed, Tom. It's a sign that you want to get dry at night quickly yourself. I also look after children who are bedwetters but aren't ashamed enough. They have their diapers on, but they soon don't bother them anymore and the bedwetting doesn't get any better."

“Tomi, I think that's a very good idea,” praised my mother.

I didn't know what to say.

The psychologist took the floor again and turned to my mother.

"It's important that you're very involved. We've agreed that too. The diaper changing time is a time you spend together. Changing nappies is a bit like when you were a toddler, when you had no responsibilities and your mother had lots of time for you."

“Does that mean that my mother puts the diapers on me?”

"You do it together. Firstly, it's not that easy job, and we don't want your bed to get wet any more and secondly, it's also a sign of trust in your mother if you let her change you and follow her. Thirdly, it's time together."

I blushed.

"Yes, you'll feel a bit ashamed, but you'll dry out quickly. You'll see."

“Once you're used to your diapers for a few days, you'll sleep much better and we can quickly take care of your school problems.”

She said to my mother:

"I'll write you an address here where you can get everything you need. The diaper pants shouldn't be too small. Firstly, children that age wet a lot and", she turned to me again. “Besides, sometimes you wet your pants twice in one night.”

I wanted to say that it only happened once, but then left it at that. Turning to my mother, she added: "It's good to use one or two more diapers. Tom should feel the diaper pants well. On the one hand, it gives him a sense of security and on the other, it reminds him that he wants to be clean."

My mother nodded and even made notes in between.

“You should definitely have this checked out by a doctor.”

"I think it's primary enuresis, which is when the child has never really been dry. It is called dry if the bed was dry for at least 6-9 months. However, this was apparently never the case with Tom. It is then a case of ‘maturity delay’.

I froze, heat rose to my face and my mouth remained open. She said I had never been ‘dry’. Like a toddler?

She seemed to guess my thoughts. "Tom, that means there's probably nothing wrong with you health-wise. You're already a big boy, of course, but a small part of you hasn't moved out of toddlerhood yet."

I looked down at the floor in shame.

"Tom, you don't have to be sad. Your bladder and some messenger substances are not yet as developed as those of other children who are perhaps already dry at night at the age of three. That's why some doctors recommend training days. You're training for soccer, aren't you Tom?"

I looked up again.

"The doctors do something similar to your trainer. They train your bladder to last longer. Just like you train your muscles and reactions in soccer. Do you understand that?"

I nodded.

"You could always have a training day at the weekend. First you try not to go to the toilet for three hours, for example, then four hours. Next weekend you might be able to go even longer. Drink a large glass of water every hour or so. Many doctors have had success with this. 

But don't think it will work straight away."

She said to my mother: "There are often accidents, especially at the beginning. But even later on, the increased time can lead to wet pants. You shouldn't get impatient. To avoid wet clothes or even wet upholstered furniture, Tom should also wear diaper pants on training days like this."

I blushed again.

"No one will see you at home. And if you've been dry at night for a whole week, we'll skip the next training day as a reward. What do you think?"

I must have made a pretty panicked face. She had to laugh for a moment. "Oh Tom, you're right, a week might be too much to start with. Let's say for starters, if you only wet the bed once in a week, you can skip training once and do something together."

I was still sitting there terrified.

"Well, you can still think about that. Maybe you'll go to bed earlier than you used to. Most children have problems at the beginning when they go back to wearing diapers. In the beginning, sleeping with the thick diaper will still be a little unfamiliar and you may even wake up. But this is also an opportunity for you to feel that you need to go to the toilet. 

Eight o'clock would be a good time. That way you'll be well rested the next day. You'll start getting ready for bed at seven, so you'll have plenty of time before lights out."

Then she put a colorful booklet in front of me. There was a picture of a rabbit on the front. He was standing by his bed wearing a diaper. 

At the bottom it said: 

“Bunny will soon be sleeping without a diaper”

"I have a training diary for you. And I have colorful stickers to stick in it."

She unfolded the little booklet. There were 7 pictures of the rabbit on each page. He was always standing in his room, his bed was also visible. He was always standing there in a different position, playing, putting on a shirt or walking through the room.

"Whenever you've stayed dry, stick the sticker with the white diaper on the bunny here. When you've wet your diapers, put one of the stickers with the yellow diaper pants on him. 

If you can't get a diaper on because you've already had five weeks of dry nights, your bunny won't get a diaper either.

I still have stickers with potties on them. You stick one to your bunny every evening. If you have been to the toilet in the evening, stick it on as normal. If you've forgotten about it or nothing has come out, you stick it upside down." She paused for a moment and laughed out loud: "Tom, don't look so scared. Don't worry, you don't have to go on the pot tonight. You're already a big boy. The training book is just for smaller children. But I also have lots of older children here who enjoy it anyway."

I felt so small between the two adults and more ashamed by the minute.

"Next time we'll see if we notice anything.

If you have a wet bed because your diaper pants were too small to hold everything or you were allowed to sleep without a diaper and had a relapse, please stick one of these yellow dots in bunny's bed. Each side is for one week. Do you understand everything?"

I looked at the stickers and the childish booklet in disbelief.

"Look, I'll write your name on the front and today's date on the first picture. Tonight you'll go to the toilet and stick one of bunny's potties on it. And if your diaper is dry tomorrow, Bunny will get a white diaper first thing in the morning." 

"What a lovely present. Tom, thank you." 

I had to thank him now too.

We had to arrange a follow-up appointment with the receptionist in two weeks' time. I was supposed to come to one of the study groups to improve my grades. I was reminded to bring the “training booklet” with me to this appointment.

"You should go to the store I wrote down for your mother right now. They have really good advice there. You can choose a pair of diaper pants there and you'll wake up in a dry bed tomorrow."

My mother said that I didn't need anything for the time being because my cousin would lend me lots of things.

Now I looked at my mother in bewilderment. She smiled briefly and tousled my hair: “Come on, my hero, let's go”. And she said to the psychologist with great relief: “See you next week”.

With the booklet and sticker sheets in hand, we left her office and stood in the waiting room. A girl a few years younger than me was sitting there. She recognized the booklet immediately and grinned. She looked me up and down. I quickly wanted to make everything disappear into my bag. I was so hectic that I dropped the booklet and stickers on the floor.

The reception assistant was quick to help me pick them up.

Of course she knew exactly what the book meant.

She gave it to me and winked.

"We'll be seeing more of each other now, I'm glad. Let's make an appointment right away." 

When my mother had finished making the appointment and we were already at the door, she ran after me. "Tom, there, you've forgotten your bunny book. Good luck and see you in two weeks. For the first lesson in our study group. You'll see, they're all nice children. Two of them also have the bunny book." She winked at me again. “You're not the only bedwetter,” she added half aloud so that the girl on the waiting bench couldn't hear.

There it was again, the word. “Bedwetter”, it was now official. I was also going to be put back in diapers now. Like a toddler. But I felt almost grown up, this year in school….

 

 

 

[Bonsai]

Now, even if the bunny goes yellow, the mattress will stay dry. That is, unless the bunny is an extra heavy wetter!

[tomchen]

23 minutes ago, Bonsai said:

Now, even if the bunny goes yellow, the mattress will stay dry. That is, unless the bunny is an extra heavy wetter!

Yes Bonsai!

This new „bunnybook“ will definitely help to keep the bed dry, but isn’t it very embarrassing for a 13 year old to deal with the bunny in his booklet?

[Bonsai]

2 hours ago, tomchen said:

Yes Bonsai!

This new „bunnybook“ will definitely help to keep the bed dry, but isn’t it very embarrassing for a 13 year old to deal with the bunny in his booklet?

The thing I like most is how the overall bunnybook system forces transparency on kids. The diapers keep the bed dry, but the evidence of accidents is inescapably humiliating.

[tomchen]

On 9/5/2025 at 1:20 PM, Bonsai said:

The thing I like most is how the overall bunnybook system forces transparency on kids. The diapers keep the bed dry, but the evidence of accidents is inescapably humiliating.

Unfortunately there will be many occasions Tom has to present his bunnybook to babysitters, family, doktors 

Tom feels very childish about, but his mother appreciates the educational effect 

[Babypants]

Thank you for posting this.  Tom and his mother are acting like real people caught up in a real life situation, which is a far cry from the child abuse by means of diaper humiliation fantasies that have appeared here so often.

[tomchen]

 

Similar to my experiences, Tom now wets the bed several times a week. His performance at school is already suffering as a result (as it was in my case). The psychologist who was supposed to advise him about his school problems only talked to him about his bedwetting. She recommended a new start with „potty training“, as he has never really been dry. He should now wear diapers to sleep again. That was also recommended to my parents.

He has to write everything down in a booklet, the “bunny book”. The next appointment is in two weeks' time. Tom has never been so ashamed before.

Part 3: “YOU WILL GET USED TO IT”

On the way back from the psychologist my mother had dragged me to because of my problems at school, my mother praised me for being so sensible. 

She emphasized every detail of the appointment the whole way home.

She wanted to go over her notes again. I still couldn't make sense of what had happened.

I was supposed to talk to the psychologist about my dyslexia.

But in the end, that wasn't really an issue.

My mother had obviously told the psychologist everything about my “accident” beforehand. Okay, maybe it had happened a few times.

But that didn't make me a bedwetter! Had it really just been decided that I would have to wear diapers again?

I agreed to it. Yes, but only because it was all so embarrassing and unfair.

I just wanted to get out of Dr. Loffler's office.

Annoyed, I turned to my mother:

"Why did you embarrass me like that? Why did you tell the school psychologist everything about my ‘accident’ on Tuesday? Just like with Aunt Lisa, you made me look like a bedwetter. But it hasn't happened since Tuesday!“

My mother interrupted me:

”Tom, yes, you are a bedwetter. Anyone who wets the bed seven times in two weeks is a bedwetter and needs help.

During the preliminary meeting, Dr. Loffler also asked me about this. She wanted to know whether, in addition to your problems at school, you also frequently wet the bed. What was I supposed to say? If I had continued to put you on the toilet every night like a toddler, the last four nights would also have ended with wet pants. Incidentally, this was a recommendation from Dr. Loffler.

She also says we need to find a solution for your bedwetting so that you can concentrate fully on improving your performance at school.“

I sensed that my mother was getting upset and decided, even though I felt betrayed, to try again in a slightly friendlier manner.

”Mom, do I really have to wear diapers now, like a baby?“

”But sweetheart, we've already discussed all this. You'll see, you'll get used to it quickly.“

”No, please don't, Mom.“

”Look, the psychologist just explained it to you so well. When you wear diapers, you don't have to be afraid of these dreams. You can just ‘let go’ whenever you need to. It will go into your diapers. That's what they're there for. No one will be angry with you, and you'll always wake up in a dry bed. In the evening, we'll put a fresh diaper on you again, and no one will need to know. Children take different amounts of time to stop wetting their pants at night. So we're just giving your body what it needs. Then your head will be clear again to tackle the problems at school."

I nodded silently. It was pointless.

The decision had been made.

Tonight I would be swaddled like a toddler. Sleeping in diapers again from now on. Unthinkable.

But it was clear to my mother. 

"Tom, you're going back diaper pants at night for your bedwetting. Otherwise all small children wouldn't be wearing them. So let's leave it at that and talk about how you can do better at school."

Resigned, I let the matter rest for the time being.

When we got home, she thought it would be a good idea to go through Laura's things together right now. “So that we have everything for tonight...”

It turned out that my mother had received more bags from my aunt, which I now had to carry to my room and put down at the desk there.

My mother reached into the first bag and cleared it out piece by piece. She looked very determined. The conversation with the psychologist had given her extra motivation. 

The idea to put my diapers back on had apparently been in place for some time. I couldn't see any way of influencing what was to come at the moment, so I hung my head and kept quiet.

"Here's an absorbent bed pad first. Put it on the bed nicely, Lisa said to stick it with the adhesive strips where your bottom is, but over the sheet. We can then throw them away when they are wet. You put the rest of the pack in your cupboard next to your pyjamas." 

A happy toddler, a little boy, looked at me on the picture of the packaging. The new protective mat itself rustled a lot and, together with the plastic sheet on my mattress, every movement in bed was now sure to be accompanied by even more crinkles.

“Please mom, can't we at least take the old, crinkly bed pad away again?” I tried to find a basis for conversation.

"We'll see. If we know that the plastic pants are reliable and sufficient, we can leave the mat out again in a week or two. 

Aunt Lisa said that we could use a pack of drynites if the bedwetting only happens rarely. Maybe we can also use them as “training pants” on training days? What do you think?"

I looked to the side bashfully. Am I really going to be wearing diapers soon?

“Do we really have to do this with the training days, Mom?”

"Honey, that's a good idea from Dr. Loffler. We'll try that at the weekend. Don't be afraid, I'm sure you'll manage.

Now bring me your pyjamas. I'll put them in my closet so there's room for your diaper pants. Besides, they don't fit over your diapers anyway.“

She handed me a pile of cloth diapers that already looked very used. I had to put them in the cupboard.

The pyjamas I brought her were then each unfolded and checked to see if the pants were big enough after all. Finally, I had to strip down to my underpants and try on two pairs. Just standing here in my underpants and short shirt made it clear that I was going to be treated like a kindergarten child from now on. 

I had to put on my first pyjama bottoms.

My mother prepared three thick diapers, pulled the pyjama bottoms down a little, pushed the package between my legs and then pulled the pants with the diapers up.

“I'm just getting a diaper on,” it flashed through my mind. Not even Paul, my 4-year-old cousin, gets a diaper. After a little tugging around, I had to walk up and down to see if the diapers would stay in my pants. I waddled around the room like a toddler. The diaper pressed against my underpants and my crotch and I got a bright red head. This was repeated with the second pair of pyjamas.

"I know you're a bit embarrassed about the diapers. But wetting the bed at 13 is something we have to do about. The doctor is right about that. I promise you'll feel better if you don't wake up in a wet bed tomorrow."

The only thing left was a pair of pants that were a bit stretchier and not too tight. I was allowed to put these pyjamas back.

"You can stay in your underpants right now. We'll quickly try on the diaper pants now."

Once again, I would have loved to sink into the ground at that word. 

„I'm really getting diaper pants on now,” I thought to myself. Just a few hours ago, this was beyond my imagination. I looked down at the floor.

Sure, I had to wear those kinds of pants a few years ago, when I moved from kindergarten to elementary school. 

The stress that caused was very noticeable very quickly. For a month, my bed was wet almost every morning. Back then, I was put back in diapers. But I suppressed that memory; I didn't want to be remembered. 

If there was an advertisement for diapers on TV, I would quickly leave the room under some pretext or change the channel. 

I found “mothers' conversations” about potty training or even bedwetting in families particularly embarrassing. I would also,  try to get out of the room somehow, but at the same time I was afraid that my mother would “out” me behind my back.

Perhaps with words like:

“Yes, Tomy wet the bed for a long time, also. We even had to start using diapers again. But after a year, it was almost completely gone.”

Yes, “almost completely.”

How embarrassing these ‘accidents’ were, at first one every few months, and later once or twice a year.

“Is it starting again?” was often my mother's question when I confessed my wet bed in the morning.

In second grade, this was often followed by the sentence:

“I still have your plastic pants in the closet. I hope this was just a one-time accident and we won't need to take them out again.”

I had suppressed all of this and could hardly remember it. Until that moment, when my mother spread out the things from Laura's bedwetting days in front of me.

She was already holding out the first pair of plastic pants in front of me. They were pink and designed to slip into. 

„This slip-on pants are a bit complicated to change, your aunt said, because you have tu pull those over the diapers, while you lie on Your back or stand. Also changing in the night when you wet the pants is kind of complicated. Especially with boys, not everything might be „in the right place“ and then the bed still is wet."

I blushed again. Fortunately, these pants were also too small and my mother put them aside. Two more pairs of plastic knickers followed.

I had to get in and out again and again. I checked whether they were big enough and how many diapers would still fit.

One had a small tear but my mother liked a pair of white ones.

"We can put that on over the pull-ups if necessary. Put it in the cupboard next to the underpants. And bring your underpants with you."

My mother awkwardly folded the panties and handed them to me with a friendly smile.

Unsure, I walked half-naked to the wardrobe. I put my first pair of diaper pants next to my underpants. She opened the first pair of „snap-on“ diaper pants. 

They were bright yellow.

“Well, they're nice, I'm sure they'll fit you”

With these words, my mother pushed the diaper pants between my legs and fastened the top press studs. They smelled of baby powder and a bit like wee.

“Lara must have liked wearing them and used them a lot,” my mother said a little mockingly when she also noticed the smell.

I saw my reflection in the mirror on the closet door. It was bizarre to see myself wearing diaper pants again. It would be even worse once there were diapers inside.

"We still had diaper pants like that on. I didn't even know they still existed. 

If, like Laura, you need diapers for longer now, this is definitely the cheaper option."

Four more “fittings” followed. 

One pair of diaper pants was too small for me "there isn’t enough room for your diapers. You wet a lot" said my mother.

After much pleading, I was also allowed to put aside a pair of pink diaper pants with frilly bottoms. Although my mother would have loved them.

"They're still almost new. I'll keep them for you with your pyjamas. In case you're ever very naughty," she said with a wink, pushing the panties back into the pink box. 

A taller girl with a short skirt could be seen on the front. The ruffles of the thickly padded diaper pants peeked out from under her skirt.

“That'll do for now and if things don't get better soon with your ”accidents", we'll buy new diapers anyway. Maybe some bigger Pampers that you wear when you're away from home, overnight. They're safer than the plastic pants and easier to change than.“

Panic flashed across my face.

"Oh honey, we want to go on vacation too. Imagine what it's like when your bed gets wet there. Can’t you still remember that vacation in second grade? You wet your bed twice and it was changed every day. On the third evening, the chambermaid knocked on our door and brought you a pack of those new Pampers. That was very unpleasant for you, wasn’t it?“

I had completely forgotten about that. Suddenly it was all there again. The young woman, the package with the baby on it. I didn't remember getting dressed, but I did remember that for the rest of the week I always turned away when I met the chambermaid at the hotel. I was so ashamed.

"There's also a ski course coming up next school year. A whole week. If you're not dry by then, I'll have to give you these. Laura's teacher was also involved in the school week. She managed the diapers and Laura had them put on in the teachers room just before going to bed, nobody noticed anything.

Now in the summer vacations you're at a camp and I want you to join sleepover parties with your new classmates next year too."

These ideas made my knees weak. Diaper pants at sleepovers, with strangers!

„Yes, we have to assume you might be in this protection panties for some months, many a year again, we will see“

I had to put the three diaper pants she had chosen away in the closet.

The 5 Drynites that were still left over went on a shelf next to my desk. I had to clear away the collection of Star Wars figures. 

My mother put various bottles and tins of baby oil, powder and wet wipes next to it. All my begging to be allowed to put them in the cupboard didn't help.

"Ah, what else have we got there? An almost full pack of booster pads. 'Oh, you wore them as a baby and even later. Can you remember?" 

I remembered it well, the schoolchild grinning from the package. As a six-year-old, I was so embarrassed when my mother put them in my Pampers as extra protection.

"Back then, one insert was enough and the bed and, in the past, your pants were reliably dry. Now we'll probably have to use two or even three. The cloth diapers that you would otherwise get in your diaper pants don't absorb as well. But you'll notice straight away when you're wet. We'll see how many diapers are ideal. We don't want a wet bed, but you should also be a little uncomfortable so that you learn to get dry quickly. Just normal potty training," she said almost apologetically.

After some pleading, I was allowed to put the pack in the cupboard with the diapers and didn't have to put it on the shelf for everyone to see.

Then a mat appeared.

"Very good, a changing mat. We'll put it at the end of your bed. We'll put it over your comforter when we change you. It's made of rubber and we can easily wipe it clean if baby cream or something leaks out of your diaper when you undress or change you in the morning.

Look at this! Your aunt gave us Lara's bedwetting chart too."

She leafed through a wall calendar that had a page for each month. There was space for entries next to the individual days.

"A smiley for dry nights, a cloud for wet ones. Various notes about going to the loo. And there's a little pull-up drawn after every three wet nights. That means training day. Similar to what we heard today.

In January, Laura had almost no dry nights and at least one training day every week. It got better just before the semester break. Then still in diapers on winter vacation. 

Aunt Lisa noticed that here, and once they were wet too. February was then almost always dry. In March she was allowed to sleep without a pull-up. Then another wet bed in March and in April diapers or pull-ups again but they always stayed dry.

My mother turned the page to June.

"Please enter the last few days. But don't draw a cloud, draw a little bed with a spot in the middle. So that we can distinguish it from the wet diapers. Then hang the calendar on the outside of the door in the bathroom. That will remind us what's coming up the next day."

"Please mom, can't we at least leave it out? Dr. Loffler didn't say anything about that. I got the childish training book anyway!"

But my mother remained firm.

"Can I put at least this in the desk? I'll register everything. I promise! Everyone else could see it. Everyone knows what that means. Please!"

My mother agreed that I could put it in a drawer when visitors came, but otherwise I had to hang it up so that I would be more motivated to get smiles.

I came back after I had finished fixing my bedwetter chart just as my mother was standing in front of the open cupboard examining it.

There were now several pairs of diapers at eye level next to the only pair of pyjamas and a pile of diapers, the open pack of pads and a few more of the bedding.

The sight made me realize what kind of time I was in for. We had agreed with the psychologist that I would have to endure this for a month. If I had wet diapers once, another month. Everything is documented in the booklet and on the calendar...

"Please mom! Do I really have to wear diapers again? I promise I'll make an effort. I'll never wet the bed again."

"Tom, you know how long it took last time. Doctor Loffler said that you were never really dry. You'll get used to wearing diapers quickly, you will see. And if you're as embarrassed as you say you are, you'll make an effort too."

With that, she closed the cupboard and it was sealed. “Tom still needs diapers to sleep.”

That evening after dinner, my mother nodded to me: "Well, you. Shall we go to your room? It's already seven o'clock.

We should start getting you ready for bed“, I nodded sadly. 

“Come on then.”

In the room, she told me to go to the bathroom, take a nice shower and she'd get everything ready.

When I came back, my comforter was folded back. One of those absorbent bedwetting mats had been laid out and Laura's yellow plastic diaper pants were lying on the changing mat at the end of the bed, with several diapers next to them. I tried again: “Please mommy no diapers”

“But darling, you will sleep much better.”

“Mommy, I'm not a baby, please don't.”

“I'll make you a suggestion,” she said gently. She went to my shelf, took one of Laura's big pink pull-ups from there and held it out for me to get in.

“Come on, put the towel away and we'll try one of these pull-up panties and I'll put two more pads in.”

“Please mom,” I was already crying, "Can't I sleep without a diaper? Please!"

She took me in her arms and comforted me. We sat down on the bed. Laura's plastic panties were right next to me. My mother was still holding the pull-up open in front of her with her fingers spread apart. We talked for a long time. She kept taking me in her arms. With every movement, we could hear the plastic film under the sheet.

Finally, she said:

"OK Tom, we'll try it one more night. If you go to the toilet a lot now, you can sleep without plastic panties and without a diaper tonight."

“Thanks mom!” I threw my arms around her neck and quickly disappeared into the toilet. My mother followed and put the drynites on a shelf next to them in the bathroom.

I left it running.

The splashing soothed my mother.

"Very good! I think this will keep your bed dry."

I stood up.

"Wash your hands! Change and then off to bed."

She handed me one of the normal pyjamas that she was now in charge of. Once again, I was reminded of the morning with my pants sticking to my bottom.

I quickly dropped the towel and happily slipped into the pyjamas. “Like a big one without a diaper,” I thought.

"Get your ‘bunny book’ that you got from the psychologist and the stickers. I had left it in the anteroom.“

I had to put it on my desk and was supposed to stick in the first “potty” because „bunny“, that is me, „was doing good on the toilet” as my mother said.

I stuck the stupid sticker in the first box, in the left-hand corner.

„Let’s see if bunny has a dry bed tomorrow morning“ my mother said in a caring way. 

Then I was allowed to go to bed.

It rustled with every movement as I slipped in.

My mother smiled a little as she noticed my embarrassment and my efforts to crawl under the covers as quietly as possible. Than she stroked my head and switched off the light.

“Sleep well and try to stay dry.”

[tomchen]

On 9/7/2025 at 12:56 AM, Babypants said:

Thank you for posting this.  Tom and his mother are acting like real people caught up in a real life situation, which is a far cry from the child abuse by means of diaper humiliation fantasies that have appeared here so often.

Dear Babypants!

thank You for Your comment 

It may sound like “real people” with real problems because it is largely based on my own experiences.
I have summarized what I experienced between the ages of 5 and 14, but brought it closer to the present day.
That was back in the 60s and 70s. The world was different. Mothers were under pressure to potty train their children quickly (before the age of two). 
Shame was a common parenting method. It was therefore common to see plastic diapers hanging up to dry in the front yard. That way, everyone could see when they came home from school that “Lisi from second grade wet the bed and still wears diapers.”

It was not uncommon for children to be beaten at school.
In second grade, my teacher (I was 7) set up a potty in the second half of the year for the children who had to go to the toilet every hour... (I wasn't one of them, but a particular classmate was). 
 

maby You had similar experiences as You also grew up in „former times“…

I have summarized all of this.
Tom will experience similar stories (in a milder form).
 

 

[wetdiaper55]

Ill bet he is wet in the morning ..

[Babypants]

9 hours ago, tomchen said:

maby You had similar experiences as You also grew up in „former times“…

Incontinent from birth, so always diapered.  Bullied into the seventh grade.  In the sixth, I got a bully alone on the playground, and crushed his left cheekbone under my foot.  Knifed a bully in the seventh grade with a particularly sharp pair of scissors that "happened" to be sticking out of my pocket.  No more problems after that.  Laura should take her breakfast plate and shove it up Emma's nose.  In my experience, when bullied it will never stop unless you fight back.  

[tomchen]

20 hours ago, wetdiaper55 said:

 

Ill bet he is wet in the morning ..

 

Hi wetdiaper55!

 

How can you say?

Tom is a not a baby, he is a big boy.

It was just this one „accident“.

Ok maybe a few!

Ok you are right seven times…but..but

But the are all overreacting 

the psychologist, his aunt.

His mom would not put him in diapers if there wasn’t that recommendations 

 

its not fair 

 

And he was on the loo that evening 

I believe he did not cheat, this time..

 

I think his bed stays dry from now on…

they are all overreacting 

[Teekabell]

See everyone. The author has connected with their main character. The two are starting to sound alike, think alike, and believe they have similar experiences in their past. 

LOL

[tomchen]

4 hours ago, Teekabell said:

The two are starting to sound alike, think alike, and believe they have similar experiences in their past. 

🫣

[tomchen]

Tom was sent to the psychologist because of his poor performance in school. But also because of his bedwetting problems.

It is now recommended that he wear diapers again.

He now also has a booklet, “Bunny will soon be sleeping without a diaper”, in which he has to stick little stickers for the psychologist.

He is so embarrassed and has persuaded his mother once more to try it without.

But his mother is already very annoyed because of all the work with the wet clothes.

But she gives him a chance again and let him sleep without the diaper pants he reviewed from his younger girl cousin Laura.

She is finally dry at night.

PART 4: THE NEXT MORNING!

"Wake up! 

Tom! Don’t you hear me?

Tom, your bed is wet again! Wake up!"

My mother's voice and the shaking of my shoulder woke me up.

The covers had been pulled back.

"Look at that, your pants are wet, the sheet is wet. I can wash again. You promised this wouldn't happen again. Luckily you have the bedwetting protection over the mattress. Get up!" 

My mother was disappointed. 

Ashamed, I stood in the room with my legs apart.

“You know the drill“, my mother said.

So I took off my top, which was luckily dry, and hung it over the chair. 

Before my mother could pull my pants down, I was in the bathroom. I took a shower, picked up my wet pants and went back to my mother.

The sheet had been removed and she had just wiped the blue plastic pad.

I was given the wet pants and the sheet to wash out and hang up again. 

In the bathroom, I stood next to the shelf and my cousin's pull-up while cleaning. “No, I don't want a diaper” I thought to myself.

The rest of the day was almost normal.

After lunch, I had to enter the wet night in my bedwetting diary and I also had to stick a yellow dot in the first picture in my booklet in the bed next to the bunny.

My mother used this as an opportunity for another lecture:

“What a shame. Now there are two wet beds. It would have been much better if the bunny had been wearing diapers. What do you think?”

Embarrassed, I looked down at the floor.

In the evening I was sent to change at 7:00. I was told to call when everything was done and I was ready to go to the toilet again.

While I was brushing my teeth, I noticed that the Drynites had disappeared from the shelf.

I called my mom when I was finished.

She came and had the girls pull-up in her hand.

"So young man. What's next?"

“I'm ready to go to the toilet?“ I said meekly.

“Well that too, let’s go, open the lid and sit down.”

I waited briefly to see if she would turn around again, but she remained standing in the doorway. Full of shame, I shuffled to the toilet. I didn't dare test my mother's patience. Bending over, I carefully pulled down my pants and sat down.

But I could not pee while my mother was watching. 

"What's going on? I want to hear that you're trying to become a dry child. If you don’t do your business right away, we won't put on the pull-up but the big diaper pants!"

“Please mom, I don't want a diaper or a pull-up, please!”, I peed audibly.

"At last, that's fine. But anyway today there are bedwetting pants and that's that," said my mother.

I wiped myself, pulled up my underpants almost while still sitting down, pressed the flush and pushed past my mother and the Drynites in her hand into the bathroom to wash my hands.

Back in the room, my mother was still standing with the pull-up ready to slip into.

„So that part is next, Tomi“

"No, please don't! I'll never wet the bed again I promise," I cried.

"It's only for your own good. Your aunt thinks I need to be stricter with you. 

Should I give you a smack on your bottom instead of the pull-up, like she sometimes did with Laura, so that you learn not to wet the bed?"

I stood with my head down and looked at the floor.

"So let’s go. Drop your pants and slip into your panties." My mother invitingly wiggled the diaper with a pink unicorn on it.

"Don't make me wear a diaper. Please!  I'd rather have you spank my bottom."

Surprised, my mother lowered the diaper.

“I didn't mean that seriously.” She dropped the ‘goodnight underpants’ and took me in her arms. I had tears in my eyes from embarrassment.

"Come on, let's try one more night without, you've got the bed protection anyway and you've been good in the loo. Stick another potty in your little bunny-book, because you did this part successfully and get into your bed."

Overjoyed, I peck another one of the potties into the booklet that the psychologist had given me. That had to be done every time I was successful in my evening trips to the toilet. This time in the second box on the page, then I crawled under the covers. 

I tried to make as few rustling noises as possible from my bed protection mat. I almost felt like a big boy again. My mother stroked my head twice more, then the light went out.

It was just dawn when I woke up. I heard banging in the house. I had to go to the toilet urgently and climbed out of bed. 

Outside my room in the corridor, I met a worker standing on a ladder. I slipped past and was in the bathroom. There were two workers here too. The toilet door was blocked by another ladder. I ran through the whole house and called for my mother. There were workmen everywhere, screwing or clearing something away.

Only in the living room was I finally alone. I couldn't find my mother anywhere. The pressure on my bladder was already very high.

Then the saving thought came to me. I took the green vase from the dresser where there had never been any flowers in, put it on the floor in front of me, pushed my pants down and peed in it. I would explain it to my mother later. What else could I have done? It was such a relief when the pressure was off and I could relax completely again.

[Babypants]

Tom's mother is long suffering, which is true to life but far removed from the malevolent mother/stepmother motif so commonplace around here.  Steer clear of the usual nonsense, and you will have a great story here.

[tomchen]

10 minutes ago, Babypants said:

Tom's mother is long suffering, which is true to life but far removed from the malevolent mother/stepmother motif so commonplace around here.  Steer clear of the usual nonsense, and you will have a great story here.

remember in the 60es and 70es Mothers were under a lot of social pressure if their children did not become toilet trained or wet the bed regularly.
Usually girls should have been dry at night before 2 years, „boys are late“ they said and laughed were supposed to bee out of nightime protection at two many one ore two month later.

So there also was the understanding that there is the point in potty training where you should „let the child FEEL there diapers“

I remember in 1974/75 discussions (mom/aunt grandma) about my 2/2,5 year old cousin (girl) at a one week stay over at there house.

Probably the same arguments where rolled out for my bedwetting, (I was 8,5 years old in this days, my bedwetting started to become more frequent a year before and stopped at 13/14) but I did not hear it.

They talked a lot about and wanted to get her „dry“

So besides putting her on the potty every hour the had some methods where discussed.
(grandma/mother/aunt)

1. „Get more awareness“
Let her stay without trousers so she feels the plastic pants more and gets a little annoyed abbaut the bulging and „loose“ diaper while running

2.„Uncomfortable“
If she wets the diaper between the „potty sessions“ let her stay in wet and heavy pants (between her legs)

This will be even more annoying while running around and feeling uncomfortable after a while 

3 ) „making it a subject“ (to talk about)

If she had a dry day (with all this potty routine) she was allowed to play in „training pants“. Very thick under pants with (terry cloth) no trousers, no pp, less potty sessions.

But she was always observed. So if they saw her wetting they let her stay wet for a while(watching she did not sits on the couch ore somewhere else) than talkt to her why she did not sit at the potty on time (by herself) „like big girls“



Just to bring here diapers saying something like: „so you better go back in diapers for rest of the day and tonight like the baby girls use to“

The purpose was not embarrassing but making it clear (for such small kids) that it is not „normal“ you are still in diapers and therefore you should not where „normal“ trousers and you have to be controlled.


The aim was not embarrassing but making her feel uncomfortable (bulging pants between her legs, obvious to see),



For me 8 or 9 years old it was very embarrassing to witness this (together with my 1,5 years younger brother) as I my self had just started to wet the bed at home. And some similar scenes just started the last month.

Like in the morning:

„Tomy! Another wet bed! Why didn’t you go to the toilet a second time like I said?“

Or:

„I know you want to get rid of this smelly soaked PJ but first bring all the wet sheets down to the washing machine, clean your „bedwetter pad“ and here are your fresh sheets. Than we take care about a new pyjama for you. I hope we did not run out of those. Than you must sleep in one of your brothers old training pants for the rest of the night.“

Or:

„Look we did wake your brother by cleaning up. Now go back to sleep both of you. But Tom tomorrow we have to talk abbaut a „solution“ for the rest of this school year!“


At my grandmas house in this week my mom did secretly put a towel in my underpants as soon as I was asleep (I did wake once or twice) in the morning it always was gone 
So I assume she did take it out before I wake up
I don’t know if I did wet the towel 
I don’t know if my grandma/ aunt did know 
I think my mother did not tell as it would have been embarrassing for her as well, her 8/9 year old boy still not „potty trained“

A few months later, back home a psychiatrist recommended my parents to put me back in diapers
It was very humiliating for my. But that was not the purpose 
Different times

[wetdiaper55]

I think Mom will have to make him wear the diapers..... to bad he needs to accept that Dr.s and everyone thinks he needs to be diapered . Cloth diapers feel when used , disp. do not .

[tomchen]

6 hours ago, wetdiaper55 said:

 

I think Mom will have to make him wear the diapers..... to bad he needs to accept that Dr.s and everyone thinks he needs to be diapered . Cloth diapers feel when used , disp. do not .

 

You are absolutely right Sir!

Toms mother should start to swaddle him for the night, at least.

But she knows Tom will be embarrassed abbaut wearing diapers again.

what did Dr Loffler say the other day?

“There’s a good thing about being ashamed, Tom. It's a sign that you want to get dry at night quickly yourself. I also look after children who are bedwetters but aren't ashamed enough. They have their diapers on, but they soon don't bother them anymore and the bedwetting doesn't get any better."

There is this hope Tom comes over this little problem

There is hope that Tom will quit with „his little problem“. Last night gives us hope, doesn't it?
Diapees are for babies. Tom is a big boy.

what du You think 

[Babypants]

5 minutes ago, tomchen said:

Diapees are for babies.

Hardly.  In Japan adult diapers outsell baby diapers 3.5:1.    Children mature at different rates, and not necessarily in a straight line.  Odd that the good Doctor stuck to the superficial and did not even begin to look for underlying stress.  

[tomchen]

14 minutes ago, Babypants said:

Hardly.  In Japan adult diapers outsell baby diapers 3.5:1.    Children mature at different rates, and not necessarily in a straight line.  Odd that the good Doctor stuck to the superficial and did not even begin to look for underlying stress.  

Thank you Babypants

Dr Loffler did mention that his bedwetting is connected to his problems in school

one issue can’t get solved without solutions to the other

 

“Deapees are for baby’s“ is the perception Tom has as a 13 year old boy…

[Babypants]

4 hours ago, tomchen said:

Dr Loffler did mention that his bedwetting is connected to his problems in school

one issue can’t get solved without solutions to the other

As someone trained in psychology, I believe that a common point of stress underlies both.  I'm surprised the the shrink did not ask about the father, who is completely missing here.

[wetdiaper55]

Sometimes Mothers want their baby,s back

[tomchen]

13 year old Tom had 8 wet beds in two weeks.

His mother is torn.

But Tom doesn't want to wear diapers even though he is wetting the bed more and more often.

Tom's cousin Laura, 12, also had to wear diapers to bed until recently.

Now that Laura seems to be dry, Tom's aunt has given his mother all of Lauras diapers, bed protectors, and bedwetting calendar.

The psychologist she took Tom to see a few days ago also strongly advised that Tom should wear diapers again.

“Otherwise, he won't get enough sleep. Waking up, changing the bed, getting changed, etc. is already having a negative effect on his performance at school,” she said.

 “Besides, medically speaking, he has never been dry. Only when a child has gone more than 6-8 months without an ‘accident’ can you say they're potty trained. Tom's toilet training was stopped too early.” She explained how she found out that Tom had been wearing diapers again at night from the age of 6 to 7 and had wet the bed two or three times a year before and after that.

On the other hand, his mother doesn't want to shame him further. She doesn't want to punish him either. 

Last night, she gave him another chance.

“Maybe he'll really manage to stay dry. He tries so hard,” she thought to herself.

And there is now his „bunny book“ where he has to put stickers in. 

-A sticker with children potties when he was on the toilet successfully before bedtime.

-A upside down potty when he did not pee enough before bedtime

-a white „diapie“ when his plastic pants stayed dry

-a yellow „diapee“ when he did not „make it“

-and a yellow dot if his pyjama bottoms and the sheets got wet (as it happend already)

This will help to encourage him to try hard to become finally dry, as his younger cousin Laura managed to do.

Let’s see how he is on doing 

 

 

Part 5: TRAINING DAY

I woke up a little earlier than usually. 

Through the window, I heard the noise of construction work. Apparently, they had started tearing up the street early in the morning.

Then I remembered the vase. 

No! It couldn't be true! Not again!

What will my mother say?

How could this happen?

My body, or rather my head, is deceiving me.

It had all been so real, so logical, so natural.

I felt under my bottom with my hand.

The whole bed was wet. I was ashamed and wanted to die.

When my mother came in, I was already standing in the room and was on the way to go to the bathroom.

“Tom! Not another wet bed! 

School starts again tomorrow and I'm back at work. 

Look at this! Your pants are completely wet, your shirt too, everything is wet. I have to wash everything again.”

Than she calmed down a little

She crouched down in front of me, put her hands on my shoulders and looked at me, still disappointedly.

“But we're putting diapers on tonight, right?”

As she did so, she looked long and hard at my wet crotch, turning me slightly so she could see my wet pants around my hips and butt. Instinctively, I followed her gaze, embarrassed. 

„Yes, Mommy.” I sighed, filled with shame.

„Poor Tomy, it is just for a while. You will see, you get used to it. 

It’s not uncommon boys your age wet the bed. Well at least during elementary school. 

If it happens more often, going back to diapers is also not uncommon. You know even your cousin Laura was in diapers for night time for some some time. And she is just a little younger than you.“

I bowed my had in shame.

„Look wouldn’t it much more easy if we now could take of your diapees? 

I could wash this discreetly. 

No sheets, no pyjama bottoms on the cloth line to dry every day.

You have a quick shower, go to school and nobody will talk about.“

She really said „daipees“ already, as if I where a Toodler.

She continued.

„Than in the afternoon we put you back in your cosy diapees. Some plastic pants and you can sleep tight. No concerns about wetting anymore, no consequences. In further it will not be a big deal if you wet.

You’ll still stay my big boy, promised.“ She ran her fingers through my hair.

„Do you understand?“

I shyly nodded.

„Good, then let's take off your wet clothes.” She pulled my pants down and helped me out of my shirt.

It started again, the familiar routine. 

My mother stripped the bed. I had to rinse the clothes and hang them on the balcony, my mother will do the laundry the next day. Than take a shower.

Back in the room, my mother was standing there holding up the pull-up pants from last night.

“Tomorrow is school again and you've had two wet beds in a row. Today is your first day of training. So we’d better put you in a pull-up.”

I opened my eyes wide. “What, a diaper? During daytime? I don't need diapers during the day.”

"Pumpkin head, this aren’t diapers, they're training pants for big kids. We discussed this with Dr. Loffler. You're supposed to have a „training day“ on every weekend. Yes it is a kind of „potty training“. But imagine how embarrassing it would be for you if you had wet underwear? Or maybe wet pants. The doctor said it could happen. 

It's much better if you wear pull-up pants and by the way, get used to them... 

Just to be on the safe side.“

”Please, not until next weekend. Maybe I won't wet the bed this week,“ I whined.

”Tom, you've been wetting the bed almost every night now. We bought a new mattress. Unfortunately, I've already given in twice when it comes to night diapers. 

Anyway, you're getting your diaper pants on tonight, and I'm not giving in about training today either,“ my mother suddenly became very strict. 

”Okay, but please no diapers for daytime.

I'll definitely stick with it. I've never wet my pants before. Please, please!" I tried to change her mind.

“Today will be different! You really need to practice „bladder control“ for some hours. It quickly can become „too late“. 

Besides, as I said, I want you to get used to  diape…., I mean protection. I won't give in again tonight. From now on, you'll wear your diapers and plastic pants after dinner. We'll practice with the pull-up pants now a bit, during the day then it'll be easier with the big diaper pants tonight.”

I hung my head.

“Also we're going to try to extend the time between toilet breaks to train your bladder. Every 45 minutes, you drink a large glass of water or juice. We'll write down on your bedwetter chart how long you lasted and whether your pants stayed dry. If it doesn't work once, that's no problem. You'll get a new pair of training pants.

Now, take off your towel, to get you in your new panties.

I stood there frozen.

Now I was ”little Tommi" again, just like in first grade when I started wetting the bed. Like in kindergarten, where I had to be diapered every night until I was four. Back then, I wasn't allowed to sleep without diapers until I was five. I stood there like a toddler.

“Sweetie, I've seen you naked many times before. As I said, You'll get used to it.
As long as you wet the bed, I'll keep seeing you naked. One way or another. Naked when we have to undress you because everything is wet again, or because I put a diaper on you before!“
With that, she pulled down my towel. Just like the night before, she held out the pull-ups to me. Her hands through the waistband, in the leg holes. Ready to step into them, like for a preschooler in potty training.The backside of the garment was facing me. It even said “Back” on it.
I had my hands crossed in front of my crotch. 
“Come on, get in. Or would you rather wear the pink frilly diaper pants, your aunt used on Laura sometime?“
I looked at my mother in disbelief, my eyes wide open. I didn't want that at all. You could see me anoxia. 
“Tom, I was just joking,” she laughed. “Hop in. It’s all a „just in case“, you will see you feel much more save this way.“ 
I saw there is no way out. At latest this afternoon diapers will be my nightdress anyway. Besides that, I didn't want to stand around naked any longer.
Unsure, I walked toward my mother.

She held the pants up that high that I had to raise my leg up and hold on to her shoulder to get in. Therefore I had to let go of one hand I did cover my crotch with. One leg after another I stepped in my „new panties“ Then when my mother pulled the panties further up my legs, I needed both hands to hold on to her. 

She stopped and didn't pull the pants all the way up. 
“Wait a minute!”
She went to the cabinet and the shelf and came back with baby powder and three booster pads.

“I don't know if those thin panties will absorb everything if you have an ‘accident,’ so we try this“, she said, pointing to the additional pads.
„Hands to the side,” she ordered kindly.
“Now, it's okay, right?”
I nodded sadly.
“Look, you’re all red, sweetheart.”She put the three booster pads on the floor and sprinkled powder into my panties and as best she could on my crotch.
Immediately, I recognized the smell from when I was 6 or 7 years old. Back then, I was also swaddled again for a while for nighttime.
It was embarrassing in this days, now it was even more, that my mother was powdering me. So I couldn't take it any longer and tried again:  
„Mum, please! I'm not a baby anymore, please stop.”

“Not a baby, but a boy who wets the bed on a regular basis and now needs to train his bladder again. And applying cream and powder is important for bedwetters if they don't want to get sore,” she replied, now already a little annoyed.
I was supposed to pull up the „training panties“ with the powder inside and press it firmly between my legs so that it would spread.

“This is what it feels like when you get a diaper,” I thought.

The bulkiness between my legs, made my blush.
It made me even more aware of my new pull-ups, the surface, and the feeling of being in diapers.
My mother pulled the „padded pants“, as she would call it in a few weeks, down again. Now my crotch was white.
She than took the three disposable pads and placed them slightly offset on top of each other in the panties. 

„Better safe than sorry!“, she said.
I stood there helplessly like a toddler.
She interrupted her work, crouching in front of me, placing her hands comfortingly on my shoulders and looking me in the eyes.
“Sweetie, I know this is all new to you.
I understand that you're embarrassed, but believe me, you're still my big boy.“

I was still standing naked in front of my mother with the “training pants” and three additional pads in it, at my knees, just wanting to get out of this situation.
“Shall we finish putting your „new panties“ on now?”
I nodded.

“Very good. Let's try four hours first. If that works, then maybe five or six. It's not easy at first. You might have an accident. That's what the psychologists said. That’s no problem at all. That's why we're taking precautions with the training pants.”

I stood there, still naked from the waist, with a bright red face.
She put powder on the top diaper again.

Then she pulled up the package and adjusted the waistband around my hips and legs.

“Well, that fits perfectly,” she said.
Now I stood in front of my mother with a thick diaper bottom and heavily padded front, like a baby. “Stupid psycho lady,” I thought angrily.
“Do you want to stay like that, or would you rather put something on over it? Then everything will stay in place better.”
“Yes, please, I’d rather put something on,” I sobbed.

She went back to my desk, there she took several pairs of tights out of the last bag. There was also a light blue pair.

“That will fit over your panties. It stretches well and holds everything together nicely. Come here and step into it.”  
I walked over to her, my diaper package rustling with every step. I also had to walk with my legs spread wide apart. 

My mother couldn't help but smile.

“Can't I have normal pants?” I whined.
“Honey, that won't work. But let's try, if you think. There are your pants from yesterday.”

Really, I was already having a hard time getting the jeans over my butt. I could still button them, but the zipper stayed open and my “training panties” pressed through the fly.
My mother laughed.
“Look, it's uncomfortable when everything is so tight. Besides, it's difficult when you need to go to the bathroom quickly. You will still see the padded bum. It and it looks embarrassing. Tights are much more comfortable, and we're not going anywhere today anyway.”

I awkwardly pulled my pants back down, and my mother pulled my “just in case pants,” which had slipped down a bit, back into place.  
The tights weren't much of an improvement for me, but at least you couldn't see the pink unicorn on the diaper. I was supposed to put the other tights in the closet. I waddled back across the room, a stack of tights on my arm. The sound of the pull-ups was now somewhat muffled by the extra pants.
My mother patted me lovingly on my chubby bottom. “You look cute. I'll make breakfast and see you in the kitchen for your first glass of water.”
Shortly after, I followed her.

My mother heard me coming in because of the rustling of the pull-ups.
“Did you bring your bunny book?”
I shook my head shyly.
"Well, go get it. You have to write down last night. And when you go to your bedwetter chart, please write down that you wet the bed last night.

I came back with the little book I had gotten from the psychologist.
You could see that it was made for for to five year old, maybe eight-years.  
On the cover there was a picture of a young rabbit. He was standing by his bed wearing diapers.  
At the bottom it said: 

“Bunny will soon sleep without diapers.”

On the second page was the sticker with the potty from yesterday. I was supposed to stick a yellow dot in the bed again, just like I had done the night before on first page. 

When I thought I was done, my mother gave me a pen.

“Now write this underneath: Bunny didn't want to wear a diaper, now the bed is wet again. 

Tonight, Bunny promised to wear his diaper pants so his mother doesn't have so much work to do.”

When I was done, my mother wanted the „bedwetter chart“ from my room.

She checked to see if everything had been entered.

“Very good. Here's your first glass of water.“

More followed.
At 11 o'clock, I could hardly stand it anymore.
I had been fidgeting around for a long time. I told my mother that I really had to go to the bathroom. But she made me wait another half hour.  
„Very good, Tom, you've been really good so far.”  
She took me by the shoulder and led me to the bathroom. There I pulled down my tights and pull-ups. 

„Let me see if your diap…., ahh, if everything is still dry,” my mother held me back and had a look in my pull- up with the booster pads.

“Very good, sweetheart, everything's stayed dry. We'll write that in your bedwetting chart right now.”
I stood naked in front of her and was allowed to sit down after this check. She didn't leave the bathroom or turn around.  
„I need to know if you're doing properly,” she explained. 

Like the previous evenings, I couldn't relax at first, but after a few minutes I let it go.

I was allowed to get up, wipe myself with some toilet paper, pull up my training pants  with the diapers, and flush.
Then my mother adjusted the diapers, pulling my panties down a little again.

“Done, everything's in place. You can pull your tights back up.”  
With a little pat on my diapered bottom and a motherly smile, she sent me to wash my hands.

“Now write it down in the chart: 11:00 a.m. on the toilet.”
When I was done, she took the pen out of my hand and wrote: “Trying very hard, pants dry.” 

I wanted the ground to swallow me up.

[Babypants]

Could you tighten up the spacing on this?