SweetLittleEmily
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Alternative Therapies - Chapter 13
🕑 Added 2023-07-25 17:07:47 +0000 UTCI 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.
