Chapter Description: Clark is taken for a check up to his new "Pediatrician"
“Are you sure you don’t want your lion?” Janet asked me just before she unbuckled me out of the carseat.
I inhaled. I didn’t even bother to look at the stuffie next to me. “No...ma’am.” A glint of hope flashed in her eyes followed by disappointment. She’d been hoping that I’d call her a different M-word. I still had some measure of pride in me. Best not to antagonize her, however. “Thank you,” I added.
“Okay…” she said, sounding a bit weary. I took a bit of cruel comfort in that moment. Janet could bathe me, diaper me, and dress me. She could have my hair cut, curled, and dyed. She could feed me poisoned food and leave me to stew in my own mess. She could spank me and reduce me to tears with a single swat. But I could cause her no end of frustration just by not calling her ‘Mommy’. It still didn’t even the odds, but every cat values their claws even when up against a bear.
I did my best not to grumble as AGAIN she slid two fingers in past the leakguards of my diaper. “Dry,” she said. As if I didn’t know. I felt a slight pang in my bladder. I still didn’t have to GO go, but I noticed the need if I thought about it.
I was a long way from the classic and stereotypical Little doing the potty dance bit. I was a teacher. We can hold our bladders for a long time. Or I used to be a teacher...
I just made myself sad…
Janet leaned into the back seat and grabbed the lion anyways. “Just in case,” she said. At roughly half my size, it still wouldn’t fit neatly into the diaper bag, so the toy found a home in Janet’s mammoth teacher purse. “Time to go see the doctor.”
My breath became shallow. My throat constricted. For the first time that day, I felt more than just humiliation and resentment and self pity. I felt fear. I hadn’t been to the doctor in years. In general, Littles don’t go to the doctor by choice.
Fun fact: According to MistuhGwiffin.web, there’s a severe shortage of Littles in every medical field save pediatricians. There’s not even that many of us in that branch, either. It’s just that it’s not unheard of. The majority of Little doctors are immigrants who got suckered in with propaganda and found out too late that doing anything short of working towards full citizenship might be misconstrued as immaturity.
But Pediatricians? Yeah. I’d been to one, back when I was the appropriate age to be seeing one.
A lifetime ago, I would have said it’s because seeing Littles surrounded by Little children caused enough cognitive dissonance to offset any given Amazon’s baby crazy. Cassie would have said it’s because they want us to live long enough so that they could catch us after we’d been alive long enough to be done growing. So no measles and mumps for us.
Maybe we were both right. I still don’t know.
Littles don’t typically go to hospitals. I didn’t go to hospitals. I’ve NEVER chosen to go to a hospital or a doctor. It’s not a long leap of logic for an Amazon to take care of a sick Little and then decide that they needed more help being cared for. That’s what happened to my uncle Thomas before I was born. He was afraid he’d been having a heart attack. They checked him into pediatrics… That’s what he got for experimenting with spicy food.
Nope. From about age ten to when some of us manage to move into semi-secure Little’s communities, we tend to avoid doctors. Either that, or the local Little “pediatrician” moonlights as a general practitioner and makes house calls.
All the other options are forced on us.
A cold whoosh of air hit me in the face as Janet opened the door to Premium Pediatrics. The banner above the door had pictures of cute, chubby, babies- actual babies- all giggling and wearing nothing but plain white diapers. Below the picture were the words “Now accepting children of ALL ages”. It didn’t take a genius to know what that meant.
The sign was in good condition, but the sun faded lettering hinted that this policy wasn’t anything remotely new. Assuming the babies pictured were Amazons or Tweeners, they very well might’ve been allowed to grow up by now.
Janet gave her name, signed in on a clipboard and then carted me into the waiting room. Apparently, she’d made this appointment last night and filled out the paperwork as I languished in the crib. Gentle pop music covers sung in auto-tuned children’s voices played softly on speakers in the ceiling.
She made a beeline towards a water cooler and dug out an empty bottle. I caught a glimpse of the lollipop I’d “earned” from the salon sticking out beside it and felt my tongue retreat to the back of my throat. There was another thing I wouldn’t be eating.
The water was just below the brim when Janet screwed the cap on. She put it aside, and filled up a paper cup; making sure to let out a satisfied “aaaaaah” after she’d downed it and thrown it away. Good. She didn’t have my trust and knew it. She hadn’t earned it. She didn’t deserve it.
A few steps later, she was sitting down and I was being cradled in her lap. I pursed my lips together and let the cold tasteless liquid dribble down my chin. “It’s just water, baby,” Janet said. “Drink up.”
I didn’t want to. I really didn’t. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. I wanted to be difficult. I wanted to be a fussy, cranky Little that wouldn’t ever give her satisfaction and make her regret ever being friends with me and then betraying that friendship the first chance she got. And in a weird way I wanted to punish myself for ever being friends with her.
But I was thirsty. My throat was dry. I hadn’t had anything since the breakfast shake several hours ago. The cold calculating part of my brain, the Cassie part, told me to bide my time and look for an opening. Oh who am I kidding, that was the Clark part of my brain. The Cassie part of my brain wanted me to breastfeed just so I could draw blood and run away with a nipple still between my teeth.
I swallowed my pride, opened up and took the water. I avoided eye contact and instead took the rest of the waiting room.
That was a mistake.
I can’t remember ever wearing diapers as a child before. Like I’ve said, Littles tend to get potty trained early. But I do remember the handful of times I’d gone to the doctor as a child. This was the same atmosphere: Same cutesy stickers dotting the walls. Same boring posters promoting hand washing and checking temperature. Same pictures of doctors and smiling children posing together. Same table full of bead mazes and old coloring books and wooden alphabet puzzles with a few pieces missing.
That sameness was a problem for me.
I’d been in Beouf’s room so many times before that even waking up in her nap room I’d still felt like me. I was still thirty-two year old Clark Gibson. I had been Mr. Gibson for years and had my fill of chalk and school bells and educational toys. Those were still adult memories.
I’d never had my hair cut in anything resembling a salon, either. That was a completely alien experience to me.
But here? This was a type of place that I only ever associated with childhood. My last memories of a place like this happened before my voice had changed; when the world was even bigger and I still had so much growing to do.
Even then, I knew the world was always going to be too big for me, but it would get at least a tiny bit smaller over the coming years. Now I was back. I was back and everything was still so much bigger than me. I was drinking from a bottle, having my diaper checked (yet again), and waiting to be carried into a pediatrician’s examination room.
And so many of the “babies” in those pictures on the wall, looked like me.
It was worse than any hypnotic cartoon I could imagine.
I didn’t feel hypnotized. I just felt small.
A doctor’s waiting room is no place to have fun. Ever. I’ve never been to a “grown-up” doctor, but I feel that’s true, regardless. Patients aren’t meant to enjoy themselves in a waiting room; they’re meant to suffer quietly and bide their time until called upon.
A lot of that is reflected in a pediatrician’s waiting room. None of the toys light up or make noise. They don’t go boom and bam and ring out. They clink and click quietly unless they’re soft and plushy, and if they’re big enough to fall or tip over they’re bolted down. Neither children nor Littles are expected (or allowed) to just sit with their own thoughts, and so they’re given things to distract and fidget, but not entertain or stimulate.
That’s why doctor’s offices are never fun. Fun is too loud and noisy. Oh, and then there’s the whole “sick” thing, too, I guess.
Not that I wanted to play with the toys. It’s why I sipped so softly on the bottle. The moment I’d guzzled it down, Janet would want me to play with something. She’d want her new pet to perform for her. I wouldn’t be allowed to sulk and be in my thoughts.
We weren’t left alone for long. Other Amazons and their charges trickled in as the water trickled down my mouth. An Amazon man came and plopped two Littles in pink and blue footed sleepers down into a sturdy wooden playpen bolted to the floor. He gave them each a kiss on the forehead and then left them alone to sit in a nearby seat and read a magazine that was six months out of date.
The pair sat on padded rears and began occupying themselves with a game of Connect Four. No pacifier gags to silence them or stupid grins and giggling drooling lips with blank eyes to show that they had no real consciousness left to them. Their careful moves signaled that they weren’t mind fucked; not completely. They were just old hat at this “baby” thing. They’d reached a level of calm acceptance of their situation; if not enjoyment.
Oh, the level of pity, jealousy, and dread that flooded my mind in that tiny moment.
The Little boy who was brought in next was screaming his head off. I don’t know if his mind was gone or if he was just in so much mental, physical and emotional pain. No words came out of him, just throaty bellowing screams.
His screaming hurt even my ears and his whole body was flushed bright red. Fever? Screaming? Both? His screaming only stopped when his Amazon whipped her boob out and brushed a dripping nipple against his cheek. The screaming stopped as soon as he latched on. His body slowed and his “Mommy” petted his hair and whispered quiet, shushing words.
I put my tongue in the whole of the nipple to slow the drip. Janet was staring at them. I thought she’d looked crazy yesterday when she ran into the I.E.P. meeting. That was nothing, comparatively. There were worse things, I remembered, than just bottle feeding.
The door into the examination area opened, and a nurse poked her head out. “Clark?” she called. I bit down and made a bit of water squirt down my throat. I suppressed the urge to gag and just drank a little more.
Janet stood up with me and carried me over yet another threshold. I gripped the bottle a little harder.
“How are we doing today?” The nurse asked not me.
“Just fine, thank you.” Janet replied. “Kind of excited actually. This is our first doctor’s visit!”
“It is exciting, isn’t it?”
Exciting. That was a word for it. I had no chance of being bored, that was for sure.
The next seven minutes were a special kind of hell for me.
I was laid down on a metal slab, and my weight was taken. I was shivering. The metal sides rose up, so that the “baby” didn’t “accidentally” roll off. To me though, they were too similar to the confines of a certain bug zapper.
Giant hands stretched me out on an examination holding me down so I didn’t squirm or struggle too much while another pair played with measuring tape. They were measuring my length. Length. I guess height was for “grown-ups” too. The way Janet and the nurse did it sent me back a little over twenty-four hours to when I was being stretched out and splayed out to be coated with skin repairing cream.
I didn’t breathe the entire time.
A monstrous cuff engulfed my bicep and squeezed hard enough to almost make me lose feeling in my arm. I couldn’t help but think about what happened to the uncle I’d never met. All the while Janet shushed me and told me how it was going to be okay. Nothing was okay though.
“You’re gonna need to get him down to just his diaper,” the nurse said before leaving.
I planted my palms down on the exam table and leaned back. “No.” It came out stronger than I would have expected.
“But Clark,” Janet said. “The doctor needs to take a look at your body to make sure that everything is working right.”
“No.” I was sitting down, but standing my ground.
“Janet,” my voice cracked. “I have been stripped and zapped and carted around and and and...everyone has seen me naked or in a diaper and I am already SICK of it.”
She didn’t laugh. If she had I would’ve hated her utterly. “Clark. This is just the doctor. He sees people in just their underwear and diapers and naked all the time. It’s part of his job.”
“I’m a Little.” I was on the verge of losing it. “Everyone in my life is going to see me naked or in diapers.”
“Then what’s one more person? Especially if it’s their job?”
Fuck. I walked into that one. “At least let me do it myself...?”
Again, she didn’t laugh. I could tell from her expression that she thought it was one of the cutest things she’d ever heard. I hated her less for that… Without pushing me down, and with impossibly strong yet nimble fingers, Janet popped open the snaps on my plain white onesie. “Okay.”
I stood up on shaky legs. The padding beneath my feet combined with the stuffing between my thighs wasn’t doing my balance any favors. Now that it was effectively just a shirt, it was easy enough to yank it back over my head.
Except it wasn’t.
I got my arms through the sleeves and was pulling-yanking even- it off my shoulders, but all I managed to do was make my neck hurt. “I’m….stuck!” I gasped.
“Hmmm?” I heard her say. Followed by, “Oh! Yeah!” The shirt was yanked back down and I was staring into Janet’s eyes. I felt one final pop at the back base of the collar. “Sorry,” she said, “I forgot that there was one in the back too. Silly Mommy.”
Heavy footsteps blocked out any reply I might’ve come up with. Janet finished yanking the diaper shirt over my head right as the door opened again.
The man who walked in was big, even for an Amazon. Broad shoulders, a chiseled jaw, and a full head of silver hair, he was a head taller than Janet. He had wrinkles but they were the kind that came from smiling. He was smiling even then, and in a deep but jolly voice, he said. “Good morning! I’m Dr. Milton.” He reached and shook Janet’s hand and then did a double take at his watch. “Yup. Still Morning.” He laughed at his own non-joke. I knew this patter. I knew this tone.
“Pleasure to meet you, Janet Grange.” All smiles. His wrinkles creased up around his eyes everytime he did. The laugh lines vanished with his grin. I’d made that face so many times when I was trying to be sociable with parents.
What happened next caught me completely off guard. He strode up to the examination table, looked me in the eye. “Hello. I’m Dr. Jonathan Milton. And you are?”
He asked me. Me! I was in a pediatrician’s office, wearing nothing but a Monkeez, and he was shaking my hand and greeting me. Like an adult. It hadn’t been two days since someone had done that, and yet it was something that I deeply expected to never happen again.
“C-Clark.” I stuttered.
“Pleasure to meet you, Clark. And how old are you, sir?”
I was a sir, again!
I blinked. “Thirty-two.” My voice sounded far off. Just that little bit of courtesy, that little bit of dignity completely threw me off my game.
Dr. Milton whistled. “Thirty-two. Not bad, young fella, not bad at all.” I was shaking with something besides anger. I didn’t even mind being called “young fella”. It was a damn site better than “baby” or “sweetie” or “Little boy”.
“So here’s what I’m going to do, Clark. I’m going to listen to your heartbeat, your lungs, and your guts using my ol’ stethoscope here.” He held up the instrument in front of his face to show me. “Then I’m going to look in your eyes and ears and throat with my otoscope,” he paused to show me the instrument. “That’s what I call this doohickey right here. Then I’m going to test your reflexes right quick with my tiny knee hammer. And then I’ll ask you some questions about your health. Do you understand?”
In awe, I nodded. It was refreshing actually. Relaxing even.
“Breathe in. Deep Breath. Breath out. Sorry about it being cold by the way.”
I was entranced. He was so respectful. So gentle, always warning me when I was going to be touched.
“MMhmm… Open your mouth please. Say ah!”
He narrated everything he did, but not in the same patronizing way that Typical Amazons did when talking to Littles.
“Excuse me, just checking for bruises, sprains and breaks. That hurt? No? That? No? Good.”
Even the “good” was good. Because it wasn’t “good boy,” or “good baby.” No stupid kid jokes like I’d get a giggle out of a pun or a knock-knock joke. Nothing about a light coming through the other side of my head.
“Oh wow. It’s light’s never come out the other end before.” I stood corrected… “Ah, you know I’m just jokin’. I just can’t resist making a dumb joke everynow and then. That one was just for me, sir. Just for me.” AND THE RECOVERY!
Damnit! I wanted to hate him, and I still did...but it was SO HARD!
Then it hit me. This was me. This guy was with me how I treated my own students. Respectful, playful, professional, but caring. And that hair, that glorious mature silver hair, and those stress free laugh lines. He was who I wanted to be when I grew up…
Even though I’d already grown up…
Even though I’d never grow up again.
No more forward. Just back. Maybe in place. I hung my head when I sat down and he tested my reflexes. I think it just passed as curiosity. I shifted my weight a bit, listening to the crinkle from the medical paper on the exam table. At least I wasn’t the only one crinkling.
“Everything seems to be okie dokie,” he said.
“Good,” Janet piped in. She’d been watching like a star struck hawk the entire time, and had stepped back while the doctor looked me over.
“So Clark,” Dr. Milton said. “Ready for some questions?”
I felt surprisingly comfortable. “Sure,” I said.
“Do you smoke?”
“Good. Do you drink?”
I shot a glance at Janet. “Occasionally.”
“How often and how much?”
“Never thought about it,” I shrugged. “Typically only with friends.” Janet winced. Shots fired. Direct hit.
Dr. Milton’s back was to her. “So you’re a social drinker?”
“Nothing wrong with that.” Janet’s eyes flared up in shock. Babies didn’t get permission to drink. Ever. This medical professional either disagreed with that bit of common wisdom or disagreed that I was a baby. I was liking him more and more with each question.
This was totally me in Amazon form.
“Do you exercise?” He asked.
“How often and what do you do?”
I stared down at my gut. I couldn’t help but fold my arms over it. “It’s been a couple months, but I like to do yoga.”
His eyes lit up. “Oooh! Yoga! Good one!” He turned around and looked at Janet. “You might wanna remember that for later, ma’am. Yoga. Lotta boys don’t take too well to ballet.”
Janet nodded her head. “Okay! Yeah! Yoga!”
Talking to Janet was the first real chink in the armor. The next question blew a fist sized hole in it.
“How is your diaper?”
My hands shot back down to my crotch and my heart jumped back up to my throat. “DRY!” I yelped. “I’m dry! Potty trained!”
“You weren’t this morning,” Janet tutted.
The doctor waved her off. “I mean, are you comfortable? Too tight? Too loose? Too bulky? Too thin? What?”
I had no idea how to answer that question. “I guess...I guess...why are you asking?”
Dr. Milton tilted his head to the side. “Whelp, if I needed diapers, I’d want them to be as comfortable as possible.”
Boom. Done. I officially hated this man.
“I don’t NEED diapers!” I said. “I’m pot-”
Janet interrupted. “Clark, you pooped your pants in front of everyone yesterday. Quit pretending.”
That shut me up. I couldn’t argue with that. There’d have been no point. Dr. Milton motioned and Janet walked up, blocking me into a circle. “So you think that’s when his Maturosis manifested?”
“We think it started to manifest sooner, maybe as early as early Summer, but it definitely got too much for him to handle yesterday.”
The old fellow stroked his chin. “Yes, yes. I could see that.”
I started wilting. False hope can do that to a person. “You’re not going to get me out of this,” I mumble, “are you?”
I felt a tough calloused hand on my shoulder. “Right now, Clark’s brain and body chemistry is just going all over the place.” There it went. He was talking about me instead of to me. “Serotonin and dopamine are going crazy, and not in the good way. His oxytocin levels are lowering, and Littles in general produce low amounts of oxytocin.”
Oxytocin: The cuddle hormone. Such bullshit. Littles didn’t produce too little of it. Amazons just made too much. Bullshit. Such bullshit. I just shook my head, muttering as much, not caring if they heard me.
“I’m worried about his bladder,” Janet said to him. “He hasn’t wet since I changed him this morning.
I lifted my head. Might as well howl and spit into the wind. “BECAUSE I’M-!”
I was on my back before I could finish the sentence. I thought Janet was powerful. “Let me check,” the Amazon doctor said. Tapes came off. Again, I was laying naked on an open diaper as an Amazon stared at my privates. It was something I promised myself I’d never get used to.
Calloused, probing hands pressed down on my belly just below my belly button and on my pelvis. “Hmmm….Mmmmhmm…Hold on.” I felt the need to pee more keenly than ever. “Hmm...yup.”
“What?” Janet said. “What is it?”
“You’re circumcised,” The doctor noted. I squeaked, actually squeaked, when he jiggled my testicles. “Testicles haven’t retracted. Good.” He stood me up. “Turn your head to the side and cough, please.” You’d be surprised what you’re willing to do when a giant is literally gripping you by the balls. “No hernia. Had to check for that anyway,” he said. “I was just going to save that from the end.” He motioned to Janet. “You can put a new diaper on him.” He looked back at me, “Tapes are never the same after you take them off.” He winked. FUCKER WINKED!
Janet quickly had me down and re-diapered before their conversation continued. “So what’s going on?” She bobbed me up and down in her lap. It wasn’t doing my bladder any favors; not that she wanted to.
“HIs guts are working,” Dr. Milton said. He was half looking at me, half looking at Janet. “Heard that on my stethoscope.” He held it up. “That’s this thing,” he said to me. It was much less folksy and endearing the second time around. “And I felt that his bladder was full. Won’t be long now. Just give it time.”
“But why, Doctor?”
I closed my eyes and held my tongue. What was the point?
“Because like you said, Maturosis doesn’t happen all at once. He’s still a little potty trained, for now. The diapers are just a likely eventuality, so might as well get used to ‘em.” I felt disgusted with myself for relating to this quack for even a second. Now, he sounded like the worst parts of Beouf. He looked right at me. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“Then you try wearing them,” I growled.
“If I need them, I will.” The line was so quick. He’d heard that before. Had it prepared.
“Clark, why are you being so fussy?” Janet asked.
Milton answered for me. “It’s not his fault. Emotionally, it’s like he’s going through puberty all over again. Lots of frustration, lots of big emotions. It’s basically Little Menopause. His frontal lobe and amygdala, the parts of the brain responsible for guilt and shame are restructuring and rewiring themselves all over again.“ The answer was nonsense of course, but it was an answer Amazons like Janet liked.
She was eating up every word. “Mmmhmm..” My bladder was aching. She was bouncing me just a little bit faster. “Why is he so angry though? Cranky? It’s not like him.”
“It’s like I said,” the quack repeated. “His brain is redeveloping itself, but he has the added obstacle of having all of his previous memories and experiences. You and me? We did stupid stuff when we were kids. But our brains developed, and we gained more knowledge and experience. Now, we look back and laugh now that we’ve mellowed. We are not who we are now who we were then.”
The snake oil salesman took a deep breath. Again, he was talking to Janet. This time, though, he was looking right at me. “Clark? He’s going backwards, but he’s still got all of those memories of going forward. His brain and body are telling him to be a toddler or a baby again, but his mind remembers moving past that. He’s going to have all the mind and memories he’s always had, but the emotional and physical needs of someone much much less….well...mature.” He shrugged. “He’s basically at war with himself.”
Janet stopped bouncing me. “That makes so much sense.” Sure it did! If you closed your eyes and didn’t think too hard! I sighed, if only because I was going to be able to hold my bladder a bit longer.
“It’s why, for a while” he said, “those hypno-toons were so en vogue. Help the mind accept what the brain and body want by wiping clean the parts that fight the hardest.”
“I don’t want hypnosis,” Janet said. I could feel her shaking her head, it was so hard. She started petting me, as if she were afraid I might get mind fucked just for being in the same room where it was discussed.
He waved the idea away. “Wouldn’t think of it. That stuff is garbage, and illegal besides. I’ll prescribe you something with plenty of electrolytes to help things move along and keep him hydrated. Also something to help out with the Oxytocin problem.” He whipped out a pen and started scribbling on a prescription pad. “In the meantime, I’d also recommend getting him into a good daycare program. The best ones are pretty expensive, but you might be able to get into one of the publicly funded ones.”
I felt Janet give me a squeeze. Was she trying to make me use my diaper by sheer force or just that excited? It was hard to tell. “He’s already enrolled in Oakshire Elementary!” she squealed.
“Oakshire?” The doctor’s face turned into a Christmas Tree. “With Melony Beouf?”
“Uh-huh! We’re coworkers!”
Milton slapped his knee. “Well alright then! I’ve known Melony for years! She’s one of the best Little’s teachers I’ve ever met. Attends my seminars on the subject at least once a year! I was thinking of having her help me write a paper on the subject!”
My jaw went slack. My eyes went blank. The only physical stimuli that registered to me was the growing and gnawing pain in my bladder. I stopped listening to them and retreated inside myself. Melony Beouf and this asshole knew each other? But I’d never heard her talk about him before. Not that I’d ever asked or wanted to know exactly where she got her cult-like doctrine from.
It made sense why they sounded so much alike, too.
It’s just that…
Do you remember that feeling when you’re a kid- maybe a Kindergartener; maybe a little younger or a little older- and you first find out that your teacher has a life outside of the classroom? Has a family? Maybe cats? Enjoys video games? That feeling that there’s this person in your life that keeps you safe and seems to care about you and acts as a friend to you; almost like an extra parent; and then it dawns on you that they know so much about you and you know almost nothing about them?
You feel like you just got let in on a big secret. You also feel like maybe the world isn’t as simple as you led yourself to believe. In a way, you kind of feel like a bad friend or student or person; like you should have known this already.
Just then, I was feeling that about one of my oldest Amazon friends and coworkers, who until yesterday had shielded me for close to a decade from other asshole Amazons. I was a Kindergartener, if that. I was thirty-two. The two feelings weren’t emotionally mutually exclusive it seemed.
“So don’t worry,” Dr. Milton said, breaking in on my thoughts. “Mrs. B. will help Clark out a whole lot!” He ruffled my newly curled and dyed hair.
“I used to work with her, too!” I blurted out. I felt stupid. I felt wrong. But I had to say it. “We worked together. Ten years. Janet too.” I was the kid at the grown-ups table. Nothing worth saying but I NEEDED to say SOMETHING!
“That’s neat,” Doctor Milton smiled down at me. “And now you three will be working together again. You’ll all just be working on Clark instead of other kids.” Janet hugged me again. This time her grip was higher up on the chest. I retreated inside myself again, hiding in a soft, pudgy shell that numbed me.
Outside of me, the doctor was acting like an actual doctor again and lecturing me on how I shouldn’t hold it quite so much and that I could do long term damage to my kidneys if I tried. He ran down a list of nasty medical procedures that might happen to me if I got too backed up. Enemas and Catheters would only be the start. “Is it really worth damaging your body like that and risking your health just to pretend you’re an adult on the inside, son?”
I didn’t reply. It wasn’t needed. “You’re gonna be fine.” Janet kissed me on the top of my head. “Mommy loves you and you have nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about. Okay?”
I didn’t reply. This time it wasn’t out of spite as much as it was being completely fucking overwhelmed. Janet started to put the onesie back on me. Like a good doll, I helped guide my arms through the sleeves. I didn’t fuss when she checked my diaper just before buttoning up the crotch.
The doctor wagged a quick finger at Janet. “My advice? Quit checking his diaper for a while. At this stage of his Maturosis it’s only going to make him get embarrassed and try to do the opposite.”
It’s almost like I was continent! I was in no state to actually say that out loud, however.
I caught Janet blushing. “Yes, Doctor.”
“Don’t feel too bad. It’s a mistake new Moms make all the time.” He turned to leave and then doubled back. “Oh, and it’s a bit early, but let’s schedule a prostate exam in a couple months, just in case. Just to get it over with.”
“A prostate exam?” Janet blanched. “But he’s a baby…”
“He is,” Dr. Milton agreed. “A thirty-two year old baby.”