I was a nervous kid and for as long as I can remember, I wet my bed. Not every night, but at least a couple times a week. Mommy always got frustrated, having to wash my bed clothes and sheets. Especially since the wetting continued into my teen years.
She would often tell me that only babies wet their bed and would ask if I was baby. Of course, I always adamantly insisted I wasn’t. My little sister was almost ten and had never had a wetting problem, which she also mentioned countless times. She told me repeatedly if it continued she was going to have to do something about it.
One day, I wet myself after falling asleep on the couch. That time she got angry, because there was no waterproof sheet on the couch everyone sat on. I still remember her exact words. ”If you keep this up, I’m going to buy you Pampers!” and followed it up with “If you’re going to act like a baby, then you’ll wear diapers like a baby!” I was so embarrassed, I started to cry and she admonished me for acting like a baby again. She wasn’t a mean person, really. She was just frustrated and didn’t know how else to deal with my problem.
After that, I tried really hard – stopped drinking after dinner, used the toilet multiple times and even tried setting the alarm to wake me up in the middle of the night. It worked the first couple weeks and she told me how proud she was over and over. However, her praise just made me anxious. If I let her down, it wasn’t just a normal thing. It would wreck the new bond we had made.
It was nearly the end of the month when I woke up to a wet bed. I thought about hiding it, but that wasn’t realistic. I decided it was best to tell her instead of getting caught.
”Mom, I have something to tell you.” I was almost crying when I started talking. She stopped what she was doing and listened to me. ”I don’t know what happened. My alarm didn’t go off…” She didn’t have to listen any longer. “You wet your bed, didn’t you?!” Her frustration just made it worse and I broke down crying.
She was quiet for a minute, then told me that there were bound to be slip-ups and I just needed to be more vigilant. After that, I thought everything was going to be ok.
Two nights later, my sister and I were watching a movie and I fell asleep halfway through. I hadn’t gone through my ritual of using the toilet before bed and my sister didn’t wake me up when the movie was over, so when Mom woke me up at nearly midnight I had peed all over myself and the couch again. ”What happened?!” she yelled as she woke me up.
I was groggy and couldn’t think of what to say. ”That’s it. I’m not playing this game anymore. I told you we were going to have to do something.” When she said that, I knew what she meant. Mom was going to go to the store and buy me Pampers.
It was embarrassing at first, but I have to admit I was kind of relieved. I was so stressed and exhausted from all the trying, it just seemed like the easiest solution. However, the idea of being put in diapers like a baby and potentially having people find out was too much to bear. I kept saying “Mommy, I won’t do it again, I promise!”, but she wouldn’t listen. She just told me to go get cleaned up, use the potty and go to bed while she cleaned the couch.
The next day, she picked me up from school and we headed to the pharmacy. My sister didn’t get out of school for another hour, so we were able to shop without her knowing what we were buying. When we got to the diaper aisle, I was almost ready to cry. She looked at all the different brands and compared sizes, but couldn’t seem to find baby diapers that would fit me. Another mother offered help by asking “How big is your baby?” and my head began to swim from the blood rushing to my face. Thankfully, Mom didn’t rat me out and just said “She’s a toddler, but she’s bigger than all the size limits on these packages.”
The lady grabbed a huge package of Luvs diapers and told her they were the biggest on the market outside of teen diapers, because they had excellent stretchy tabs. Mom thanked her and took the package, but then she asked “Did you say teen diapers? Is that really a thing?” The woman looked right me and smiled, but I pretended I didn’t notice. “Yeah, but they sell those in the incontinence section over there.” She pointed to a sign two aisles over. Mom said “We’ll give these a try, but we might have to come back for those if she grows too fast.” I was beside myself with embarrassment and the only reason I didn’t break down crying or run away, was because I figured then it would be obvious the diapers were for me.
Mom tried hard not to let my sister see the diapers. She put them in the trunk, even though they easily would have fit in the back seat, and she left them there when we got home. When my sister went to her friends house to play, Mom took the diapers to my room and hid them in my closet. That afternoon seemed like it was so long. Despite my embarrassment, I was curious about the diapers and how they would feel.
After dinner, I had the same rules; no liquids and try to potty a lot before bedtime. Then she told me the new rule. “Your new bedtime is 8pm. So go get ready to take a bath.” That was earlier than my sister went to bed, so I was confused. ”Mom, that’s an hour early. Why?” She just said, “When you were two, that was your bed time, so I think you know why. Besides, if you don’t want your sister to find out, you need to be in bed before her.” Her words were as embarrassing as any action, as she seemed intent on treating me like a toddler. She had a point though. My sister and I shared a room, although it was divided by a panel wall the neighbor had built for us. It separated our spaces, but it wouldn’t have blocked the sounds of me being diapered from my sister.
I soaked in the tub for about twenty minutes, then brushed my teeth and used the toilet once again. Then I wrapped the towel around me and went back to my room, where Mom was waiting for me. She had one of the diapers laid out on the bed and a nightgown next to it. “I can do it myself.” I insisted, but she wasn’t having it. “Maybe when I know you can do it, but for now I’m going to make sure it’s done right.”
She put the diaper on me and I covered my face the entire time. Being put in diapers by my mom at 13 was an unbearable humiliation and she only made it worse by saying things like “Lift up your bumbum” and “These make it smell like a nursery in here”. After she taped it up, she pulled the nightgown over my head, even though I had been dressing myself for years. It all seemed a bit awkward, so I wasn’t sure if she was intentionally embarrassing me or if she was just nervous to be doing it.
”Are you ok?” she asked, apparently making sure it wasn’t too much for me. I was still embarrassed and I felt like I might pass out, but the diaper also felt really good and I knew it would solve a lot of problems. I told her I was fine and she gave me a hug, then told me to crawl into bed. Before she left the room, she turned off my alarm “No more interrupted sleep. I hate seeing you tired all day. And if you get up in the middle of the night, your sister is going to find out about your nightwear.” I always hated getting up in the middle of the night, but I knew that not doing so would result in more wet mornings. She also had a point about my sister finding out and I would rather wake up wet every morning than have her blab to all our friends about my night diapers.
I didn’t wet the first couple days, but it inevitably happened. I remember waking up and not realizing it for several minutes. It wasn’t until I rolled over to get out of bed that I felt the clumpy padding between my legs. My morning ritual had changed to include turning on my radio just loud enough to block out the sound of the crinkling plastic as I removed the diaper and wrapped it up in the black garbage bag I kept in my closet.
As time passed, I became lax in making sure I didn’t drink before bed and started waking up to wet diapers more often. Mom didn’t say a word other than to say it was probably best not to dehydrate myself when I had a way to keep my bed dry. The diapers became just a normal part of my life after that and everything was good for a couple years.
Apparently my sister had managed to find out about my diapers, but never said anything to me. I later found out Mom had told her when she kept questioning why there was so much secrecy around my bedtime. Mom explained it to her, but had made her promise not to say anything to anyone, including me.
Then, when I was 16, my sister had a slumber party at our house. One of her friends volunteered to take the garbage out, but accidentally dropped her glasses into the outside garbage. When she started pulling out bags looking for them, she found my discarded bag of used diapers. The girls all thought they were my sister’s diapers and teased her about it, so she got angry and told them they were my diapers. As proof, she helped them sneak into my room by moving the divider and they yanked off my blanket while I slept to expose my diaper. I yelled and screamed, but after they left I broke down crying.
Mom came to comfort me and I heard her tell the girls that if they said anything to anyone, she would put them all in diapers. She claimed that their parents had given her permission and they were young enough to believe her. Unfortunately, girls like to talk and it was only a few days before I started hearing the rumors. It started with the fact that I wore diapers to bed, but quickly spread to claiming I wore diapers all the time, slept in a crib and drank from a bottle. It was embarrassing to be the butt of so many jokes, but for some reason I was aroused by it at the same time.
My sister, who had kept my secret for years, defended me. Since she was technically the one that outed me, she went out of her way to tell everyone they were wrong. She just flatly said “If my sister wore diapers, I would know it. We share a room!” It mostly died after that, but on occasion I would get a little ribbing about it.
My bedwetting was under control by the time I reached 17, but I liked the diapers too much to stop wearing them. Most nights, I would wet the diaper before I even fell asleep, just because I liked the feel of it on my skin. I had definitely developed a fetish that has been with me ever since.