Alternative Therapies

Chapter 1

“I know someone for whom it’s time for bed,” I interrupted the peaceful puppet show of my little sister on the living room floor in a tone that, to my shock, almost sounded like my mother’s. “Please Emily, just a little bit longer, I’m not tired yet,” begged Sophie, looking at me hopefully with her big, brown eyes. It was the usual evening drama she played when she had to go to bed. “No Sophie, it’s bedtime now, there will still be a tomorrow to play,” I explained to her clearly. I had more than enough of her daily, evening disagreements. “But…,” she started to whine, but I cut her off. “No Sophie, it’s bedtime now, no arguing!”

Sophie pouted, but when I took her by her hand, she got up without any further grumbling and allowed me to accompany her to the bathroom without resistance. After a few meters, I noticed that her walk was a bit odd. She was walking with her legs much more spread apart than usual, as if she were imitating the walk of a duck. At first, I thought it was just another game of hers, a way to make the trip to the bathroom more exciting. A Game that she might have learned at kindergarten. But then, suddenly, I realized why she was walking so strangely.

“Sophie, can you wait a moment please,” I asked her with a sense of foreboding, and stopped. I lifted her summer dress and saw that her pull-up was completely soaked. It was almost a miracle that she hadn’t leaked yet. " You’re supposed to tell me when you need to go potty," I scolded her sourly. She looked down ashamed. “I was having so much fun playing, I didn’t want to stop, and then suddenly I had to go potty before I could say anything.”

Sophie was a highly advanced child for her age of four. Her language skills were significantly above average, and she could not only read the entire alphabet, but also already write several words. Even simple addition problems were not a problem for her. Despite her remarkable intellectual abilities, she struggled with potty training. She still often woke up with a wet diaper and had more accidents during the day than a typical girl her age. My mother had tried every imaginable method to help Sophie overcome this issue, but with no avail. She even experimented with alternative therapies, like Bach flower remedies and Homeopathy, but as expected, they were of no assistance either.

Typically, I would have put Sophie on the potty one last time before bed, like every night, but I could spare myself this step now. Instead, we just made a quick stop in the bathroom to brush our teeth. Then I took Sophie to her room, where I placed her on the changing table. I removed her dress, took off her wet pull-up, cleaned her privates, and sprinkled some baby powder on her diaper area. Finally, I put her in one of her nighttime diapers.

“Is this the pajama you’d like to wear, my dear?” I asked my little sister, offering her the princess-printed sleepwear she loved so much. She beamed with joy and put on pants and top with my assistance. “And which story would you like for bedtime tonight?” I asked, giving her the option to choose, even though I already knew the answer. With a loud rustling of her diaper, Sophie scampered over to her bookshelf, and, as she does every night, pulled out the storybook about the adventures of a little princess. “What a surprise,” I said with a touch of sarcasm as I took the book from her hand, but she simply smiled contentedly. To my surprise, Sophie was still enamored with the book, despite having memorized every story inside and out.

“Will Mum come to give me a goodnight kiss?” Sophie wanted to know as I helped her into bed and looked at me hopefully. “Mum is still out and won’t be home until later, but I’m here if you need anything”. Immediately, any trace of a smile disappeared from her face, although this situation was nothing unusual for her. Our mother was a highly sought-after lawyer and often had to work late at her office. In such cases, I was often the one who had to pick Sophie up from kindergarten and take care of her until our mother returned. Only on days when I couldn’t or didn’t want to, a babysitter looked after her.

“Mom will give you a kiss as soon as she’s back,” I cheered up Sophie. “Remember that your potty is right beside your bed in case you need to use it during the night. And if you don’t want to go by yourself, you can always call me,” I reminded her, as I usually did, in the hope of preventing any nighttime accidents. “I know,” Sophie replied with a touch of frustration, having heard this reminder every night before bed. It would only have been nice if she had finally put this knowledge into action.

“The little princess lived in a grand and magnificent castle,” I started reading to Sophie, and before long, her eyes began to close. So much for her insisting she wasn’t tired yet. I continued reading a bit longer, until I was certain that she was soundly asleep and wouldn’t stir even if I stopped the story. I placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and tiptoed out of her room.

Chapter 2

The pleasant chirping of birds in the garden woke me up from my dreams the next morning. Only two weeks ago I had finished my final school exams and it was still unusual for me not to be woken up by the annoying melody of my alarm clock. Finally, I was free, I was no longer forced to adjust my sleep rhythm to the early morning school hours. I could get up and go to bed whenever it suited me. Of course, I was aware that once I started to go to university, the morning sleep-in would also come to an end, but for now I was going to enjoy every moment of my temporary freedom.

Unfortunately, this freedom was still quite lonely. As soon as I had finished my final exams, my mother, my younger sister, and I moved from the city to the countryside. My mother had long dreamed of a small cottage, and she took the opportunity provided by the end of my school years to start a new life in a more idyllic place. Admittedly, the old house and the surrounding countryside were beautiful, but it didn’t change the fact that it now felt like we were living at the end of the world. There was no club or bar in the immediate vicinity and nothing else to pass the time as a young person. Without a car, you were completely helpless here and I had neither a vehicle nor a driver’s license. As a city child, I had never seen the need to waste my time with tedious driving lessons when you could get around more quickly by bike or public transportation in an urban area. But in the end, it didn’t matter that I was not mobile here, it didn’t matter that I didn’t know anyone my age yet, because in no time at all I would be moving far away to England, the location of my new university.

I was about to drift back to sleep when I suddenly realized something was amiss. The area around my buttocks felt uncomfortably wet. Had I sweated excessively in my sleep, causing the mattress to become soaked? But why did only the area around my buttocks seem to be wet? I wondered if I had gotten my period, but it was hard to imagine that the little bleeding I normally had could have caused such a mess.

I quickly realized what had happened as I lifted my bedspread and discovered a circular, yellow stain around my buttocks on the otherwise pristine white bedsheet. I had clearly wet the bed, even though it seemed surreal at that moment. After all, I had enough experience finding Sophie’s mattress in a similar state when we tried letting her sleep without a diaper at night, to know what such a mishap looked like.

Repulsed by the wet, already smelling urine that now also stung my nose, now that the bedspread no longer trapped the odor, I rolled out of bed and immediately stripped off my pajama pants, which were also soaked with urine. No one was ever allowed to know about this mishap. I was 19 years old, not four like my sister. There was no excuse for such an accident at my age. I couldn’t even imagine what my mother or friends would think if they found out. I could already picture the rumors spreading through my social circle and my new village. “Have you heard, Emily still wets the bed at 19 years old.”

I had to act fast. I quickly thought through my options. If I threw my bedding into the washing machine before anyone saw it, no one would ever know about my accident. I quickly took off my sheet from the mattress and also removed the covers. However, now that the mattress was uncovered, my mistake was even more obvious. The big yellow stain in the center of the white mattress was unmistakable and would immediately reveal what had happened to anyone who saw it. I had to turn the mattress over to completely hide the urine stain, but just at the moment I was about to start, there was a knock at the door.

“Emily?” I heard my mother’s voice. “Please don’t come in,” I panicked, but as usual, she had already entered without waiting for my permission. “I told you not to come in! You always come in without waiting for me to say it’s okay,” I yelled at my mother while desperately trying to position myself so she couldn’t see my bedding and bed. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to quickly ask if you could unload the dishwasher later, after all, you shouldn’t have much to do otherwise,” she explained apologetically, but didn’t make any effort to leave my room and instead looked curiously inside.

She must have just been about to leave the house to go to the kindergarten and then to her office, since she was already holding my little sister at her hand. “Why isn’t Emily wearing any pants?” my little sister innocently asked my mom when she saw me. I blushed. Out of sheer fear that my sheets and my bed could be seen, I had forgotten that I was standing half-naked in front of them, giving them an optimal view of my uncovered vulva. I couldn’t recall the last time my mother had seen me this exposed, but regardless of when it was, it must have been before I hit puberty.

“Uh, I was just about to change”, I stammered and quickly brought my hands down to conceal my privates. “Why did you make your bed so early?” My mother wondered as she noticed that my sheets were lying behind me. “Did you get your period and is there some blood on the bed?” "Uh, yeah, that’s right” I lied, grateful for this plausible explanation. Unfortunately, it didn’t have the desired effect, and she didn’t leave me alone. “Is there any stain on the mattress too? You need to act quickly if you want to remove it completely,” she explained and before I could do anything, she stepped further into my room and looked at my exposed mattress.

She appeared stunned. “Did you wet the bed, Emily?” she asked, clearly in disbelief. The question was rhetorical, she didn’t need a response to know what had happened. I was speechless. I stood there, my face red, covering my nudity with my hands and hoping it was just a nightmare from which I would soon wake up. Unfortunately, it was not a dream, and I had to confront the unpleasant truth. To my shock, my mother reacted in the same way she always did when my younger sister had an accident. “Oh Emily, it can happen to everyone,” she comforted me in a loving tone.

Most people would probably argue that my mother’s sensitive and considerate response was a positive thing, something to be happy about, but I would have preferred if she had screamed at me from the bottom of her heart. By reacting to my misfortune in the same way she reacts to my little sister’s, I felt like she was equating me with a toddler who was expected to wet the bed once in a while and could therefore not be blamed.

“We really have to go now. Are you okay?” my mother asked me with such a soft and concerned voice that I almost started crying. Her caring and considerate demeanor only made me feel that the whole thing was even more of a disaster than I had initially thought. I could only nod silently, as I knew that one more caring word would finally make me cry. “Just put the sheets in the washing machine and let the mattress air out before putting on new sheets,” she instructed as she was already walking out the door. “Don’t worry Emily, it’s probably just a one-time thing. We’ll see you tonight,” she said finally and in the next moment she was gone with my little sister.

Hardly had I been alone when I could no longer hold back my tears. For the rest of the day, I was occupied with crying my eyes out. Why did this have to happen to me and why was I so stupid to get caught as well!?

Chapter 3

Unfortunately, my bedwetting persisted. Despite my mother’s aversion to conventional medicine, I saw my GP. The doctor diagnosed me with a bladder infection and prescribed antibiotics. But despite taking them, I continued to wake up in a wet bed every morning.

While we were preparing dinner and I took the last pill of my antibiotics, my mother made a sarcastic comment about it, saying, “Chemicals seem to be working wonders.” Despite my efforts, I couldn’t conceal my ongoing bedwetting from her. And since I started the conventional treatment, she stopped offering her support and understanding towards my situation.

She began to recount out a theory she had read in an article the previous night, regarding incontinence being related to traumatic experiences during the anal phase. She believed that stimuli, which don’t have to be conscious, can reactivate these traumas in the brain, blocking access to brain areas where the ability to go to the toilet is stored. She concluded that this could be the reason for my bedwetting, as I had lost my father during this critical phase and that the stress from my high school graduation and moving could have reactivated the trauma. In my opinion this was nothing but pseudoscientific nonsense.

I held my tongue as usual when my mother spouted nonsense, knowing it would only lead to more arguments between us. Even if I found it disrespectful that she was using my father’s early death from cancer for her far-fetched theories. Although my mother was a smart woman and successful in her career, it was strange how often she spouted esoteric nonsense. What was even worse was that she was immune to criticism. Whenever her arguments were logically and consistently discredited, she would come up with ten more reasons why her theory must be correct. The discussions I had with her reminded me of a joke by the german comedian Vince Ebert, “An esoteric can spout more nonsense in five minutes than a scientist can’t refute in a lifetime.”

“To treat incontinence, the anal phase and potty training routines must be re-experienced and re-learned, to overwrite traumatic memories blocking their recall,” she finished her speech. She looked at me, expecting me to be at least as enthusiastic about her treatment proposal as she was. However, I didn’t even had a plan of how this dubious treatment would look like in practice. After all, I couldn’t travel back in time and relive my childhood.

Maybe it would have been best if I hadn’t commented on the matter at all, but in the end, my curiosity won out. “What do you mean by re-exprience the anal phase?” I asked with a skeptical expression. “Well, just go back to living the carefree life, like your younger sister does,” she explained in detail. “Being taken care of, going to bed early, being reminded to go to the potty now and then, and wearing a pull-up at night in case something goes wrong.” “You want me to wear diapers!?” I exclaimed, struggling to regain my composure. “Pull-ups! And you will wear them either way, because I’m not going to stand by and watch you ruin your expensive mattress any further,” she clarified. “I’ve already bought a pack for you at the supermarket today. Trust me, they’re hardly distinguishable from normal underwear, you won’t even notice that you’re wearing them. They’re no different from a slightly thicker pad.”

I couldn’t control myself any longer. “I am certainly not going to wear pull-ups! I am not a baby! You can try your quackery on someone else from now on, I’m not going to be a part of it anymore!” I snapped at her and angrily stormed out of the kitchen. “Well, then you can also find someone else to pay for your expensive biology degree in England!” My mother countered swiftly.

I slammed my bedroom door behind me. She couldn’t really mean that. Studying in England was my big dream, and it was impossible for me to finance everything without her help. This was not the first time my mother had blackmailed me like this; I was already too familiar with this game. For example, I had to treat my first menstrual cramps with homeopathic pills instead of painkillers, as she had threatened to cut off my allowance if I didn’t. There was no improvement, but what did it matter if you used something natural like homeopathy? Who needed an effect or scientific proof when using something like that. My mother always knew exactly which pressure tactics she could use to make me obedient. But this time her nonsense had gone too far, this time I wouldn’t be intimidated, no matter what it cost.

Chapter 4
The following days, my mother and I didn’t exchange a single word. I didn’t eat with her and avoided her as much as I could. I tried to deal with my nighttime incontinence problems by using maxi pads, several layers of underwear and towels that I placed underneath myself. This combination had always been very successful in preventing period stains, but it was almost useless against my nighttime bedwetting. Fortunately, it was summer, so at least my mattress was dry again by the evening.

If my general practitioner hadn’t been on summer vacation, I probably would have visited her again to seek medical advice. But since she was, I decided to wait and hope that the issue would go away on its own. I was too embarrassed to talk about this issue with someone else.

I probably would have ignored my problem forever and never spoken to my mother again, if I hadn’t received an email from my future university. The email kindly but firmly reminded me to pay the 10,000-pound semester fees. If the money was not received within three days, I would lose my place to a student on the waiting list.

So it turned out my mother’s words were not an empty threat. She should have already transferred the money; I had given her the account information a long time ago and she was not the type of person to forget things like that. So, I was forced to swallow my pride and reach out to her again if I didn’t want to lose my dream study place. “Mom,” I spoke to her that evening, trying to sound like there had never been any conflict between us, “you still need to transfer the semester fees to the university.” I casually placed another printout of the university’s bank information on the table, hoping she would come to her senses and transfer the amount without any fuss. I was just about to leave when she stopped me.

“Emily, stop pretending everything is okay. I have already told you what you need to do to get me to pay your tuition. I know you’re still wetting the bed every night! Pretending it’s not there won’t fix it. You have to work through your issues before you can live on your own. I’m your mother and I only want what’s best for you. Do you think I’m doing this just to bother you? Bedwetting shows that you still have some healing to do before you’re ready for adult life or do you think it’s okay for a university student to still wet the bed?” she said, upset.

“Fuck you,” I hissed at her. I left without giving her another look and went back to my room. If my mom didn’t help me with tuition, I would have to find a way to pay it myself. There had to be a way to come up with the money.

In the following days, I realized that as a person without income, it wasn’t easy to come up with such a large amount of money. I had never even had my own account, let alone any income, except for the pocket money of 100 euros that my mother gave me every month. I scraped together all my savings and all the money I could find in my room, but I only came up with meager 173 euros and 34 cents. I cursed myself for never saving anything. But why would I have saved? My mother always had enough money, so financial difficulties were completely unknown to me.

This meant at the current exchange rate, I had to come up with 11,201 euros and 56 cents by the deadline, or I would lose my dream study program, as the email had made clear. I didn’t have any relatives or friends who could loan me such a large sum and it was too late to apply for a loan or scholarship.

On the evening of the deadline, I sat on my bed, despairing and crying. I had long since given up hope of getting the money together. In just a few hours, the deadline would pass and I would lose my place in the study program. It felt like my entire future was being buried. All my plans, all my hopes seemed to dissipate. So far, my life had always gone according to plan, everything had been possible. I had the intellectual abilities and financial resources to make my dreams a reality, and now everything was supposed to end just because my mother had gone crazy?!

Suddenly, there was a knock on my door. “Can I come in, Emily?” asked my mother in a sweet voice. I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to talk to her or hear any more of her attempts to control me. She came in anyway and sat down on my bed. I put my head under my pillow so I wouldn’t have to talk to her. “I’m sorry for being tough on you,” she said, “but I only want what’s best for you. Conventional medicine isn’t helping. Health is important and I don’t want to see you harm yourself with medicine that might not work. I know you don’t like my plan, but I have one more offer for you,” she said as she gently rubbed my back.

“For the next three months, until a month before your studies begin, you’ll try the method I’ve suggested and if it doesn’t work, I won’t interfere in any of your medical matters again. Then you can see another conventional doctor without me saying or doing anything about it. In exchange, I will pay for your studies as promised,” my mother said. I emerged from under my pillow and looked at her. “And if I don’t agree?” I asked, irritated, although I already knew what she would reply. “Then you have to find a way to finance your expensive studies yourself. I don’t see why I should support you if you’re not willing to support me,” she explained and all the warmth that had previously been in her soft voice was gone.

I looked at the clock on my wall. 11:15 PM. I still had time and the possibility to make my dream of studying in England a reality through a wire transfer, but the clock was merciless. Tick, Tock. Tick, Tock. Of course, I didn’t want to go along with my mother’s strange plan, but every tick of the clock that revealed the hands had moved closer to midnight fueled my inner panic. It was the fear of losing a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, the fear of losing everything due to a wrong decision. The selection criteria of the university were tough, and I was lucky to have even secured a place. If I lost my spot this year, it was not guaranteed that I would be able to study there the next or following years.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. "Why can’t this damn clock tick more quietly?! Why can’t time just stand still?! I didn’t want to make this decision. No matter what I chose, I would lose. Tick, Tock. Tick, Tock. My mother’s plan was a disgrace to my entire being. Not only would I be humiliated by sleeping in pull-ups like a toddler, but I would also betray everything I believed in. But was my dignity really more important to me than my future?! After all, it was only three months, and what were three months compared to the rest of my life. After those three months, I would be far enough away from my mother so she wouldn’t be able to annoy me with her nonsense anymore, even if she didn’t keep her promise. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

“Well, I guess I don’t have a choice,” I decided to go along with the deal before the ticking of the clock drove me completely crazy. I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh. My dream of studying in England would come true, but I had made a deal with the devil to do so. My mother’s mood, on the other hand, was clear. With a look of complete bliss, she looked at me. “Believe me, you made the right choice,” she rejoiced. “I would say we start tomorrow evening, then you can use the next day for yourself before the therapy begins.” To refer to the nonsense she was planning as therapy was nothing less than a mockery of any real, evidence-based therapy.

"I expected her to finally leave me in peace now that she had gotten her way, to make the make the bank transfer to the university, but instead of leaving, she pulled something out of the large front pocket of her apron. “Even though we don’t start until tomorrow, it’s probably better if you start protecting your bed today,” she said kindly, presenting me one of the the pull-ups she had already purchased days ago and that I had refused to wear. I hated her for having already brought the pull-ups into my room without even knowing if I would agree to her deal. I couldn’t deny that taking preventive measures to prevent the likely nighttime accident made sense, but she could have at least given me more time to think about it. And not only that, she could have at least gotten something more appropriate for my age.

“Didn’t they have other kinds? This one is for kids,” I expressed my frustration and looked disgustedly at the still packaged pull-up she was holding out to me. A young, pre-pubescent girl was pictured on the packaging, happily jumping in the air, wearing only a t-shirt and the childish, girly pull-up pants. Next to the girl was the slogan, “PJAMA PANTS: Look and feel like real underwear.” “I’m sorry, but in your size, there were no others. It’s designed for girls up to 57 kilograms, so it should fit you easily,” my mother explained, soothingly stroking my arm. I cursed the fact that I wasn’t as tall as my mother. She wouldn’t have been able to give me pull-ups meant for ten-year-olds if I would have been her size. “Nobody will see you wearing it,” my mother tried to cheer me up, noticing my disgusted look.

“Do we have a deal now, or can I buy the beautiful necklace I saw at the jeweler’s with the money intended for your studies?” she demanded a decision and held out the pull-up pants to me, so I could take them. “We have a deal,” I replied grimly and snatched the item from her hands. “I want to make it clear, Emily, that I will immediately reimburse the tuition fees from the university if you do not cooperate accordingly. We have an agreement and I will only fulfill my part if you fulfill yours. Understood!?” “Understood, Mom, but now please transfer the money before it’s too late,” I begged her, with a nervous look at the clock. “It starts tomorrow at 18:30 and be punctual please! And don’t think you can put the pull-up pants aside as soon as I leave the room. I’ll come by at night to check that you’re really wearing them!” With these words she left the room and I was left alone with the pull-up in my hands.

It took me an eternity before I could bring myself to take the pull-up out of its packaging. Even without the packaging, it was clear to everyone that the item was designed for children. Bright butterflies and flowers adorned the entire pale lavender pull-up and left no doubt as to who the target audience of this product was. Reluctantly, I slipped into the item and then looked at myself in the mirror of my closet. To my misfortune, I had to admit that the pull-up fit me just as well as the girl on the packaging. So I didn’t even have the option of rejecting it because it was too small for me.

Maybe I could have gotten along better with that piece of crap if it had lived up to its big advertising promises. Despite the manufacturer’s obvious efforts to make the pull-ups look like regular underwear, it didn’t change the fact that it was immediately recognizable as what it actually was and what it was used for. It was almost fraudulent to claim that these things couldn’t be distinguished from regular underwear. My younger sister wore pull-ups during the day too, and no one would think to confuse these things, which were nothing more than thin diapers with a waistband, with real underwear. In the end, the thing around my hips remained a diaper, regardless of the fact that the manufacturer consistently avoided the word and preferred to talk about pajama pants instead.

Wearing this garment around my hips made me feel like I had been stripped of not only my adulthood but also my femininity. At my age, for a girl, there was little more important than appearing attractive, even if one, like me, was attracted to women instead of men. But how could another woman possibly find me desirable now? The only thing my underwear would evoke in another woman now were her maternal feelings"

I put on my pajama bottoms to avoid looking at my pull-up any longer. Out of sight, out of mind, I thought but unfortunately it did not even need my eyes to be aware of the pull-up around my hips. The soft rustling sound it made when I moved could have been mistaken for a regular pad and the slightly thicker area around the crotch wasn’t much more pronounced than with regular feminine hygiene products. But the feeling of the pull-up material against my skin was so different from that of regular underwear that even without knowing of its existence, one could sense its presence. So much for feeling like real underwear.

Not even sleep was merciful to me. I lay in my bed, unable to sleep, struggling with my decision. I was constantly tempted to rip the damn pull-up off my hips. Only the prospect of studying in England, a life far away from my mother, prevented me from declaring everything null and void just a few hours after agreeing to it.

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Chapter 5

The next morning, I woke up in a damp bed, just like the previous days. At some point, I must have fallen asleep, and I had obviously slept long enough to wet the bed again, despite the pull-ups I was wearing. It wasn’t that the pull-up was useless, but what had come from my bladder simply exceeded its capacity. Unlike usual, I did not even attempt to clean up my mess. My mother wanted to decide how the treatment of my incontinence should look like, then she should also be responsible for of all the unpleasant side effects. I carelessly threw my pull-ups into my trash can before putting on a bikini and a summer dress and sneaking out of the house.

I did not return until the evening. I had spent the entire day at the lake. Although it was beautiful there, I couldn’t enjoy it. All I could think about was what was waiting for me at home. If it wasn’t for the agreement with my mother, I would probably have returned home much earlier, but so I delayed my return as much as possible. I finally arrived home a few minutes before 6:30 p.m. and went straight to my room before doing anything else. I wanted to be alone one more time before the whole nonsense began. But when I tried to enter my room, I grimly realized that the old door leading in wouldn’t open. The door had been jamming since we moved in, but until now it had never been the case that it wouldn’t open at all. It fit my current luck that the thing gave up the ghost today. “Mom! Where are you? My door is stuck again and won’t open!” I shouted through the house in frustration. “I’m here, in Sophie’s room,” she replied.

I entered Sophie’s room to explain my problem to my mother again, but stopped mid-sentence when I noticed that the room had changed. First, I thought my mother had just moved Sophie’s bed to a different corner, but when I turned around and saw that the bed was still in its original place, I realized that she had actually put up a second cot that seemed to be an exact copy of Sophie’s bed.

“Why did you buy another bed for Sophie?” I asked my mother, who was already busy putting a diaper on my little sister for the night. “Right on the minute!” she said, looking at the clock, without answering my question. So much for a final moment alone.

She closed Sophie’s diaper and lifted my little sister from the changing table. “Okay, let’s start the therapy. Come on, it’s your turn,” my mother said in a motherly tone, pointing to the empty spot on the changing table. “I think I can still put on my pull-ups without help,” I replied, shocked. Unlike my sister, I certainly didn’t need anyone to help me put this thing on. It was bad enough that I even had to wear this damn pull-up to sleep.

“Maybe pull-ups, but as you’ve surely noticed, they’re not enough for your nighttime accidents and I don’t feel like cleaning up your dirty bed every day!” The resentment that I had left her alone with my mess was clearly audible. “That’s why I think it’s best if we resort to diapers at night in the future, they’re able to withstand bigger accidents,” she revealed to me. She couldn’t be serious. “I’m definitely not wearing diapers,” I said stubbornly, “and especially I won’t let you change me! You always talked about pull-ups in your damn therapy, not diapers!” “I was talking about a life like Sophie’s, and Sophie also wears diapers to sleep because the thin pull-ups are unable to handle her nighttime accidents!”

It had only been a minute since my therapy had started, but I had already had enough of the nonsense. Wearing pull-ups was one thing, but I would definitely not wear diapers and, to top it all off, let my mother change me. Angry, I stormed to my room and tried to escape my mother and especially the changing table. If I just pressed hard enough, the door would surely open. But all my pushing, kicking, and hitting did not help, the door remained closed, just as it did on my first attempt. Only now did it dawn on me that the door was not stuck, otherwise it would have opened at least a little with the force I had exerted. The door was locked, that was for sure, and since it wasn’t me who locked it, it had to be my mother.

My room had always been my sanctuary, a place where I could hide from the world and especially from my mother. Frustrated and exhausted, I collapsed in front of the door. She had taken away my last anchor. If my mother took away my room, I would have nothing left. I had no one to seek protection from. I was alone and I was helpless. Tears suddenly flowed from my eyes. Everything felt so hopeless. I felt cornered, felt forced to do something I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to wear diapers, I didn’t want to be treated like a toddler, no matter what deal I had made. I didn’t deserve this; it wasn’t my fault that I wet the bed.

My mother, who had followed me and silently witnessed my hopeless struggle with the door, bent down to me and hugged me. “Everything will be okay, Emily, Mum is here for you,” she comforted me and gently kissed my forehead. At first, I immediately felt the urge to push her away and scream that she had lost it, but the embrace and her gentle words, even though I didn’t want to admit it at first, calmed me down. Suddenly, every hatred towards my mother vanished. It was as if her maternal care was the answer to all my problems, as if I just had to follow her for everything to be alright. I rarely felt as safe as I did at that moment. I was no longer afraid of what was to come because my mother was there and watched over me. She only wanted the best for me, I understood that now and it couldn’t be wrong if I felt so secured.

My mother tenderly took my hand and helped me up, and what I had previously thought was impossible, happened. I let myself be led back to Sophie’s room by my mother, hand in hand. “Is everything okay with Emily?” Sophie asked, my mother, worried, as we returned to her room. “Emily is fine. She just had a little outburst, like you do when you don’t want to go to bed,” my mother explained. My mother took me to the changing table, and I climbed up the small steps attached to it without resistance. I had expected that the dimensions of the table would not be sufficient for someone of my height, even though it was an unusually large model, but surprisingly I found a space on the table and changing mat without a problem. I only had to bend my legs so that they didn’t hang over the edge.

Carefully my mother pushed up my summer dress and before I knew it, she had taken off my underpants. Fogged by the warm feeling of basic trust that surrounded me since her comforting words, I needed an unusually long time until I realized that she could now look unhindered at my naked crotch. As soon as I realized this, I turned red as a beetroot. Even if I was obviously not quite master of my senses, otherwise my current behavior could not be explained, my sense of shame seemed to continue to function perfectly. Embarrassed, I pulled my hands down and pressed my knees together, but this only elicited a loving, sympathetic smile from my mother.

Silently, she retrieved a diaper printed with childish princesses and unicorns from under the table. At first, the appearance of the diaper led me to believe that my mother actually thought she could still put me in one of Sophie’s diapers, after all, her models looked exactly like that. But even though I was small and petite, I was not small enough to fit in a diaper for a four-year-old. But as my mother started to unfold the diaper, I quickly realized that it was much larger than the diapers my little sister usually wore. Contrary to my expectation, the item was actually a diaper in my size. But who, who was as large as I, had interest to wear a diaper with such infantile motives. Even ten-year-olds would have found this childish print too embarrassing.

Less than ten minutes ago I probably would have thrown a fit of rage if my mother had only tried to approach me with this infantile monster, but now I lay there unresistingly and willingly endured everything. I didn’t protest when my mother lifted my legs at the ankles to put the diaper under me, nor when she pushed aside my hands, which I had been using to cover my vulva, and began cleaning my crotch with a wet wipe.

The situation was almost grotesque. I, a grown woman, lay motionless while my mother took care of cleaning my private parts as a matter of course. And I hardly dare admit it to myself, but somehow the whole thing felt more comfortable than I expected, which only made everything more embarrassing. " Mommy quickly spreads some baby powder so you don’t get sore my darling and then we’re already done," she explained to me lovingly, and the next moment my crotch was already covered with a thick, white layer. By now, no one would have guessed at the sight of my vulva that it belonged to an adult woman. Hairless and dipped in white, my private parts didn’t look any different than Sophie’s. Humming in satisfaction, my mom used her hands to spread the powder down the front of my crotch before saying, “And hop,” to me, lifting my legs up so she could spread the powder on my butt as well. When she finally closed my diaper with the four adhesive strips attached, I had long since buried my face in my hands, filled with shame.

“Already done,” she said, pleased with herself. “See, it wasn’t that bad after all. Now you are well protected for the night and can sleep peacefully.” But there was no talk of peace, even if I didn’t move, my new underwear seemed to rustle. In comparison, the pull-ups I wore last night were nearly silent. My mother took my hand and helped me off the changing table, as if she assumed I couldn’t do it on my own anymore. It was a strange feeling to move with the new object now encasing my crotch. I couldn’t even say that the diaper was uncomfortable. On the contrary, it felt soft and fluffy on my skin. However, this did not change the fact that the thickened crotch made every step I took more cumbersome. I was glad that I only had to wear the diaper to sleep.

Without protesting, I let my mother take off my dress and bikini top as well. I hurriedly threw my arms over my breasts when I realized that I was standing in front of her half-naked, wearing only a diaper. In contrast to my sister, who was wearing exactly the same, I was no longer a small child and it was therefore not normal for me to present myself in this way in front of my mother.

“Let’s see what we can find for these two princesses to sleep in,” my mother smiled lovingly at my sister and me. “I want the nightgown with the little horses on it,” Sophie exclaimed ecstatically before my mother had even opened the closet. “This one?” my mother asked, holding up a long, light blue nightgown decorated with a large horse’s head on the front. “No, the pink one,” Sophie grumbled, waddling to the closet and pointing to a nightgown with countless little horses printed on it. “Ok, as you wish,” my mother grinned, took the pink nightgown from the hanger and slid it over Sophie’s head.

“And for Emily?” My mother muttered more to herself than to me, and to my surprise, she returned her attention to Sophie’s closet. Why was she looking for a pajama for me in my little sister’s closet? Similar to Sophie’s diapers, there was no way her clothes would fit me. My mother briefly rummaged through the closet and then let out a shrill sound of delight. “This one is cute,” she said excitedly, “it goes great with Sophie’s nightgown.” She held up a short, light pink pajama adorned with horses, which I had never seen before. In style and form, it resembled the nightwear that my little sister usually wore, but at first glance, it was clear that it was much too large to belong to her. The pajama was obviously in my size.

“What is that? Where did you get that?”, I asked, confused. “It’s one of the pajamas that I bought new for you. Don’t you like it?”. Stunned, I stared at her. “Why did you buy me pajamas, I have enough things to wear!!!?” It was probably the first time in my life that I wasn’t happy about new clothes. “It looks like it’s for kids,” I said, stunned, and immediately realized that, unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time I had uttered that sentence. “Well, that’s because it’s from the kids’ section. Luckily, you’re not that big, so there are still plenty of nice things in your size to be found there. You can’t wear lingerie and hot pants to sleep when you’re a child,” she explained to me with such self-evidentness that I was at a loss for words. “But enough of the discussion, you should have been in bed a long time ago.”

Without warning, she took the top of the pajama and put it over my head. "Can’t I wear one of my own pajamas? " I begged desperately as she threaded my arms through the sleeves. "No! Your room and the things inside it are off limits to you for the next three months and I don’t want to hear any more objections from you, Emily, or I’ll cancel the transfer to your university immediately! " Reluctantly, I gave in.

“Alright, off to bed then,” she told us after pulling up the pants of my sleepwear over my diaper. Sophie happily jumped into her bed, while I stood there confused. “Do you need an extra invitation, Emily?” my mother asked me with a sarcastic tone, as I had not immediately made my way to my bed like Sophie had. “How am I supposed to go to bed if my room is still locked?” I smugly said. “You silly thing, that is your bed now,” my mother shook her head amused and pointed to the new, additional cot in Sophie’s room, which I hadn’t given a second thought to because of all the drama.

It was only now that I realized she had bought the bed especially for me. “This is supposed to be my bed now!?” I snapped at her, “I won’t even fit in it!”. “You’re 1.50 meters tall and the bed is 1.60 meters long. I don’t see the problem,” my mother responded. I stared in disbelief at the small pink and white bed that my mother thought was going to be my new sleeping quarters. Not only was it, like Sophie’s bed, mostly surrounded by boards, except for a small area for getting in and out, but it was also already covered in Sophie’s fairy bedding. I could not for the life of me imagine sleeping in this childish bed.

However, my mother ignored my obvious reluctance and helped me into my new bed without paying attention to my complaints. “Sleep well, Emily,” she said after pulling the blanket over my body and giving me a kiss on the forehead. She then went to Sophie to give her a goodnight kiss too. I caught wind of my mother asking which goodnight story she should read to us tonight, but even if I had wanted to participate in the decision, which was not the case, I was too overwhelmed by my own feelings and thoughts to say a single word. So Sophie chose the same story as every night and I turned to the wall, wanting to see nothing and nobody anymore.

After a chapter my mother turned off the light. Sophie had already fallen asleep, but I was still wide awake. My mother quietly left the room with my dress and bikini in hand and closed the door. Relieved that she was finally gone, I turned back onto my back and stared despondently at the ceiling above me. It was just after seven, essentially still in the middle of the day, and I had already been put to sleep in a thick diaper. This couldn’t be real.

It was impossible for me to fall asleep at that hour. I wanted to get up, but I was aware that the baby monitor, which was sitting on the shelf, would trigger an alarm on my mother’s smartphone if I left my bed. As for smartphones, where was mine? I scanned the room with my eyes until I realized that I had last put it in the pocket of my dress, the same dress that my mother had taken out of the room. I doubted that I would see my smartphone again during my time as a toddler. It took hours before I finally drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 6

“Look, your sister is waking up too,” greeted me my mother the next morning as I began to stir. Briefly, I tried to open my sleepy eyes, but was immediately blinded by the morning sunlight, so I decided to close them again. I was still too tired to even think about getting up.

Half-asleep, I carefully felt the area of the mattress that had been wet every morning for weeks. This practice had become a kind of routine for me after my first nighttime accident. But unlike before, I couldn’t feel any moisture this time. I seemed to have stayed dry this night. I felt pure relief. I had almost forgotten how pleasant a bed could feel in the morning when you weren’t lying in your own puddle of urine. I enjoyed the warmth under the soft blanket and could have continued dozing for hours if my stupid mother had let me.

“Emily? Hello? It’s time to get up,” she persisted. I reluctantly opened my eyes. “Alright, I’m already awake,” I grumbled annoyed. When my eyes finally adjusted to the bright sunlight, I was initially surprised to find myself in Sophie’s room instead of my own. It wasn’t until I recalled the events of yesterday that I realized why I hadn’t woken up in my own bed as usual. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only realization that came flooding back with the memories of the previous night. The scene on the changing table immediately came to my mind, and suddenly I suspected that the dry bed may not have been my achievement after all.

In quiet hope that my bitter suspicion would prove to be a mistake, I reached down to my crotch and cautiously felt the bulky plastic monstrosity between my legs. It was incomprehensible to me that I hadn’t noticed the diaper before, considering how voluminous it was. Was I imagining things, or had the diaper gotten even thicker? But before I could investigate further, my mother yanked the covers off me, and the subtle odor that emanated from it left no doubt about the situation. “Come on, Emily, Sophie and I want to have breakfast,” urged my mother, but after the bitter realization that I had wet myself again while I slept, I was too frustrated to even want to move. Why did this have to happen to me, why did I have to suffer from bladder weakness?

Annoyed that I didn’t get up, my mother reached under me and lifted me onto the changing table before I could even react. It wasn’t that my mother was particularly muscular, she was of a similarly slender build as me, but at her height of six feet (180cm), she was able to easily carry someone as small and delicate as me the short distance. “Mum, let me go. I’m not a baby, I can walk on my own, I don’t need to be carried!” I screamed in horror. “You’ve had enough time to get up!” she responded angrily.

Roughly she pulled down my pajama pants and exposed my soaked diaper. Without further hesitation, she then proceeded to undo the adhesive strips on my diaper. “Mum, I can take my diaper off by myself!”, I interrupted her ashamedly, holding the top of my diaper with all my strength so that she could not open it. I was far too proud to allow her to see the inside of my urine soaked diaper. “If you manage to go to the potty at night like a big girl, then you can also take your diapers off yourself," she mercilessly rebuffed my objection and gruffly pushed my hands aside. Accompanied by a rustling sound, she opened my diaper and pulled it out from under me before folding it up and tossing it into the diaper pail. She meticulously removed the last bits of urine from my crotch and buttocks with a wet wipe before pulling out a pair of panties and putting them on me.

My joy about the panties, which ensured that I no longer had to lie naked in front of my mother, was short-lived. She even seemed to have bought my new underwear in the children’s department, where else could you buy panties with a large Snow White on the front. I was about to protest against the childish, red underwear when my sister, who was already fully dressed and curiously watching the proceedings from the side, spoke up. “Why does Emily get to wear real underwear and I don’t?” she complained, visibly offended. “If you manage to stay dry for three days during the day, then you can also wear panties for big girls, you know that Sophie,” my mother recited the rule that she had explained to Sophie countless times before. I looked down at Sophie haughtily. She had never managed to get through three days in a row without a single accident. Suddenly, I felt a lot more comfortable in the childish underwear, because at least my underwear was still much more grown-up than the pullups Sophie wore. Sophie, on the other hand, looked as if she had lost a shilling and found a penny.

However, my arrogance was to take revenge in the next moment. My mother swiftly tore my pajama top off and pulled a purple dress over my head. The dress might have been quite pretty if a colorful unicorn hadn’t spoiled the entire front. “So cute,” my mother exclaimed, clearly pleased with my new outfit despite my obvious dissatisfaction, “now you two almost look like twins.” At first, I didn’t understand what she meant. Technically, my sister and I were only half-siblings and I didn’t think we looked particularly alike, although many of our acquaintances thought otherwise. But when I looked down at my sister and took a closer look at her, I understood what my mother meant by the term “twins.”

Sophie appeared to be wearing a similar dress to mine. The colors were the same and even the unicorn print on the front seemed to be similar. I kept looking from her dress to mine, hoping to spot some difference, but there was none. Our dresses were not just similar, they were exactly the same, only the size differed. I was wearing the exact same children’s dress that my damn four-year-old sister was wearing. Disturbed, I scrutinized Sophie and her dress. Did I look just as childish as she did in that thing? Impossible, it couldn’t be. I had a much more mature face and I had breasts, even though they weren’t particularly pronounced and barely showed in the dress, which had a loose cut. Hoping to make the dress look at least slightly less childish on me, I asked my mother for a bra, but she flatly refused my request. “Emily, your breasts aren’t really big enough to need a bra. Bras are only for big girls, little girls like you don’t need them yet,” she explained to me incomprehensibly. I glared at her darkly. I was offended. My breasts may not have been as big as hers, but they were certainly big enough to wear a bra.

“Alright, let’s have breakfast you two. I made pancakes,” my mother interrupted my sulking and took Sophie and me by the hand. “Yummy!” exclaimed Sophie, and together we walked out of the room towards the kitchen. As we passed a large mirror on the way, I couldn’t resist taking a look. I stopped in disbelief, and inadvertently stopped my mother, who was holding my hand, and my sister, who was holding my mother’s other hand. “You both look very pretty today, Emily,” my mother misinterpreted my prolonged gaze in the mirror. Meanwhile, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The reflection showed a girl who was supposed to be me, but it couldn’t be right. With her childish dress and next to my tall mother, the girl staring back at me from the mirror looked no older than ten years old. But I was an adult, not a child. “Come on, Emily, I’m hungry,” my mother urged, pulling me towards the kitchen and away from the mirror.

The breakfast went surprisingly uneventful. If it weren’t for the sight of Sophie and her dress, which she wore, reminding me of my silly outfit and therefore my current role, I might have actually enjoyed it. After all, I loved pancakes just as much as Sophie did. But my thoughts kept circling back to the image of the little girl I had seen in the mirror, and I still couldn’t believe that was supposed to be me.

“Mum, can Emily and I go play in the garden?” begged Sophie after she had swallowed her last pancake. Sophie seemed to have grasped my new role surprisingly quickly and not only that, she seemed delighted that there was finally a playmate her own age in the house. “Alright, but if you two need to go potty, you come to me. I’ll stay in the kitchen and start preparing lunch,” she told us. I didn’t say anything and let my mother believe that I, like Sophie, would come to her if I needed to use the restroom. Unlike Sophie, however, I was perfectly capable of visiting the restroom on my own without any help, and she would hardly be able to prevent me from doing so.

Sophie was so excited to play with me that as soon as our mother gave us permission, she grabbed my hand and started dragging me to the garden. “Hold on a moment, you two,” our mother stopped us before we could leave the kitchen and grabbed a damp cloth to clean Sophie’s syrup-stained face. Once again, Sophie, now with her face free of the sticky remnants of her breakfast, wanted to head to the garden with me in tow, but was stopped once more. “Wait a moment, Sophie, I need to clean up your sister too,” and before I knew it, she wiped the cloth across my face as well. I glared at her angrily. “Don’t make such a face, Emily. What kind of mother would I be if I let you leave the house all dirty?”

I doubted that my face had been dirty at all, but before I could say anything, Sophie ran off and pulled me out of the kitchen and away from my mother’s sight. Perhaps it was better that I didn’t get the chance to speak up, after all, I didn’t want to ruin my chances of studying in England, which was the only reason why I was going along with all this nonsense in the first place.

Outside, the weather was radiant. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and not a single cloud could be seen in the sky. Sophie and I went to the sandbox and started building a sandcastle. The pure delight that Sophie exuded during the construction seemed to infect me. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been so enthusiastic about an activity. I had never played with Sophie so intensely before. Although I had watched over her countless times, I had usually been preoccupied with homework, my smartphone, or the TV, and only occasionally checked on her. Sometimes our mother did the same with us, checking up on us, making sure everything was okay, but otherwise she was busy preparing lunch most of the time.

As I was adding another tower to our sandcastle, an unpleasant pressure began to build up in my bladder. I was reluctant to interrupt the fun I was having building the sandcastle with Sophie, but ever since my first nocturnal accident, I had been having problems holding my urine not just at night but during the day as well. With each passing day, it seemed like the time I had left to make it to the toilet in time was getting shorter. Luckily, so far there had been no accidents during the day, unlike at night, and I wanted it to stay that way.

I jumped up frantically. “I’ll be right back, Sophie,” I apologized to my sister and ran towards the bathroom with my knees clamped together. I breathed a sigh of relief as I reached the door, as the pressure in my bladder had increased with each. I pushed down on the doorknob, but the door wouldn’t budge - it was locked. I cursed inwardly. My mother must have been using the toilet herself; why else would the door be locked? After all, there was no one else in the house. “Mom, are you in there? Are you going to be long?” I called out, pressing my knees together even tighter to support my muscles. But my mother didn’t answer; it remained silent. “Mom, I really have to go, can you please open the door,” I begged, but still, there was no response. We only had one bathroom in the house, so I couldn’t just go to another one.

As I stood there listening for any sound coming from inside the bathroom, I was inevitably reminded of my locked bedroom door from the previous evening. She wouldn’t have, no, she couldn’t have dared. Upset, I ran into the kitchen and found my mother calmly filling a baking dish with lasagna sheets. “Mom, why is the bathroom door locked!?” I angrily shouted at her. My mother looked at me calmly. “Do you need to go potty, Emily? You should come to me when you need to pee or poo.”

I was so angry that I couldn’t hold it anymore. “I don’t need to go potty, I need to use the toil,” I blurted out, but before I could finish my sentence, it happened. At first, only a few drops escaped from my bladder and were caught by my underwear. Panic-stricken, I squeezed my knees together as tightly as possible and grabbed my dress to cover my crotch, trying to stop the impending disaster, but it was no use. The frequency of the drops increased until it turned into a full stream, making the yellow puddle forming beneath me grow larger and larger. In the end, not only my underwear and the floor beneath me were completely soaked, but also large parts of my dress.

I stood there petrified, staring at my mother with sheer horror, who seemed equally shocked by what had just happened. I felt like I had to do something, something that could undo what had just occurred. But even if I could travel back in time, this shameful memory would remain in my mind. Despair filled me, and tears began to flow from my eyes uncontrollably as I stood motionless at the scene of the accident.

My crying seemed to have an effect. The silent signal of my helplessness not only released my mother from her shock, but also activated her maternal instincts. “Oh Emily, it’s just an accident, the world isn’t going to end because of it,” she began to comfort me lovingly. “We’ll quickly change your clothes and you’ll see, the world will look completely different afterwards.” She tenderly took my hand and led me into Sophie’s room to lay me down on the changing table. Despite the incredible shame I felt towards her because of what had just happened, I was glad she was there. That someone was there who knew what to do, who cared for me, because I wouldn’t have been able to do it myself in that moment.

Tears were still rolling down my cheeks when I was freed from my dress. With a saddened look, my mother put the soaked garment in the laundry basket. “Too bad, you looked so cute together in that dress,” she gushed, lost in thought. My underwear followed the dress and as soon as it happened, my mother began to remove the remaining traces of my accident from my body. I was so overwhelmed with the whole situation that I didn’t revolt when she conscientiously began wiping my butt and crotch dry for me, nor when she put me in on one of the pullups she had originally bought me for the night. “Just to be on the safe,” she explained to me the reason for my new underwear.

My mother was rummaging through the wardrobe, looking for a replacement outfit for me, when my little sister marched into the room. “There you are, Emily! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” she announced upon spotting me on the changing table. “Where were you all this time?!” she demanded, offended by my sudden disappearance. I was determined to come up with some lie to explain my prolonged absence, just to prevent her from finding out about my embarrassing accident. But the mere thought of what had happened caused me to break down in tears. “Is everything okay with Emily?” my sister turned to my mother, concerned. “Emily just had a little accident, nothing dramatic,” she explained. For a moment, my sister seemed puzzled about what had happened, but then her eyes fell on my crotch and my new underwear. Now she was the one who smirked at me arrogantly. Sophie’s smug facial expression did not go unnoticed by my mother. “Why don’t you go play in the garden, Sophie. Emily will come out when we’re finished,” she ordered Sophie out of the room. Obediently, Sophie left, but not without taking one last satisfying look at my new underwear.

Chapter 7

Dressed in a short pair of black leggings and a Minnie Mouse T-shirt, I made my way back to our garden as soon as my mother released me from the changing table. Although I sat back down next to Sophie, who was still busy building our castle in the sandbox, my enthusiasm for participating had waned. I didn’t want to be a kid anymore, playing stupid children’s games or wearing children’s clothes. While people my age were spending their time in nighttime clubs, I had to wear pull-ups and play in a sandbox with a four-year-old. I wanted to live the life I was entitled to at my age. Several times Sophie tried to encourage me to play with her again, even suggesting new, alternative games in hopes of rekindling my interest, but I grumpily blocked everything. “I understand that you’re sad, Emily, I’m sad too when I’ve had an accident, but being sad doesn’t change what happened.” I couldn’t believe that I, a 19-year-old, was getting life advice from someone who still believed in the tooth fairy.

Out of fear that another mishap could happen to me, I refrained from drinking any more fluids for the rest of the day, and indeed I was spared from another accident, but this was probably only because I did not have to go to the toilet again. My sister was less successful. After lunch, I took pity and played with Sophie in the sandbox again. Sophie was so ecstatic and so happy during the playtime that she simply forgot to use her potty. This resulted in my mother having to clean up another mess.

It was still broad daylight when our mother began getting us ready for bed. Sophie’s exhaustion was clearly visible on her face. She could barely stay awake. As for me, I couldn’t imagine falling asleep already with the sun still shining so brightly. But that was my reality at the moment. It would probably take hours, like yesterday, until I fell asleep. We brushed our teeth, watched an episode of Pajanimals, and went to Sophie’s room at exactly 6:30 pm to get ready for bed.

Before our mother put on our diapers and pajamas, she pulled out an object that I had managed to avoid all day. At first, I naively believed that she only had one potty in her hands and only expected Sophie to use it before bedtime. But the second, identical potty was tucked so inconspicuously under the first one that I had simply overlooked it.

I insisted, “I don’t have to pee, Mom,” hoping to avoid having to sit on that thing. “Emily, dear, I thought you wanted to become potty-trained. Do you want to use your diaper at night again?” Of course, I didn’t want to use my diaper, but I also didn’t want to sit on that little plastic potty in front of my mother and definitely didn’t want to use it in her presence. I begged her, “Can’t I just go to the bathroom quickly?” My mother shook her head. “The deal was to be treated like Sophie, and look how nicely your sister is sitting on the potty.” Indeed, my sister had pulled down her pull-ups without any help and sat down on the potty all by herself.

I protested desperately, “But…” but my mother cut me off. “Come on, let me help you, Emily,” and before I knew it, she had pulled down my leggings and pullups. “Now that nothing’s in the way of you going potty, you can sit on the training toilet,” she continued in her motherly sing-song voice, pushing me down onto the hard plastic seat. “You did a great job, Emily!” my mother exclaimed, using the kind of exaggerated praise that parents reserve for children even when they haven’t accomplished anything worth mentioning.

Next to me, I heard a splashing sound, followed by a proud “done.” “Great job, Sophie! Look how well your sister used the potty, Emily,” my mother enthused, pointing to the yellow content of my sister’s potty. I felt like I wanted to disappear. It was impossible for me to keep up with this nonsense for another three months.

My mother helped my sister wipe and then laid her down on the changing table to put on her nighttime diaper. Meanwhile, I remained seated on my potty. As much as I hated to admit it, my mother was right. If I didn’t go now, I would end up with another wet diaper in the morning. But no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t squeeze out even a single drop.

“If nothing comes out, there’s nothing you can do,” my mother finally explained after she finished changing my sister, finding my potty still dry as a bone. She took my although still dry pull-up from me and helped me off the potty and onto the now-empty changing table. “You’ll do great next time, just like your sister did,” she tried to cheer me up, but her words had the opposite effect. She was making it seem like Sophie’s ability to use the potty was a sign of higher maturity, as if my struggle was a reflection of my inadequacy. Maybe my bladder wouldn’t have been so shy if I, like my sister, had been completely devoid of any sense of shame. I didn’t even need to see Sophie, who was already in her bed and out of sight, to know that she was glowing with pride. I couldn’t even blame her for it; it was probably the first time in her life that she had done something better than me. That was the burden of being the baby of the family.

Although I was completely clean, my mother did not miss the opportunity to wipe my bare crotch with a wet wipe before putting on my diaper. I had hoped that the whole procedure would, over time, feel less alien to me, but as my mother ran the cool, damp cloth over my labia again, I realized that the cringe feeling would probably never go away. It was not normal as a 19-year-old to be diapered by one’s own mother, and even the seeming matter-of-factness with which my mother handled the situation did not change that.

“I have to say Emily, I know I was against you permanent intimate hair removal, but the hairless crotch is really a huge relief changing your diapers.” I blushed furiously. Did she really need to start talking about my private parts right now!!!? It was bad enough that she was getting so close to it in the first place. I had talked my mother into it forever when I was 18 until she agreed to pay for my treatment, and until her stupid therapy, I had been very happy with my decision. But at that moment I would have given anything for a magnificent bush between my thighs, not only to make her job harder, but mostly so that my crotch no longer looked like that of a child.

After generously rubbing baby powder on my nether regions, my mother fastened my diaper and helped me climb into my bed. Then, the same scene as the night before played out: she gave my sister and me a goodnight kiss and asked us which story she should read. Once again, I remained silent while my little sister chose the same story as always. After not even a chapter, Sophie was fast asleep, and I pretended to be as well, causing my mother to activate the baby monitor and leave the room. It took me several more hours to actually fall asleep. It’s not hard to imagine how boring it is to lie awake in bed with nothing to do. If it weren’t for that stupid baby monitor, I could have at least grabbed some book from Sophie’s shelf to occupy myself, but instead, all I could do was hope that my body would eventually adjust to these early bedtimes.

Chapter 8

On the following morning, I didn’t find myself in my new bed, but on the changing table instead. I was far too tired to be annoyed that my mother hadn’t even woken me up to change me out of my wet diaper. Silently, she removed the diaper and hastily wiped away the last traces of urine from my crotch with a wet wipe. It was Monday morning, and with the end of the weekend, her calm demeanor during diaper changes seemed to have vanished as well. I couldn’t blame her, after all, she was solely responsible for getting Sophie to kindergarten on time, and now she had to not only change and prepare my little sister for the day but me as well, all within the already limited morning hours.

My intimate area felt less clean than usual as she reached for one of the pull-ups to put on me. However, it wasn’t my semi-wet crotch that jolted me out of my half-sleep, but rather what she held in her hands for me. “Mom, can I please wear normal underwear instead of the pull-ups?” I pleaded sweetly, “Yesterday was really a one-time slip-up; it won’t happen again, I promise you!” “The same rules apply to you as for everyone else in this house. If you stay dry during the day for three days, you can wear big girl panties again,” she explained dryly, and her tone suggested that there would be no negotiating this house rule, which had previously only applied to Sophie. In that moment, I wished she would have an accident herself, so the house rule would apply to her too, but that wish would probably never come true.

The fact that it was no longer the weekend did not change her choice of clothing for me. The short, bunny-adorned, light gray leggings and the pale lilac T-shirt, also decorated with two cute rabbits, looked no less childish than my outfit the day before. After yesterday’s harsh rejection, I didn’t even bother asking to wear a bra; she wouldn’t have allowed it anyway.

Every step and movement during the morning routine seemed to be designed to consume as little time as possible. We even had to brush our teeth while sitting on the potty. Neither Sophie nor I managed to leave anything in it, which was no surprise after we both had woken up with wet diapers. Meanwhile, our mother used her free time to not only comb our hair but also braid it into pigtails. We had barely spat out the toothpaste when our mother already had a wet washcloth ready to wash our faces. Before I knew it, we were done in the bathroom, and our mother dragged us by our hands towards the garage.

“Mom, why do I have to go to kindergarten with you? Can’t I stay at home until you come back?” I whined as it dawned on me that she expected me to accompany her to kindergarten. “I’m not leaving you unsupervised and alone in the house!” she retorted, as if I, like a normal toddler, couldn’t be left out of sight for five minutes. It was unbelievable how seriously she took this whole nonsense of living like a toddler.

As usual, I wanted to take my place in the passenger seat when we arrived at our SUV in the garage, but my mother put a stop to my age-inappropriate behavior and pointed out that children should sit in the back of the car. Annoyed, I opened the rear door of the vehicle and was about to get in when I noticed something blocking the seat. At first, I thought the object mounted on the rear seat was Sophie’s child seat, but when I glanced over to the other side, I was surprised to see that Sophie was already buckled up in her child seat. “Well, Emily, do you like your new child seat?” my mother asked, suddenly appearing behind me out of nowhere. “My child… seat?” I stammered. “Yes, it’s nice, isn’t it?” she said excitedly, grabbing me under the arms at the same moment to lift me into it. “It was easier than I thought to find a nice child seat in your size. Most of them are actually designed for heights up to four-foot-eleven.”

I stared in disbelief at the object I had been lifted into. My child seat was not just a simple booster seat; it was a completely separate seat, just like Sophie’s, with its own backrest and headrest. Even a 5-point harness was integrated. But the worst part was that I fit perfectly into it. There wasn’t the slightest indication that I had outgrown the child seat.

In the blink of an eye, my mother leaned over me, and before I even realized what was happening, the straps of my seat were locked. “Done,” my mother announced with satisfaction. She was about to close my door when I began to protest. “Mom, I’m not going to ride with you in a child seat. What if someone sees me in it?” I huffed angrily. She may have been fast enough to put me in the seat before I could resist, but she could hardly prevent me from leaving it. In a display of defiance, I raised my hand in front of her eyes and pressed the release button to free myself, but nothing happened; the seat belts remained firmly locked. Perplexed, I pressed the button again, but the straps around my body remained tightly locked.

“It’s a good thing I got a child seat with a built-in child lock. I already suspected you might try to unbuckle yourself during the ride,” she said, shaking her head, and closed my door. Furious, I leaned forward and pulled the door handle to reopen the door and prevent her from driving off, only to discover that she had activated the child lock on my side of the car.

Ignoring my desperate tugging at the straps, my mother drove off. I couldn’t believe that no matter what I tried, I was unable to open the damn seatbelts. It was only a child lock, which meant there must be some solution to free myself from the straps. A solution that an adult should be able to find, since it’s called a child lock and not an adult lock. For the entire fifteen-minute drive to the kindergarten, I tried every possible way to free myself from my seat, but upon our arrival, I was still as securely locked in my seat as at the beginning of our journey.

I paused and stopped my attempts to free myself from my seat when I realized that we had arrived at the kindergarten. I could only hope that no one would pass by and notice that I was strapped into a child seat. The rear windows of our SUV were tinted, but I wasn’t completely sure that no one could see inside. To make matters worse, I knew not only the kindergarten teachers but also some of the children and parents from the kindergarten, since I had picked up Sophie from there a few times myself. At first glance, the coast seemed clear. Neither children nor parents nor other cars were in sight. I desperately hoped it would stay that way.

Calmly, my mother got out of the vehicle and helped Sophie out of her seat. I was convinced that she would leave me alone in the car for the short time it took her to bring Sophie inside, but she had other plans. "You can’t stay in the car by yourself, Emily! What if something happens to you?” she remarked with feigned concern, responding to my request not to have to go inside the kindergarten. She quickly unbuckled my child seat’s straps, so fast that I couldn’t even figure out how she had done it.

“I’m not going with you!” I stubbornly declared and clung to my child seat. I was aware of the contradiction in my actions, as I now clung to the very child seat I had desperately wanted to escape from just five minutes earlier. However, under no circumstances did I want anyone else to see me in my current role, wearing my current clothes. In vain, my mother tried to pull me out of the seat. It was astonishing to me how much strength I could muster in such a situation. “Emily, I’m warning you! If you don’t come with me right now, you’re in big trouble!” she thundered, her face beet-red after all her attempts to get me out of the car had failed.

A car pulling up behind our SUV at that moment interrupted our dispute. I turned around. A blue Volkswagen had parked behind our vehicle. The car seemed familiar somehow. The reflective windows of the vehicle made it impossible for me to identify the driver, but when the woman got out, I recognized who had arrived. It was Jana’s mother. Jana was a girl who had already made friends with Sophie during the short time Sophie attended kindergarten. This was just what I needed. She cheerfully greeted my mother and Sophie before opening the rear door of her Polo and lifting Jana, a small, blonde four-year-old, out of the car. Unfortunately, she didn’t head straight toward the kindergarten with her daughter as I had hoped, but instead approached us and our car. “Well, why are you two standing here as if you’re waiting for someone?” Jana’s mother wondered as she neared our car.

I was faced with two options: either stay seated and let Jana and her mother see me sitting in a child’s car seat like a toddler, or give in to my mother’s wishes, get out of the car, and go inside the kindergarten with them. I didn’t have to think twice. I jumped out of my seat and closed the door so hastily behind me that I almost caught my fingers in the process. My mother smirked smugly, having gotten her way without any further effort. “We were just waiting for Emily to finally get out of the car,” she replied with visible satisfaction, addressing the previous question from Jana’s mother.

Although I had just managed to hide my new car seat from Jana and her mother, I couldn’t prevent them from seeing me in my entire splendid children’s outfit. Jana’s mother, who had by now also become somewhat familiar with me, had the surprise of my changed appearance clearly written on her face. She stared at me and my outfit in disbelief, almost as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, and as if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, Jana noticed something about my outfit that her mother probably wouldn’t have picked up on. “Mom, Emily’s T-shirt looks just like the one Grandma gave me for my birthday.” Jana’s mother scrutinized me and my T-shirt even more intently than before. “You’re right, I think they’re actually the same,” she admitted, appearing even more baffled by her observation than she had been before.

My face burned with embarrassment. I didn’t even want to imagine how Jana’s mother would react if she found out that underneath my child-like leggings, I was wearing something even more infantile. As if she could read my thoughts, her gaze shifted towards my crotch at that very moment. I couldn’t help myself. Stealthily, and painfully aware not to let Jana’s mother notice my panicked look, I glanced down at myself to ensure that what I wore around my hips wasn’t visible through my leggings.

Admittedly, if you looked closely, you could tell that I was wearing something under my leggings, but there was no way anyone could guess it was a pull-up. A slightly thicker pair of underwear or a pad would probably create similar shapes beneath my clothes. It seemed that Jana’s mother came to a similar conclusion, as her puzzled expression regarding my outfit didn’t intensify. However, it didn’t change the fact that, after her reaction, I had an urgent desire to get back in the car so that I wouldn’t have to face anyone else in my outfit. Yet, the fear that the child’s car seat lurking inside would be seen by Jana’s mother if I opened the door again made me hesitate, leading me to join the others in the kindergarten instead of hiding from the world.

If you like my story and would like to support me, you can do so on Patreon ( There, you’ll find two more chapters already, and a new one is added every two weeks.


I really like your story. I will admit that I found Emily’s accidents just starting all of a sudden with the bedwetting to be a bit suspicious at first but then with the progression to daytime accidents too then mommy is probably just a loving innocent mom if a bit whacky. I am left waiting impatiently for the next chapter to come.
have a good day and a better tomorrow too !!

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Chapter 9

We entered a large, bright, and colorful room, divided in the middle by a glass wall with a door. The transparent partition, whose existence I was already familiar with from previous visits when dropping off or picking up Sophie, simultaneously connected and separated the kindergarten area. It split the room into a front section for older children up to six years old, like Sophie and Jana, and a rear section serving as a nursery for the youngest children up to three years old.

As soon as we stepped through the door, we were greeted by Ms. Weber, the educator responsible for the older children in the kindergarten. “Hello,” she welcomed us with a beaming smile before bending down slightly to speak to Jana and Sophie. “Will you show us how big you are and take off your street shoes and put on your slippers?” Both nodded in agreement and took a seat on the small bench by the coat rack near the entrance to remove their shoes.

The two girls had barely taken their seats when Jana’s mother announced her departure. “I have an urgent appointment at work,” she apologized. She quickly gave Jana a farewell kiss before stepping out the door in the next moment. However, she couldn’t resist casting a final, skeptical glance at me and my clothing. Unfortunately, my mother didn’t seem to be in as much of a hurry. First, she handed Ms. Weber a large bag she had brought with her, saying, “These are diapers and spare clothes. I think this should be enough for the time being.” Then, she actually engaged Ms. Weber in a seemingly endless conversation, leaving me with nothing to do but stand there silently, wishing we could leave for home as soon as possible.

At least Ms. Weber didn’t react like Jana’s mother, staring at me in shock due to my changed, unusual appearance. On the contrary, she frequently glanced at me during her conversation with my mother, offering friendly smiles. It’s likely that Ms. Weber, being exposed to so much children’s clothing in her line of work, didn’t even notice my infantile outfit.

“To sum it up, she’s been a bit cranky the last few days and has had a few accidents during the day and at night, so if any issues arise, you can reach me on my cell phone anytime,” my mother finally got to the point. I had hardly paid attention to the long conversation and judging by the last sentence, I hadn’t missed anything. It was unbelievable that my mother was so overprotective; after all, Sophie had been going to kindergarten here for almost a month now, so the two teachers should already know her well enough not to have to notify my mother about every little thing. “I think we’ll manage, don’t worry,” Mrs. Weber reassured my mother in a relaxed manner, smiling at me once again.

Although I hardly knew Ms. Weber, I couldn’t deny that I instinctively found her likable. Her warm and sensitive nature, her expansive smile that took up the room, and her large, attentive brown eyes captivated me, almost making me forget that we probably couldn’t have a profound, serious conversation without getting into a heated argument. Ms. Weber was cut from the same cloth as my mother in terms of her worldview. This fact was also reflected in the philosophy and design of this private kindergarten, which Ms. Weber herself had founded several years ago.

It should be noted that this kindergarten was only established because more and more public kindergartens began requiring basic vaccinations as a prerequisite for enrollment. As a result, countless new private kindergartens like this one emerged, serving as a refuge for children who hadn’t been vaccinated by their parents. But what set this kindergarten apart from the usual ones were not only the annual outbreaks of measles but also the fact that it was exclusively for girls. Ms. Weber firmly believed, and my mother shared this view, which was why she had enrolled Sophie here, that boys with their aggressive behavior hindered the free development of young girls. Whether this was true or not, I cannot say, but at least Sophie hadn’t complained about the absence of boys in her new kindergarten so far.

“You’re probably right and I’m just too worried. Well, I’ll be on my way, I’m already late anyway,” my mother said goodbye to Ms. Weber, still visibly worried. As difficult as it was for my mother to leave, I was glad at the prospect of finally being able to get out of here. Every minute I spent here increased the likelihood of another mother or father with their child showing up and seeing me in my embarrassing outfit. I was about to say goodbye and hurry towards the exit when something unexpected happened. Without any warning, my mother leaned down to me and gave me a kiss on the forehead. “Take care, my dear, and be nice to Ms. Weber and the other children. See you tonight,” she said, and at the same moment, she stepped out of the door, leaving me alone with Ms. Weber.

At first I could not make sense of what had happened and, after my mother left, I also made an attempt to leave the kindergarten. However, Ms. Weber gently took my hand and prevented me from taking another step. “I understand, Emily, that you don’t want to be separated from your mommy, but she has to work and unfortunately can’t take care of you while she’s doing that,” Ms. Weber said in a tone of voice as if she had a real child in front of her. “A lot of kids have a hard time saying goodbye on their first day, but believe me, we’re going to have a lot of fun here, even without your mommy.”

I was staring at her in disbelief. Completely bewildered by what was happening, I was unable to form a coherent thought. I had assumed that after dropping off Sophie here, my mother would drive me back home. I had thought that she was just working from home or taking time off to supervise me during “my therapy”. It never occurred to me that she might have planned to leave me at a kindergarten. Let alone that there was a kindergarten that would go along with such nonsense.

“Let’s take off your shoes first,” Ms. Weber said kindly and led me to the small bench at the entrance. Most people might wonder why I didn’t resist, why I didn’t just break away and run off, but it wasn’t in my nature to fight back in situations like these. I had always been someone who had a hard time asserting my will and struggled to stand up for myself. Silently I watched as Ms. Weber took off my shoes and placed them in a small compartment, where they would wait for me until I left the kindergarten.

Following this, she grabbed the large bag she had previously received from my mother and rummaged through it, obviously looking for a specific item. “I hope your mother didn’t forget to pack you a pair of slippers,” she sighed, when at first she didn’t find what she was looking for. It was only at that moment that the eerie realization flashed through me that my mother had packed the bag not for my little sister, but for me. Not only that - the endless conversation between my mother and Ms. Weber had obviously revolved around me. Everything had been carefully planned; that’s why Ms. Weber had kept smiling at me. Ashamed, I turned my gaze to the pull-ups and children’s clothes that had spilled out of the bag during Ms. Weber’s search, and which I only now identified as my own. I didn’t need to fool myself; Ms. Weber probably knew not only about my past accidents, but also about the infantile protective companion I wore around my hips for that very reason. My face turned fiery red with this realization. It had been one thing that my mother and my little sister had known about my accidents, but that now a person outside my family also knew about them was so embarrassing that I would have preferred to sink instantly into the ground.

Oh, there they are," Ms. Weber murmured in relief, pulling two pink slippers in ballerina design and princess print out of her bag. I was still too embarrassed to look up and let her pull the slippers over my feet. “You don’t have to be shy Emily. The other children are all very sweet and I’m sure you’ll make friends with them right away,” Ms. Weber tried to cheer me up when she noticed my stare of fear. However, it wasn’t the presence of the other children that frightened me, but the fear that more people might find out about my pull-ups under my leggings.

Taken by the hand, I was led by her into the group room, where the other children, including my sister, were already sitting dutifully in a circle on the floor and awaiting our arrival. I took a seat right next to Ms. Weber in the circle. As soon as we were seated, she began to sing a song. “Good morning, good morning. How are you today? Good morning, good morning. I’m happy let’s play.” Ecstatic and beaming with joy, the children also joined in. I, on the other hand, just looked around in disbelief and wondered how the hell I had allowed myself to end up here.

After three more horrible verses, the song finally ended and Ms. Weber began her morning speech. “As you have probably already noticed, we have a new child in our group as of today. This is Emily,” she said, pointing at me. I looked suspiciously at Ms. Weber, and not only because she had called me a child. If Ms. Weber truly believed that I would attend kindergarten for even one day beyond today, she was sorely mistaken. My mother may have been clever enough to lure me into this trap once, but I would not be tricked so easily a second time.

To my dismay, I noticed that the children seemed hardly surprised that I, a 19-year-old, was now supposed to be part of their group. No questions, no great astonishment could be discerned, only curious glances met my eyes. “Emily is a bit shy, but don’t hesitate to invite her to play with you,” Ms. Weber continued, not even paying attention to my suspicious look.

“That was all for the morning circle, now let’s go to breakfast!” As soon as Ms. Weber finished speaking, the girls eagerly sprang to their feet and hurried to the large table in the center of the room, which was already prepared for the morning meal. Ms. Weber grabbed my hand one more time and, following the other children, pulled me to the table to sit next to her. Another short song sounded before Ms. Weber gave the round permission to eat.

“Which bread do you prefer, Emily? The one with jam or egg?”, Ms. Weber inquired of me in a caring manner. “Jam,” I replied curtly, as I stared at my plate to avoid her eyes. “And what would you like to drink? Water, tea, or juice?” she echoed. “Juice, please,” I added quietly. She put a slice of bread with jam on my plate and poured some juice into my cup. “I have to get something from the kitchen, I’ll be right back for you, Emily,” she explained to me, rising from her chair.

However, Ms. Weber seemed to find it insufficient to simply inform me that she would be absent for a brief moment and unable to assist me during breakfast. “Anna, would you be so kind as to help Emily if she needs any support while eating?” she asked the little girl sitting next to me, requesting additional assistance. Confidently, Anna nodded and smiled at me. I saw no other option but to hurriedly take a bite of my bread, in order to avoid the possibility that Anna might feel the need to teach me how to properly eat.

After about half an hour, breakfast came to an end. While Mrs. Weber cleared and cleaned the breakfast table, the children, including myself, were allowed to go play. At first, I was content to sit on the sidelines, staring at the clock and silently wishing for the day to pass quickly. The idea of simply escaping from the kindergarten crossed my mind repeatedly, but two factors kept me from leaving. Firstly, I had no money for the bus ride home, and it was much too far to walk. Secondly, I didn’t have a key for our front door.

At some point, I realized that staring at the clock mindlessly wouldn’t make the time pass any faster, so I turned to an activity that, among all the available options, seemed the least childish to me. Painting was something practiced by people of all age groups. There were adults who dedicated their entire lives to this art form. In contrast, no sane adult would voluntarily play with dolls. Unfortunately, I had never shown any particular talent for painting, so there was a considerable risk that any artwork I created would be on a similarly pitiful artistic level as the painted images by the other children displayed on the kindergarten walls.

So, I decided to join two other girls at one of the children’s tables, grab one of the coloring books, and limit myself to coloring in the pictures. After all, many adults found relaxation in coloring mandalas, and I could certainly use some relaxation in my situation. As for the effectiveness of the method, there should be no difference in whether I was adding color to circular patterns or children’s motifs.

And it worked. In fact, I found solace in the mindless coloring of the pictures and even managed to forget how absurd my current situation was, at least until the moment an urgent need arose within me. Just as I was giving a lively green touch to the fin of a little mermaid, my bladder demanded attention. Having learned from yesterday’s accident, I immediately stood up to find the restroom. There was just one problem—I didn’t know where the toilets were, and there was no sign in sight that indicated their location. I had no choice but to approach Mrs. Weber. “Excuse me, could you please tell me where I can find the toilets here?” I asked politely, trying to sound as adult and mature as possible, hoping she wouldn’t treat me like a toddler this time. But my efforts were in vain. “Do you need to go pee-pee, Emily?” she inquired unabashedly, as if she were speaking to a three-year-old. I rolled my eyes but nodded. It made little sense to argue about the way she spoke to me at this point, especially knowing how little time I had to find the restroom, and I definitely didn’t want to embarrass myself by wetting my pull-ups in front of her.

Mrs. Weber took my hand and led me into a small, tiled side room. I looked around, but there was no toilet in sight. The only thing that caught my eye was a large changing table in the corner of the room. Had Mrs. Weber misunderstood me, thinking she needed to change my pull-ups? But she didn’t take me to the changing table; instead, she led me to a cabinet on the other side of the room. She opened it, pulled out a pink potty with my name on it, and silently placed it on the floor. She couldn’t be serious!? I stood there, frozen in disbelief, staring at the object. There had to be a toilet somewhere; after all, Mrs. Weber didn’t do her business in a potty. Since I didn’t take any initiative to use the potty in front of me, Mrs. Weber stepped in. “Do you need some help, Emily?” she asked, but didn’t seem to care about my answer. Before I could respond to her question, she bent down, and in one swift motion, pulled down my leggings along with my pull-ups.

I was beside myself. What on earth was this woman thinking!? Instinctively, I wanted to pull up my clothes immediately and give her a piece of my mind, but I panicked as I realized my bladder had already decided to empty itself in the next moment. In order not to pee on the floor in front of Mrs. Weber, I lunged for the potty, and as soon as my skin touched the plastic, a loud splashing sound filled the room. “You’re doing a great job, Emily,” Mrs. Weber praised me enthusiastically. I, on the other hand, was at a loss for words. How could I give her a piece of my mind now, while I was using a potty like a toddler right in front of her eyes? “With what your mommy told me, I was worried I’d have another child to change diapers for. But if you keep using the potty so well, you’ll surely be able to wear big girl underwear soon,” she explained to me with a beaming smile.

Just in time, before the potty overflowed, my stream stopped. Finally, I could get off the thing. I stood up and hastily grabbed my pull-ups and leggings to pull them up, so I wouldn’t have to stand half-naked in front of Mrs. Weber any longer. However, she stopped me immediately. “Your crotch is still all wet, Emily. After going pee, you need to wipe yourself dry before you can get dressed again.” She took some toilet paper, and I opened my hands so she could hand it to me. But Mrs. Weber didn’t intend to let me do the job; instead, she wiped my crotch herself, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Now that we’re clean, we can put our pants back on,” she informed me while simultaneously pulling up my pull-ups and leggings. Meanwhile, I felt completely disempowered.

“And what do we do after going pee, Emily?” I hesitated. I had no idea. All I could think of was wanting to get away from here. By now, I almost believed myself incapable of using a toilet on my own, considering how often Mrs. Weber had needed to correct me. “We wash our dirty hands,” she explained when I remained silent, pointing to the sink. In the end, I probably washed my hands more thoroughly than ever before in my entire life, but at least this time Mrs. Weber was satisfied and didn’t feel the need to explain how to properly clean one’s hands. Silently, she handed me a paper towel before finally uttering the relieving words. “You can go back out to play, Emily. I’ll quickly clean up your potty, and then I’ll join you.” Without saying a word, I left the room, praying that I wouldn’t have to pee again today.

Chapter 10

“So, girls, we’re going to play the game ‘Shoe Salad’,” announced Mrs. Weber enthusiastically as she knelt in the center of the circle. Our entire children’s group had gathered around her, a total of 15 girls, including myself. “For those of you who don’t know the game: each of you will first place your slippers, which you are currently wearing, into the middle of the circle.”

The children, myself included, excitedly took off their slippers and tossed them into the center, creating a colorful chaos. “Great job,” praised Mrs. Weber when all 15 pairs of shoes lay in the middle. “Now I’ll mix them up a bit,” she added, rummaging through the vibrant pile several times before continuing with the instructions. “And now, I’ll close my eyes and blindly draw a shoe. For the game, it’s crucial that you don’t reveal who the shoe belongs to until it’s your turn!” Demonstratively, Mrs. Weber squinted her eyes shut and wildly sifted through the jumble of shoes until she finally pulled out a beige slipper with a blue bow. “The girl who starts must now find the second shoe from the mountain of shoes and then locate the rightful owner. The shoe’s owner will then take their turn. Who wants to start?” Several girls eagerly raised their hands, and Mrs. Weber ultimately chose Lisa, a red-haired five-year-old, to kick things off.

Enthusiastically, I watched as Lisa rummaged through the shoe mayhem, searching for the matching counterpart to the slipper she held in her hand. The longer I spent in kindergarten, the more I began to enjoy the games we played here. Initially, I had hardly or reluctantly participated in these activities, but after nearly six weeks in kindergarten, I had come to realize that these engaging games were entertaining and it was far better to join in than to sulk in a corner.

I know I had claimed that I would never set foot in kindergarten again once I had gotten through the first day. But I had grossly underestimated the cunning and ruthlessness of my mother. For when I had stubbornly refused to go to kindergarten the next day, she had, without batting an eye, threatened to send pictures of me on the changing table, captured by the baby monitor, to all my contacts in my smartphone. Since then, I had ceased any resistance and settled for counting the days until this whole ordeal was finally over.

After a brief but intense search, Lisa pulled out the matching shoe. “Well done,” Mrs. Weber praised, “now you just need to find out who the shoes belong to.” Puzzled, Lisa looked around and pondered. Even I had no idea to whom the shoes belonged. Judging by their size, however, they should belong to one of the younger girls here. Lisa seemed to come to a similar conclusion and pointed out three-year-old Melanie as the supposed owner. “Melanie, are these your shoes?” Mrs. Weber asked affectionately. Melanie shook her head. “Well, then you’ll have to keep searching, Lisa.” Lisa racked her brain once more. Several times, she looked around the circle until she finally had an epiphany. “Ah, I know now,” she exclaimed excitedly and walked purposefully to Mia, who immediately acknowledged her with a nod. “Excellent!” praised Mrs. Weber. “Now it’s your turn, Mia.”

As Mia put her shoes back on, Mrs. Weber closed her eyes again and pulled out a pink ballerina-style shoe with a princess print. My heart pounded wildly. Mrs. Weber had picked my shoe. I tried not to show any reaction, but from Mia’s facial expression, it quickly became clear that she already suspected who the shoe belonged to. It wasn’t truly difficult to identify my shoes among the other children’s, considering my feet were almost twice the size of the rest of the girls. As soon as Mia fished out the second matching shoe from the chaos, she approached me. “Are these your shoes, Emily?” she asked me shyly. I nodded. “You did a really great job, Mia,” Mrs. Weber effusively praised Mia.

Excitedly, I put on my reclaimed slippers and stepped into the middle of the circle. Once there, Mrs. Weber handed me a gray shoe embroidered with little mice. Carefully, I got down on my knees and started wildly rummaging through the tangled shoes. It was easy to find the matching counterpart, but when it came to identifying the rightful owner, I was utterly clueless. Compared to the other shoes in the pile, this pair was neither particularly large nor small, nor were they so unique that I would have noticed them during daily kindergarten life. Nervously, I stood up to get a better overview and looked around the circle, pondering. It seemed that I had no choice but to try to reduce the circle of potential owners through clever elimination. I knew the shoes didn’t belong to my little sister or Jana, as I was familiar with their shoes. Mia already had her shoes on, and the shoes were definitely too big for Melanie. The shoes might fit Marie. She was four and represented the group’s average size quite well. The shoes also seemed to match the style of her other clothing. Marie seemed plausible, and if I were wrong, I could keep guessing.

I was just about to voice my suspicion when a subtle sensation made itself known in my bladder. Less than two months ago, this feeling would have merely been a gentle reminder for me to find a toilet in the foreseeable future. But now, this ordinary bodily signal triggered immediate panic within me. Hastily, I pressed my legs together to stop the impending disaster, which Mrs. Weber also noticed. “Is everything alright, Emily? Do you need to use the potty?” she asked with urgent concern. I nodded, but at the same moment, I could already feel warmth in my crotch.

Unable to stop it, I relieved myself in my pull-ups. At first, I still hoped they would withstand my accident and at least keep my clothes dry, but in the very next moment, they collapsed under the amount that flowed out of me and leaked from the sides. Dark, wet spots appeared on my yellow butterfly shorts and grew larger and larger until my urine flow finally ceased. I didn’t know what else to do with myself other than to stand frozen in place. Although I stared at the ground, trying not to look at anyone, I knew that all eyes in the room were on my soaked shorts. Mrs. Weber, who had already stood up to rush me to the potty, looked resignedly at my soaked pants. “Oh, Emily, this is already the third time today. You need to come to me when you need to use the potty!” she explained sourly, as if I had wet my pants out of sheer ignorance.

At the beginning of my time in kindergarten, I had at least managed to regularly use my potty during the day, even though I continued to wake up with a wet diaper every morning. Admittedly, I never managed to stay dry during the day for three consecutive days, so since my accident in front of my mother, my pull-ups had become my daily companions. Nevertheless, accidents during the day had initially been the exception. Most of the time, I made it to my potty, and if a few drops had landed in my pull-ups, I had always been able to stop the flow in time before they overflowed. But over time, this had changed. No matter how hard I tried, I increasingly failed to make it to my potty, and it was not uncommon for so much urine to leak from me that my pull-ups were simply overwhelmed by the amount. But three times in a single day was even a sad record for me.

“Alright, we’ll take a short diaper-changing and potty break,” Mrs. Weber announced loudly. “All children who need to use the potty, come with me. The rest of you can go play until I get back. Leave your shoes on the pile. We will continue the game as soon as I return.”

Mrs. Weber took my hand, and together with two other girls who needed to use their potty, we went to the tiled side room. The massive wooden changing table, which stood in the corner of the room, had become a fixed part of my daily routine. It was the bitter pill I was forced to swallow due to my incontinence. Reluctantly, I climbed up the small ladder and lay down on the soft, child-friendly patterned changing pad.

After Mrs. Weber had helped the two other girls onto their potties, she came over to me. She pulled off my soaked shorts and placed them into a plastic bag that already contained the other two pairs of pants I had soiled today. Next, she tore the sides of my saturated pull-ups apart. In one smooth motion, she pulled them out from under me and disposed of them in the diaper pail.

I closed my eyes, trying to avoid watching the humiliating procedure. Even though Mrs. Weber had changed my diapers countless times, it still made me uncomfortable to expose myself like that in front of her. However, I couldn’t help but feel her quickly wiping my private area with wet wipes. If I had to describe the way Mrs. Weber changed diapers in two words, I would say cold and efficient. Not that Mrs. Weber was rough, but my mother was definitely more gentle when changing diapers. But who could blame Mrs. Weber? After all, she had to take care of several children at the same time and couldn’t afford to spend too much time changing just one child’s diaper.

With my eyes still closed, I sensed her lifting my legs and bottom and placing something soft under me. This was unusual because, after cleaning me up, she usually pulled my pull-ups back on right away. Puzzled, I opened my eyes and was horrified to find myself sitting on one of the diapers I normally wore only for sleeping at night. Mrs. Weber had never put one of these thick nighttime diapers on me in kindergarten before. I didn’t even know she had any of them here for me.

“Why am I wearing one of the nighttime diapers?” I asked, completely distraught. “There’s only one spare pair of pants left for you, and if you soil those too, you won’t have anything left to wear,” she tried to explain the problem to me. “But I only wear diapers for sleeping. I want to wear my pull-ups,” I whined, not understanding. “Do you want to go home wearing just your pull-ups if you have another accident?” Shocked, I shook my head. “You see,” she replied, spreading some baby powder on my crotch and bottom. “But, but…” I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to wear a diaper. None of the other girls in the group wore a proper diaper. Only a few of them still relied on pull-ups, while most didn’t need anything like that at all.

“But I don’t want to wear a diaper! Why do they even have them here? I don’t sleep here!” I continued to whine, not understanding. “We keep spare diapers for all children, Emily. It happens from time to time that someone has diarrhea or a bad day, and then it’s helpful to have a suitable diaper available,” she explained empathetically. “Please, please, can’t I just wear my pull-ups? I promise I won’t have any more accidents!” Mrs. Weber shook her head firmly. “Emily, I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go home wearing just pull-ups at the end. I have a duty of care to you!” With those words, she closed the discussion and my diaper, then pulled on the last remaining pair of pants.

Frustrated and angry, I climbed down from the changing table. It wasn’t fair. Just because my mother hadn’t given me enough spare pants, I had to wear this stupid thing. I returned to the group room in a bad mood. At least I was lucky that my last pair of pants weren’t leggings but rather wide, short overalls, under which even the thick diaper was hardly noticeable. However, it didn’t change the fact that with every movement I made, an unmistakable rustling sound accompanied me.

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Chapter 11

Just a moment after me, Mrs. Weber also returned to the group room, and to my dismay, we continued the game in which it was still my turn. I had to stand in the middle again and guess who the gray slippers belonged to. My guess of Marie was incorrect, and so I unenthusiastically kept guessing until I finally identified the right girl. I didn’t care that I had taken by far the most attempts out of everyone. I just wanted to go home and get out of this awful diaper.

The game had barely ended when the first children were already being picked up by their parents. Of course, our mother was not among them; she would likely show up just before closing time, as she did almost every day, since she had so many important things to do in her silly law firm.

In the end, only Melanie, my sister, and I were left in the group room, along with Mrs. Weber. I listlessly scribbled in the coloring book that lay before me when the door opened. I immediately looked up, hoping to see my mother’s face, but unfortunately, it was not my mother who had entered. A girl with long, red hair stood in the doorway. She smiled warmly at us as she noticed us, inevitably revealing the metal braces that encircled her teeth. It took me a moment to realize that the teenage girl was Lea. Lea was not only the older sister of Lisa, the girl in our group who had started the Shoe Salad game, but she had also babysat my little sister several times. However, I knew her only briefly, though, and couldn’t remember ever having exchanged a single word with her.

“Oh, Lea, what are you doing here? Lisa was picked up by your mother a long time ago. Did she forget something?” Mrs. Weber wondered about Lea’s appearance. “I know, but I’m not here for my sister. Sophie and Emily’s mother asked me on short notice to pick them up, as she’s still busy at her law firm.” I froze instantly. This couldn’t be true. How could my mother dare to have this teenage girl pick me up? Lea was not only a student, but she was even younger than me. This couldn’t be right. I was the older one; if anything, I should have been picking up Lea. I mean, a sheep doesn’t lead the shepherd home, after all.

Unlike me, Mrs. Weber didn’t seem to have a problem entrusting us to someone younger than me. From Frau Weber’s point of view, I was just a kid, no matter what my actual biological age was, and Lea was mature enough to take care of me and my sister. “Oh, I see. Great. Wait a moment, I’ll quickly fetch their things,” she told Lea and went to the tiled side room. While I sat there, frozen, my sister rushed to the young girl and practically threw her arms around her. “I’ve missed you so much,” Sophie beamed, clinging tightly to the red-haired girl. “I’ve missed you too, Sophie,” Lea replied affectionately. “Will we play something together tonight when you watch over us?” my sister asked with big eyes. “Of course, if we find time for it, we can definitely play something.” It was obvious how much Sophie liked the girl, but it wasn’t hard to excite my little sister.

Mrs. Weber returned to the room with a plastic bag. My head instantly began to heat up when I realized it contained my soiled clothes. “Oh, did Sophie have an accident today?” Lea asked with a concerned tone as she took the bag. “No, Sophie has been very good about using the potty today. I can’t even remember the last time she had an accident. I was actually going to tell her mother that it’s no longer necessary for her to wear pull-ups for kindergarten. I think she’s ready to wear regular underwear. Would you be so kind as to pass that message on, though I’ll still try to reach her mother by phone,” said Mrs. Weber. Sophie couldn’t stop beaming.

Sophie’s development was the polar opposite of my own. While I had been having more and more accidents in recent weeks and barely made it to the potty, she seemed to have turned a corner. Not only was she completely dry during the day, but she also had no more accidents at night. My mother had long since stopped using diapers or pull-ups for her at home, allowing her to wear regular underwear. Only for kindergarten, out of caution and consideration for Mrs. Weber, had she still dressed her in pull-ups. At least until now. Distressed, I realized that I was now the only one in our house who wore diapers and pull-ups.

And as if all that wasn’t bad enough already, Mrs. Weber began to recount my accidents from today in great detail and without any embarrassment to Lea. I didn’t know where to look, as the whole situation was so mortifying. Why did my mother have to send someone else to pick us up today of all days? After all, there had been days when I had stayed dry. It must surely have been clear to Lea long ago that, since Sophie had not been the culprit, I was responsible for the dirty things in the bag, but that didn’t seem to stop Mrs. Weber from going into the subject further. She described my mishaps, mentioned that I had no spare pants available, and that she would therefore still try to reach my mother. Just to be safe, Lea should also remind her about it when she saw her, so I wouldn’t find myself without spare clothes again tomorrow. The scene was emblematic of my current life: two adults discussing me as if I were a toddler who couldn’t speak or act for itself. After all, Mrs. Weber could have just as well asked me to relay the information to my mother. But in her eyes, I was just a child, a child who did not possess the necessary maturity for such responsible tasks.

“What’s the matter, Emily? Don’t you want to get up? Lea is here to pick you both up,” Mrs. Weber said to me after the conversation between the “adults” had ended and I was still sitting at my spot at the drawing table. Unlike my sister, I hadn’t immediately stood up and rushed to my new, temporary supervisor. Why would I? I could listen to the embarrassing conversation about me just as well from my seat at the drawing table, and I wasn’t particularly eager to leave the kindergarten with Lea either. Without looking up, I finally got up and approached the three of them grumpily. As soon as I stood up, I was reminded of my current underwear – as if I could ever forget. With every step I took, a loud rustling echoed through the room. A fact that, unfortunately, did not go uncommented. “I think Emily isn’t in such a good mood today. To protect her last pair of pants, I put one of her nighttime diapers on her. She wasn’t too thrilled about that,” Mrs. Weber explained to Lea about my sullen behavior. Lea looked at me sympathetically and gently patted my shoulder.

It didn’t help that even Lea was at least a head taller than me. Next to her, I would look just as small and childlike as I did next to all the other adults in my life. “You’ll see, Emily, we’ll still have lots of fun,” Lea finally said warmly, hoping to cheer me up a bit. “Yeah, Emily, it’s always really fun with Lea,” my little sister confirmed with a big grin.

As nice and warm-hearted as Lea might have been, I could think of many more enjoyable things than being supervised by a teenage girl. I was almost relieved when Melanie suddenly appeared next to us and drew attention to herself. “I have to pee,” she shyly revealed. “Is it urgent?” Mrs. Weber instantly inquired. Melanie nodded. “Well, then, let’s go!” Mrs. Weber declared and took Melanie by the hand. Briefly, Mrs. Weber said goodbye to us before she scurried into the adjoining room with Melanie in tow.

“How about you two? Does either of you need to use the potty before we leave?” Lea suddenly wanted to know. My sister shook her head, after which Lea turned to me. “What about you, Emily? Should I take you to the potty quickly before we head out?” Even though I was unsure whether I needed to use the toilet again - after all, I hardly noticed when I had to go anymore - I was quite certain that the last thing I wanted was to visit the potty in front of Lea. I hastily shook my head. However, unlike my sister, Lea didn’t seem to be satisfied with my head shake. “Are you really sure, Emily, that you don’t want to go one more time?” she asked insistently.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t understand why Lea was more suspicious of my statement than my sister’s; after all, she was currently holding the bag of my soiled clothes, a product of my weak bladder, in her hands. But I couldn’t help feeling hurt by the fact that she trusted my four-year-old sister more than me in this regard. “We have to take the bus, and it takes much longer than when you ride home with your mommy in the car,” she continued her explanation, apparently trying to get me to use the potty one more time.

Great, I hadn’t even considered that Lea was too young to have a driver’s license, and we would have to walk and take the bus home. Everything was going wrong today. I knew it was unreasonable not to use the toilet one more time before the long journey home, but the last thing I wanted was to use the potty in front of that teenage girl. “No, I just went a little while ago,” I lied on the spot, hoping she would stop asking, and to my relief, she seemed satisfied with my answer.

My sister and I put on our shoes, and the three of us left the kindergarten together. As soon as we stepped out the door, I wanted to head straight towards the bus stop with quick steps - after all, I knew the way there. But Lea stopped me as soon as I was just a meter away from her, “Please hold my hand or your sister’s hand. I don’t feel comfortable with you wandering around on your own!” I gave Lea an incredulous look. She couldn’t be serious. She was even worse than my mother. I briefly considered defying her instruction now that Mrs. Weber was no longer present, but then I reached for my sister’s hand. A discussion wouldn’t have helped anyway and would have only unnecessarily prolonged the journey home.

Along a picturesque forest path leading to the bus stop, we walked hand in hand through the summer evening light. Warm sunbeams shone through the foliage of the trees, wrapping the surroundings in a golden veil. But I couldn’t appreciate the beauty of nature around me. My thoughts were solely focused on the diaper tightly wrapped around my hips. I quickly realized that it was one thing to take a few steps at home or in the kindergarten with the thick nighttime diaper, but it was an entirely different matter to cover a longer distance with the darn thing.

The bulky diaper inevitably forced my legs into a slight spread position, making each step more cumbersome than I was used to. And as if that wasn’t enough, all of this was accompanied by a constant, loud crinkling sound that even drowned out the rustling of the trees and the whispering of the leaves around us.

I was visibly relieved when we finally reached the bus stop. Although Lea informed us that it would still be about a quarter of an hour before the bus arrived, the bench at the stop offered me a welcome opportunity to sit down and no longer be bothered by my diaper. Sophie and Lea, on the other hand, decided to shorten the waiting time with a round of hopscotch. They found a suitable spot next to the bus stop and drew the necessary squares for the game on the ground with a piece of chalk.

They took turns enthusiastically hopping on one leg through the fields, extending the game board with an additional square after each round. While I sat in a corner, still weighed down by the events of the day, they seemed to be enjoying life to the fullest.

As the bus, an older model in green paint, finally rounded the corner and came to a stop in front of us with a soft squeaking of the brakes, Lea and Sophie ended their game, sweaty and happy. We boarded the bus at the front, near the driver, a friendly middle-aged man with gray hair and crooked glasses. I was the only one among us who needed a ticket. Lea had a monthly pass, and my sister was young enough to ride for free.

The times when I took care of things like buying a ticket myself were long gone. By now, I was used to others speaking, acting, or deciding for me in such situations, and so Lea naturally took over the purchase of the ticket for me as we entered the bus. Admittedly, I wasn’t exactly unhappy about being able to stay in the background, as this reduced the likelihood of the bus driver noticing the diaper under my overalls, at least a little. “We just need a ticket for the young lady,” Lea told the bus driver, pointing at me. “A child’s ticket, that’ll be 1.80€,” he said kindly while tapping the appropriate symbol on his ticket machine.

Embarrassed, I looked at the sign hanging in front of his driver’s cabin, which listed the ticket prices. “Infants <=5, Children <=12, Juniors <= 17” were the age limits for the ticket rates clearly stated. The damn bus driver had not only assumed I wasn’t an adult, but he was so sure that I couldn’t be older than twelve that he didn’t even consider asking for my age.

I didn’t know whether to be glad that Lea didn’t find it necessary to point out his mistake - after all, she surely knew I was older than twelve - and instead rummaged for the required amount from her wallet and handed it to him. At that moment, I became painfully aware that I hadn’t held money in my hands for weeks. Not that I needed it, as there was always a companion who could pay for me, but it symbolized yet another level of my disempowerment since the beginning of my dreadful therapy.

Lea took my ticket, and we headed to one of the four-seater spots in the front area. I was careful to keep the rustling of my undergarments as quiet as possible with every movement, and fortunately, the bus engine was loud enough to drown out the sound my diaper made when I moved. I sat by the window facing forward, my sister beside me, and Lea directly across from us. To my relief, the bus we had boarded was only moderately filled. Since it was school vacation, there were just a few elderly passengers on board who were quietly chatting or looking out the window, and fortunately, they didn’t seem to pay us much attention.

I hated the bus ride home. The few times I had picked up my sister from her new kindergarten were enough to know that the journey home felt like an eternity. A trip that took only 15 minutes by car lasted over an hour by bus. The bus stopped at every tiny village, no matter how big the detour was. That’s what the so-called great life in the countryside looked like. Life here was bearable only with a car, and the only people who used public transportation were retirees. No wonder - who else had the time to aimlessly cruise around the area?

While Sophie told Lea about her experiences at kindergarten today, I contented myself with looking out the window and observing the passing landscape. Rolling hills, lush meadows and isolated farmsteads passed by my window as the bus drove along the winding country roads. Again and again we stopped at the stops of the small villages. Sometimes people got on and off, but sometimes nothing happened at all, which meant nothing more than that we had visited the village completely in vain. While all this was happening, we remained seated and waited for us to finally reach our destination.

We had just a little more than half of the bus ride behind us when I already began to regret my lie to Lea. Out of nowhere, my bladder announced itself to me and once again urgently signaled that it was high time to empty it as quickly as possible. Although I was pretty sure that the bus didn’t have a toilet, I furtively glanced to the back, hoping that I was wrong in my assumption. But of course, I wasn’t wrong. A public bus had no toilets, so I had no chance to follow the signal from my bladder.

Another half an hour would likely pass before we arrived home. In the past, it wouldn’t have been a problem for me to ignore the pressure in my bladder for such a short timeframe, but those times were long gone. Now, I was lucky if I lasted five minutes before my bladder discharged its contents on its own. If only I had listened to Lea and gone to my potty one last time at the kindergarten, I wouldn’t be in this mess now.

And so it happened that, before I could even consider asking Lea to get off at the next stop with us so I could quickly find a place to relieve myself - not that it would have been a practical option at all, considering the next bus wouldn’t come for another hour - my urine had already spilled into my diaper. Even my desperate attempt to stop the flow by pressing my legs together hastily couldn’t change anything. At least my nighttime diaper proved to be absorbent enough to contain the contents of my full bladder. So, the stupid diaper served some purpose after all. Because worse than having a full diaper was having a urine-soaked pair of pants in public.

Unfortunately, Lea was probably already experienced enough in herding children to be able to correctly interpret the subtle signals I was sending out during my accident - even though I had done everything I could to avoid attracting attention. I had continued to look out of the window as if nothing had happened and had tried to avoid any eye contact with my supervisor, but none of this had fooled Lea.

Unfortunately she reacted as if an ordinary toddler were sitting in front of her. “Did you just pee, Emily?” she asked me unabashedly, loud enough for the elderly lady sitting on the other side of the four-seater to look up from her book and glance over at us. The elderly lady’s gaze instinctively shifted to Sophie, expecting the question to be directed at her. She appeared slightly taken aback when she realized that Lea was looking at me, not Sophie.

I was consumed with embarrassment. At first, I wanted to ignore the question, pretend I hadn’t heard it, hoping that Lea wouldn’t press any further if I just kept desperately gazing out the window. But Lea persisted. “Emily!? Did you just pee?” she asked again, her gaze fixed on me. Shyly, my face beet red, tears already welling up in my eyes, I turned my gaze towards her and gave a slight nod. “It’s okay, Emily,” she reassured me, gently patting my left leg. “I’ll change your diaper as soon as we get home.”

To make matters worse, my little sister suddenly started blurting out my accidents to the old lady as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Emily has peed her pants three times today!” she shamelessly declared. Couldn’t that little brat keep her mouth shut? “I, on the other hand, always use the potty like a good girl. Mrs. Weber said today that I’m doing so well that I don’t need to wear pull-ups in kindergarten anymore!”

The old lady smiled at Sophie. “Oh, that’s wonderful! You’re really mature for your age! I’m sure you’re a great role model for your sister.” With a mix of shame and anger, I clenched my hands in my lap and continued to stare stubbornly out the window, while the old lady took this as an opportunity to strike up a conversation with our caregiver. “Are you the older sister of the two?” the old lady inquired curiously to Lea. Lea shook her head with a smile. “No, I’m just their babysitter. I look after the girls occasionally when their mother is at work.” The stupid cow was acting as if she had taken care of me dozens of times before.

The old lady nodded in understanding. “Oh, taking care of children is such a nice job. When I was young, I often took care of children to earn extra money. I often had so much fun doing it that I almost felt like a fraud, charging money for it.” Lea laughed and said, “Yes, that’s true. It can be really fulfilling. But sometimes the little ones can keep you pretty busy, too.”

The old lady nodded with a smile. “Oh, I know exactly what you mean. Once, when I was about your age, I was babysitting three children for a neighbor. While I was in the kitchen preparing dinner, they decided to add some color to the plain, sterile design of the living room. When I finished cooking and checked on them, the walls, the table, and even the floor were adorned with their colorful artwork! I desperately tried to clean everything up before the parents returned, but it was hopeless. I’ll never forget the expressions on the parents’ faces when they came back that evening. I was rarely so embarrassed in my life, but thankfully, in the end, the parents took it all in good humor and weren’t upset with me.”

Lea laughed and shook her head in amusement. “Children are always good for a surprise. Luckily, that hasn’t happened to me yet, but I think I’ll be careful not to leave children alone with crayons in the future,” Lea giggled.

The hiss of the bus doors opening interrupted the lively conversation between the two women. “Oh, we’re already at our stop! I didn’t even realize we had to get off because of all the chatting. Sophie, Emily, we need to get out. Let’s go.” Lea quickly grabbed our hands and led us toward the exit. “It was really nice talking to you,” she said to the old lady.

“I also enjoyed our conversation. Take care and goodbye, Sophie and Emily,” the lady bid farewell with a smile. “Bye!” Lea and Sophie cheerfully replied. However, I wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries. I just wanted to get off the bus, and I quickly made my way to the door without saying a word.

Lea, holding my hand, stopped me. “Emily, don’t you want to say goodbye to the nice lady?” Reluctantly, I muttered a brief “Goodbye.” “I’m sorry, she’s not having her best day today,” Lea apologized to the old lady for my aloofness. “Take care,” Lea said before we finally exited the bus.

The journey from the bus stop to our home reminded me once again of the downsides of our new house. As idyllic as it was to live secluded on a hill, it was equally challenging to reach it without a car. Others might have enjoyed the path through the picturesque little village with its pastel-colored houses, winding streets, and flower-adorned front gardens, but I was annoyed by everything around me. Perhaps my soaked diaper played a significant role in evaluating my surroundings. But could you really blame me? It hung cold and heavy on my hips, making the steep ascent even more difficult than it already was. And the longer we walked, the more it began to uncomfortably chafe against my legs. I couldn’t wait to finally get out of this unpleasant thing and wear my pull-ups again.

After what felt like an eternity, we finally reached our little cottage. It was strange to see Lea pulling out the key for it. She wasn’t even a part of our family, yet she had the key to our house, while I didn’t even have a key to my own room anymore.

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Wonderfully warm and seductive for dirty daddies eyes.

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Chapter 12

The moment we stepped over the threshold of our home, Sophie seized Lea’s hand, attempting to drag her in the direction of the garden. “Lea, you absolutely must see how high I can now jump on the trampoline!”, she burst out, her words a tumble of excitement. Yet Lea tempered Sophie’s enthusiasm with a voice soft yet firm. “I’m sorry, Sophie, but I need to take care of Emily first and after that, it’s already time for dinner. I don’t think we’ll have time for trampolining today.”

The implication of Lea’s words was clear. By “taking care” she meant nothing other than the urgently needed change of my thoroughly soaked diaper. The thought of a girl, younger than me and nearly a stranger, taking on such an intimate task made me feel uneasy. I had grown accustomed to the caring hands of my mother and Mrs. Weber. Yet for reasons I couldn’t explain, the thought of having my diaper changed by someone even younger than myself made the situation feel even more mortifying than it already was.

Perhaps I should have been grateful that Lea hadn’t forgotten my mishap on the bus, that she took her duty of care towards me so seriously, despite her young age, to even take on this less pleasant aspect of my care. Yet, secretly, I would have preferred if she had overlooked or simply ignored my soaked diaper and waited for my mother’s return so that she could handle this uncomfortable part of my care. I would even have accepted the risk of diaper rash, which, if I were not soon freed from my damp, stuffy diaper, would be the inevitable consequence anyway.

I wasn’t the only one who was less than thrilled about Lea’s plans. The twinkle in Sophie’s eyes had vanished in an instant when Lea had informed her that their playtime would have to wait. She was quite upset that Lea couldn’t spend time with her jumping on the trampoline because of me. “How about you help me change the diapers, Sophie? After all, four hands work faster than two,” Lea suggested, hoping to lift Sophie’s mood. And just as abruptly as Sophie’s bad mood had appeared, it vanished just as quickly. “Oh, yes,” she rejoiced, absolutely thrilled at the prospect of being able to assist Lea with such a meaningful task.

Lea didn’t ask for my opinion on the matter. She didn’t seem to consider that I might have a problem with my diaper change being turned into a playful activity. After all, I was not one of Sophie’s dolls to be changed for mere childish amusement. Yet, tormented by the uncomfortable sensation of my soaked diaper, I suppressed my discomfort and let things take their course. The less fuss I made, the quicker it would be over, and the sooner I could wear one of the airy, light pull-ups again, instead of the bulky, heavy diaper. Moreover, my skin seemed to be increasingly allergic to the moist climate of the diaper.

And so, after we had all taken a moment to wash our hands in the bathroom, I soon found myself back on the changing table. Positioned between Lea and Sophie, I was the center of their earnest attention. Gently, Lea tugged off my overalls, revealing my bulging, childishly patterned diaper. As she opened my diaper, the crinkling sound of the adhesive tabs releasing echoed through the quiet room, akin to the unexpected rumble of thunder from an approaching storm. Almost simultaneous with this sound, I felt a gust of fresh air envelop the skin previously covered by the diaper, much like a cool breeze breaking through the oppressive heat during a sudden summer downpour.

Instead of the usual two eyes, there were now four directed at my bare lower body. Embarrassed, I noticed the remnants of baby powder and isolated drops of urine that still covered my lower abdomen. “Sophie, could you please pass me a wet wipe from the pack I put next to you?” Lea asked after she had pulled the diaper away from under me and thrown it in the diaper bin. Sophie, standing on a stool to be able to see over the changing table, carefully pulled a wipe from the pack and passed it to Lea with a proud smile. “Very well done,” praised Lea before she began to gently clean my lower body with the wet wipe.

I couldn’t remember a time when the cleansing of my intimate area had ever felt this soothing. It was an outright relief to be freed from the lingering, stinging remnants of urine. Lea went about the task so conscientiously and tenderly, unlike any of my previous diaper changes. One thing was certain; when it came to changing diapers, Lea was a true master. Usually, I wanted nothing more than to escape from the changing table as quickly as possible, but in this moment, I wouldn’t have minded if the procedure lasted forever. I didn’t even care that my most private area was exposed, that I should have felt embarrassed. Instead, I felt as if I were lying on a cloud. The previously intimidating and shameful situation had transformed into a state of meditative calm, only occasionally interrupted by Lea’s gentle requests to Sophie for additional wet wipes.

Basking in the moment with my eyes closed, I could feel Lea lifting my legs and meticulously cleaning the area around my backside. I was barely aware of her conversing with Sophie again. Words had lost their meaning for me at that moment. It wasn’t my job to concern myself with the process of my cleansing - that was the responsibility of my caretaker, that was Lea’s role. I didn’t even need to know what was going on. Only when Lea gently lowered my legs and backside again and I landed on something soft instead of the cold, hard plastic of the changing table, did my mind notice something was different than expected. Like a tape recorder, it seemed to rewind the previously overlooked part, playing back Lea’s recent words again. “Sophie, could you please hand me a diaper from the compartment over there,” echoed Lea’s voice in my head.

My eyes snapped open and fixed on the diaper that was now lying out beneath me. But it was not yet bedtime, so there was no reason why I should already be wearing one of the thick night diapers. Perhaps Lea simply didn’t know that I usually only wore pull-ups during the day and had laid out the diaper for me out of ignorance. “I only wear pull-ups during the day,” I tried to enlighten her. To my annoyance, my statement, with which I had actually wanted to emphasize my maturity, with which I had wanted to make it clear that I was not so small that I also needed diapers during the day, sounded strangely querulous.

“I know, Emily,” Lea began gently and sensitively, stroking my left leg lovingly, “but the long bus ride means it’s already later than when your mommy brings you home. Therefore, after dinner, it’s already bedtime for you. Of course, I can put on one of your pull-ups now and change you again for the night after dinner, but that would take extra time. Then Pajanimals would have to be cancelled for you today. So I thought it would be better to put on your diaper for the night right away. That way you’ll have plenty of time to watch Pajanimals before you have to go to bed. Or would you rather spend your time on the changing table?”

Well, what was I supposed to say to that? Of course, I didn’t want to spend the rest of my free evening on the changing table, even though it wasn’t because I necessarily wanted to watch Pajanimals. So I let Lea proceed. “Because you were in the wet diaper for so long, you’re a bit red, so I’ll cream you just to be safe,” she explained to me before gently applying cream to my entire diaper area and finally fastening the diaper. She then went to the closet, pulled out my short, light pink pajamas adorned with horses, and dressed me in them. When we finally made our way to the kitchen to eat dinner, I couldn’t help but cast an envious glance at my sister. She hadn’t had to get ready for bed yet, so she wasn’t wearing pajamas like I was. A sense of injustice, mixed with a touch of childlike jealousy, welled up within me, which I struggled to suppress.

After dinner had been consumed and teeth had been brushed, Lea turned on the television and started an episode of Pajanimals. No sooner had the show begun than I felt a heavy fatigue spreading through my limbs. It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet, but the routine that had been established over weeks, going to bed immediately after Pajanimals, had fundamentally reset my internal clock. Similar to a Pavlovian dog that shows a learned reaction to a specific signal, my body had learned to become sleepy at Pajanimals time. My previous tendency to be a night owl had been completely overlaid by this consistent conditioning.

I could barely keep my eyes open when the credits of Pajanimals appeared on the screen. I felt Lea take my hand and stood up from the sofa with her, expecting that Sophie and I would now be put to bed. But then something unexpected happened. “Shall I put on an episode of Sesame Street for you while I put Emily to bed?” Lea asked Sophie, seemingly out of the blue. Sophie’s nodding answer seemed to stem more from sheer astonishment than real agreement, as she also seemed surprised by this turn of events. With growing bewilderment, I watched as Lea started an episode of Sesame Street. I must already be in dreamland, as I could not explain this unusual sequence of events any other way.

When Lea asked me to say goodnight to Sophie and wanted to lead me towards my bed, I expressed my confusion despite my growing drowsiness. “Why is Sophie allowed to stay up?” I asked, furrowing my brow. Lea hit her forehead with a humorous sigh, realizing her oversight. “Oh, I completely forgot to tell you both,” she admitted. “Your mom sent me a message on WhatsApp saying that because Sophie has been so good about using the potty and can now wear big girl underwear at kindergarten, she can stay up an hour later from now on.”

Sophie beamed, her eyes virtually glowing with pride after hearing this news. Meanwhile, a feeling of sheer injustice surged through me. “I want to stay up later too if Sophie can,” I protested instantly. It wasn’t fair if Sophie got to stay up later than me, after all, I was the older one of us both.

“Emily, your eyes are already drooping, your fatigue is plainly visible on your face. Don’t you think it’s better if you go to sleep now?” Lea asked, her voice sounding as soft and soothing as the murmur of a stream. “No,” I retorted defiantly, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “If Sophie gets to stay up later, then I want to as well!” Lea gently bent down, like a loving mother turning to her toddler, to be on my eye level before she continued speaking. “I understand, Emily, that you find it unfair that your sister gets to stay up later than you. But Sophie has worked hard to become dry. She has earned the right to stay up later. I’m sure if you also use your potty as nicely as Sophie, you’ll be allowed to stay up later in the future.”

“But…,” I started, and already small tears were rolling down my cheeks due to the perceived injustice. But I couldn’t find a convincing reason why I deserved to stay up later too. All I knew was that I wanted it too - deserved or not, it was irrelevant to me.

“Come on, Emily,” Lea said lovingly, “let’s go up to your room now and you’ll show me how well you can already use your potty. I’m sure you can do it at least as well as your sister. You just have to believe in yourself!” She gave me an encouraging smile and added: “Do you remember Beppo, the street sweeper from ‘Momo’? He says that you should always only think about the next step, not the whole path. And that’s how it is with becoming dry, Emily. Step by step, and you’ll see that you can do it. But the most important part is to start now and never give up, even if there are setbacks. Instead of channeling your energy into defiance, use it to steadily move forward. Every little step you make brings you closer to your goal - to become dry and to be able to stay up later.”

It wasn’t that Lea’s words brought me an instant enlightenment or the injustice I felt magically disappeared. But somewhere deep inside, I had to admit that she had a point. Perhaps it was indeed time to complain less and act more. Lea reached out her hand and gently wiped the tears from my face. “Come, Emily,” she said as she took my hand, “let’s go to your room.”

However, before we went up the stairs, she asked me to say goodnight to Sophie. Sophie, who was still sitting in front of the television watching Sesame Street, turned around and gave me a radiant smile. It was an image that would probably stay with me forever - my little sister, happy and content, who was allowed to start a new chapter in her life and with this chapter took another step towards growing up.

When we arrived in my room, which I still shared with Sophie, Lea initiated my nightly ritual. Gently, she pulled off my pajama pants, carefully detached my diaper, and sat me on my potty. As I sat there, she stroked my head with a loving gesture. She didn’t say anything, but her gaze was clear and confident. Her eyes sparkled in a way that signaled to me that she firmly believed I would be able to use my potty.

While I sat on the potty, Lea turned to Sophie’s bookshelf. “Which story should I read to you, Emily?” she asked me in a voice that sounded like a loving embrace. I was used to having a story read to me to fall asleep, but until now, it had always been my mother or Sophie who chose which story it was. “I don’t care,” I said indifferently. I was still a bit sulky because I had to go to bed before Sophie and it wasn’t as if I, like a toddler, needed a silly story to fall asleep. Lea playfully rummaged through the bookshelf, then turned to me with a twinkling grin and said, “Sorry, I can’t find ‘I don’t care’ anywhere.” A hint of a smile flitted across my face, even though I tried to continue being grumpy. “Come on, Emily,” she encouraged me, “Your sister is not here, so you can decide all by yourself which story you want to hear. There’s bound to be at least one story here that you especially like.”

I hesitated for a moment before I dared to name my favorite. “I like the story of Frederick,” I admitted quietly. It was a story I had originally bought for Sophie myself. But she never really liked it, as she preferred to hear stories about princesses. Frederick’s story was different, it was about a small field mouse poet who, instead of gathering supplies for winter, collected colors, sun rays, and words. It was gentle, wise, and full of poetry, unlike the glittering princess stories that Sophie loved so much.

“Oh, that’s a beautiful story, Emily,” Lea affirmed. Her gaze scanned the bookshelf and her hand reached out and grabbed the slim book when she spotted it. Meanwhile, a soft splashing sound was heard. A quick glance downward confirmed it - I had actually used my potty. A rare event that rarely occurred to me in the evening hours. Before I could express my joy, I already saw Lea smiling at me. She had noticed it too.

“You did great, Emily,” she praised me. Her voice was sincere and full of respect. It was not a contrived compliment, like I often received from my mother or Mrs. Weber when I achieved something they considered ‘adult’. No, it was a compliment that sounded genuine, that recognized me as an equal and appreciated my small victory. I felt a wave of pride washing over me. It was not much, but it was a start.

Lea put the book aside and came back to me with a wet wipe. As if on its own, I got up from the potty and spread my legs so she could clean me. It did not even occur to me that I could have taken on this task myself. Since the beginning of my therapy, it had become a habit for others to take care of my intimate hygiene. What had previously been strange and embarrassing now felt quite normal, almost as if it had always been that way, as if it were something completely normal.

After the last traces of urine had been carefully removed from my skin, Lea lovingly attended to the care of my still reddened diaper area with the cooling cream. Then, she gently helped me back into the clean diaper and pulled on my pajama bottoms. She did all this while I was still standing. With gentle care, she finally helped me into the soft bed and pulled up the cover, adorned with glowing fairies, to my chest.

Normally, my mother always sat on a chair at the edge of the bed when she read to Sophie and me, which is why I was a bit surprised when Lea suddenly, with the book in hand, climbed into bed with me. The children’s bed, which was so familiar to me and which I fit into without any problem, seemed suddenly strangely small when Lea squeezed in with me. While she was leaning only on the edge of the bed, it was unmistakable that she had long outgrown the bed, that she, unlike me, was too big to comfortably lie in it.

“Emily,” Lea began, her tone gentle and inviting, “would you like to rest your head on my lap? Then you can see the pictures while I read you the story.” A little shyly, I hesitated at first, but eventually followed her instruction and gently placed my head on her lap. Lovingly, Lea began to read, and as she did so, her hand softly stroked my hair.

Her gentle, soothing voice, the careful stroking of my hair - all of this combined to create a cozy atmosphere that completely enveloped me. Forgotten was the frustration of having to go to bed earlier than my sister, forgotten too were all the unpleasant things that had happened to me today. Now, I fully understood why Sophie liked Lea so much. Lea knew her craft and to be honest, I couldn’t imagine a better babysitter for me. Lea’s words mixed with the cozy feeling of security led to my eyes becoming heavier and heavier. Within just a few minutes, I could barely keep them open and finally gave in to my urge to sleep.

If you like my story and would like to support me, you can do so on Patreon ( ). There, you’ll find two more chapters already, and a new one is added every two weeks.

Chapter 13

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you like my story and would like to support me, you can do so on Patreon ( ). There, you’ll find two more chapters already, and a new one is added every two weeks.

Chapter 14

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you like my story and would like to support me, you can do so on Patreon ( ). There, you’ll find two more chapters already, and a new one is added every two weeks.


Chapter 15

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you like my story and would like to support me, you can do so on Patreon ( ). There, you’ll find two more chapters already, and a new one is added every two weeks.

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