SweetLittleEmily
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Alternative Therapies - Chapter 15
🕑 Added 2023-08-28 22:10:17 +0000 UTCThe 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.
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