Infected

Chapter 1
Full story

Watching the members of your family grow larger and larger by the day is a REALLY interesting way to pass the time. It kind of helps you put things in perspective, like the fact that people have a pretty biased viewpoint on children and what they think we’re capable of. Let me fill you in on my life and how it’s changed since I contracted the AR virus about ten months ago. . .

I was a school teacher, almost thirty, living in a small town in southern Florida. The only thing I really noticed at first was a rash of zits, which were annoying since I already had a hard time getting the kids to accept me as their “teacher” ?cause I always looked young for my age. But I didn’t think much of it until it wouldn’t go away. Finally, I went to the Doctor. You all know how the story goes, the blood chemistry came back with an increased amount of white blood cells and an overactive petuitary imbalance. Cell action and division off the scale.

“Mr. Peters, I’m afraid it’s the Age Regression Virus,” Dr. Somes told me.

“Is there any possibility you’re wrong, Doc? Could it be ANYthing else?”

“I’m afraid not. We’ve had twelve cases over the past eight years, so we’re pretty sure of our findings by now. Is there anyone I can put you in contact with? I have the number for the local AR Support Network.” I thanked him for his time, but assured him I would take care of my own arrangements. Arrangements, it’s like I’m preparing for a funeral. Which in a sense I guess I am. It’s the end of a life, not the physical end, but an end none the less.

The first person I called was my Mother. That was a conversation I dreaded, I just stared at my cell phone for what seemed like an hour before dialing the number.

“Mom, I got back from the Doctor. They tell me. . .God, they’re saying I have that disease that makes people young.”

“What, the Age Regression Virus? Sweety, are you okay?” I could hear her concern, and I really was touched by it, but at the same time, it was so humiliating knowing I had to be talking to her about this, asking her about this.

“I don’t have anywhere to go, Mom. I can’t stay here if it gets bad. I can’t take care of myself if I get, you know, too young.”

“Andrew Michael, you know you have a home here with your Dad and me. Whatever happens, we’ll get through it together.” I could picture Mom preaching from her favorite chair in the living room in Ocala where she loved to talk on the phone. “Right now, Amy and the boys are here of course but we can make room for you, too.” I wanted to kick myself. Amy! Of course! I had forgotten my sister in law and my nephews had been staying with my folks while her husband toured the south China Sea in a Marine boat. He’d been sent off for a seven month cruise, and Amy hadn’t been able to watch two small boys without him, so she’d brought them down to Ocala. One big happy family.

So that’s how I went home. I gave my two weeks’ notice to my school. I couldn’t tell my students why I was leaving, the embarrassment of seeing them picturing me as a helpless brat running home to Mommy and Daddy was too much. It was almost as hard to tell my Principal but I couldn’t just leave him in the middle of the year with no reason or word of why. So, one cool October evening, I packed my Focus with all my worldly possessions and drove the three hours to my parent’s home in Ocala, Florida. Walking into the place that first time as a resident after having lived on my own for five years made me shudder. I knew I was walking in of my own choice, but I didn’t know if I would ever be able to leave it that way.

The first month home was kind of boring. I wasn’t working because there didn’t seem to be much point, I’d have to quit eventually. My parents made enough money that they didn’t need help with the bills. Basically, I helped babysit my nephews. Graig’s almost five and Drew’s almost three. It’s funny but anyone who sees the two of them can’t help but comment that they look like David and me when we were their age. I guess when I hold up some old photos I can kind of see the resemblance myself.

There weren’t many physical changes that first month, just a gradual notice that I was getting slimmer as my metabolism returned to the speed it had been in college when I could eat an entire pizza and burn it off on the walk back to the car. I hit my growth spurt in high school so I didn’t have to worry about suddenly being “knee high to a grass hopper” at least not anytime soon. They say that the typical life cycle of the virus follows a general parabola. The beginning is pretty uniform, and the end the same. But when it gets going, it goes FAST!

Following the directions of the local AR Support Network, I began to attend meetings regularly and I also started this journal of sorts. Psychiatrists claim that when we record our thoughts, it assists in the therapy, the healing process. But that’s so much crap! There IS no therapy, no sense of relief when every day you realize the world seems just a little bit bigger than it did the day before - every waking experience makes you wonder what new challenge you’ll face or hurdle you’ll need to navigate. I look at my journal and it’s a hodgepodge of thoughts and feelings, all in some sort of stream of conscience thinking. Man, Mark Twain would’ve LOVED this!

After the second month, I began to notice some significant changes. My face had the pimples I’d outgrown in high school. My weight was a slender 130, which had been pretty much uniform since tenth grade. I held an old high school photo up to the mirror and compared it to the shot - a match. Making my age about 15.

“Great. . .” I muttered to myself. By law, I’d be turning in my license any day now. My Mom had already laid that law down, the moment I went too young, I lost the right that went with it. I didn’t have to go to school, but she wouldn’t help me break any other laws. “Amy, can you give me a lift to the group meeting? I can’t . . .can’t find my car keys” I finished lamely.

“Sure, but you’ll have to come with me to get Drew back from daycare on the way” she called from the other room. I groaned to myself - it’s funny but since I’ve been diagnosed, I have an aversion to going to any nurseries or daycares. I even hate walking down the baby care aisle at the store. I guess all that junk just reinforced the fact that I’m getting younger, and it might be me wearing or using all that stuff sooner rather than later.

Mom and I would be visiting Dr. Taylor in the next couple of days when they would tell me roughly how young I could expect to get. The oldest cases “bounced” out close to six or seven, but the worst cases could go as far as one or two months. It sickened me to be praying to stop at six, but at least that left me some form of dignity. As an infant, I’d have none. Knowing that gave me a new perspective as Amy and I walked into Li’l Ones that Tuesday afternoon. I stared around the main room, staffed with young women, each responsible for four or five children. I could see by the bulges that almost half were still wearing diapers, and the back of the room was devoted to several changing tables and a potty. My own nephew was just beginning to master toilet training, and Amy had him in Pull ups during that daytime.

“Mommee!” a small excited scream came from one side of the room. I watched Drew come racing over to jump into Amy’s waiting arms.

“Hey, baby, did you have a good day?” she greeted him with that sugary saccharine voice we affect when speaking with either the very young or the very foolish. “What have you been doing, huh, sweety?”

“WereadastoryandhadsnackandlistenedtoatapeofTiggerandthenwehadnaptime!”he couldn’t wait to get a word out. Amy just smiled at him, while passing him over to me while she signed him out. Drew continued to run at a mile a minute as Amy headed to the desk in the front of the room where financial business was conducted.

“Mrs. Peters, if you could just initial this paper, and we’ll get you a receipt for the next month’s fee,” the waiting receptionist greeted. “And who is this you’ve brought with you, a little old for this place, isn’t he?”

“Ask me that again next week, and the answer may change,” Amy said while scribbling on the paper. “Oh Andy, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that!” she exclaimed, looking up. I couldn’t quite keep the look of bitterness off my face, but I managed to hide it be swinging Drew up over my shoulders and heading out the door to the waiting car.

We drove in silence the rest of the way to the meeting.

I’m well into my fourth month, and I hate it.

Physically, I’m about nine, and it shows. Once I went back through middle school, I lost my height. 6 feet faded to 4 ten, making me smaller than anyone in my family but the children. It felt gradual, but I could see it none the less. Amy and my Mom seemed taller and taller every day. And when I dropped back into grade school, the thing I had been fearing would happen did.

Amy began treating me like a babysitter and not my sister in law.

I can’t say I blame her. Hell, I look like my age and she towers over me. People who see us if we go out as a family assume she’s my Mom, for God’s sake. They look at Gandma, Grandpa, Amy, and three little boys. I’ve even heard them asking questions if we’re in line at the check out counter. It’s worse because Mom and Dad work all the time, Graig and Drew are in daycare. So, pretty much it’s Amy and me home together. Right now, Mom lets me make my own choices and stay home without a “sitter.” But I keep seeing her looking at me, and I know it’s only a matter of time before THAT changes.

The meeting with Dr. Taylor was worse than I hoped.

Modern medicine has given medical professionals a pretty good idea of when AR Virus victims will stop. They’ve perfected to within a four month window, which from the outside seems pretty exact. But when he told Mom, he figured I’d stop at 26 months, it means a WHOLE WORLD of difference. If I’m older than two, I have some privelidges. If I’m younger than two, suddenly I’m pretty much a baby and it’s a whole new ball game. I know it could be worse, I tell myself that from time to time. I could be a thumbsucking infant. . .maybe three months old or so. I could be stuck in a body unable to so much as crawl, carried in arms from place to place. Living in a basinet or stroller and relegated to Mommy’ hip.

But I’m sorry,I was 28 friggin year’s old! The thought of sitting on a potty and singing my ABC’s sucks! I taught high school seniors, and now I’d kill just to be one. At this rate, the only experience I’ll have with high schoolers is if Mom pays one to babysit for me.

“Andy!” Amy calls from the den. ”I need to run to Wal-Mart, you wanna come?”

“I guess. Not like I have anything better to do.” I walk into the room and wait for her, as we head to the minivan. Mom sold my car a month ago, and told me she’s put the money in savings for me. Some of the money might help her with “expenses” for me, I shuddered to think what those might mean. When we reached Wally World, Amy headed for the baby section, eliciting a chill from me. It was bad enough in this section when I was taller than she was - so much worse when I wasn’t.

“Drew’s getting better at using his potty every day, don’t you think?” she asked.

“I guess. I don’t really follow him in the bathroom to check” I replied.

“I think these’ll be the last pack of Pull up’s I’ll need to buy for him” Amy smiled as she grabbed one off the shelf. “You have NO idea how much I’m looking forward to THAT! It’ll be great not changing diapers, or dealing with babies. Pretty soon, my little boys will be growing so BIG!” I watched the light dancing on her face, and it sucked. Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud for my nephews and I’m sure Amy will have an easier time when her children are more self dependant. But I couldn’t help but see her sizing me up with her gaze, saying with her eyes that the things her sons COULD do were things I might not be ABLE to do. And in the all too foreseeable future. It brought back flashes of a conversation I’d overheard a week before, that I don’t think Mom or Amy knew about -

“Pam, when exactly did you, you know, train Andy?” It was the question that made me pause as I headed to my room in the hall outside the den.

“Let’s see, we moved from Ft. Lauderdale right before he turned two. I saw he had to be on the potty for pre school. May-be 27 months? Yeah, it was after his second birthday. Why?”

“Well, you heard what Dr. Taylor said. He might go either way. He could be right in there, or he might be. . .younger?” I could picture Amy’s face as she asked the question. Her almost eager look at the prospect that my Mom, who never failed to offer advice on the right way to raise kids, my Mom who always reminded Amy of when my brother and I had met certain physical milestones, my Mom who worked so hard to show how superior she was as a parent, might in the really near future, have a toddler underfoot to care for. “If that happens, what do you want to do? Drew’s almost out of Pampers, and obviously Graig doesn’t need ?em anymore. Should I throw away the extra or do you. . .want me to put them somewhere just in case?”

Please, I thought to myself. Please, Mom, just tell Amy to toss them in the garbage. Tell her to go to Hell, for all I care. ANYTHING!

“No, you’re right. It’d be good to have them around, if Andy needs them. God, he’s small enough now he could almost fit into one. We’ll see where he stops, but I’d like to have diapers here if he DOES need them.”

“Sure. God knows, you’ve changed enough of MY children’s diapers, the least I can do is change YOURS!” Amy exclaimed.

Let me tell you I’ve never felt so small in my life.

Part 2

I’ve been about four for almost two weeks now. And I hate it. It would be bad enough if I were the only kid in the house, but not I’m the friggin MIDDLE child! Graig loved pointing out he’s older and bigger than me. He loves to show he can do things I can’t, like drink soda. After my last jump in youth, Mom cut off my caffeine supply.

“It stunts growth, Andrew Michael. And at your size, you need all the growth you can get!” she’d admonished me. How could I fight her? At this height, I could barely open the fridge door without help. Our three dogs had gone from being my companions to giants in my eyes, especially our Great Dane. I could ride him like a pony. My size also began to work against me in the propensity for my Mom to carry me. Amy and Dad did it less often, I guess because Amy still had a younger child to watch out for and didn’t know Dad’s reason. But if I was alone with Mom, more than likely, she’s sweep me up in her arms. I had also become more and more aware of the pack of Pull Ups in Graig and Drew’s room. Right now, I was still in my own room, but I was really afraid that if I actually grew younger than ?Drew, they’d put me in the nursery with him and Graig would get my room. I was still big enough to use the bathroom but it seemed like every day I’d see Mom measuring them with my underwear in the morning.

“Hey, Andy, here’s your breakfast” Amy said in a run around the house. She seemed to always be in some kind of rush, it seemed. “Eat it in the car.” I grabbed the proffered Pop-Tart out of her hand and followed her toward the car. Drew and Graig were already in their seats, and I piled into mine. I couldn’t ride in the front seat anymore, but at least I could use a booster. Drew rode in the carseat. Mom and Amy didn’t think it made sense to arrange for daycare or school in the morning until after I bounced. At four years old, I was praying for that to happen any day now. So, Amy stayed home with me while the boys went to L’il Ones. I had to go along for the trip, since Mom and Amy had laid down the ground rules that I couldn’t take care of myself. Mom was terrified I’d fall and hurt myself and not be able to call for help. Dad worked at a local pharmacy, but his hospital schedule changed erratically.

As Amy pulled up at the drive, she hopped out and unbuckled the boys. Then, she reached over and unsnapped me. “What’s up?” I asked.

“I have to drive to Gainesville to do some shopping at the mall today, so your Mom and I arranged for you to stay here til I get the boys.”

“WHAT??!! I am NOT staying with no grubby preschoolers all day, no way!” I tried to hop back into the seat, but Amy simply picked me up and dropped me to the ground. Drew had already come over and taken her right hand, so she grabbed my right with her left and proceeded to DRAG me into the building. “Amy! Let me go! I can come with you, or I can go to work with Mom! I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE!” As I kept shouting, I became aware that all the eyes in the room were on me. Parents dropping their kids off had stopped and turned, daycare workers couldn’t keep the smile off their faces, and the kids were just staring “Why’s everybody looking at me, Amy?” I asked her out of the corner of my mouth.

“Well you’re acting like a spoiled brat right now.” Amy continued to walk to the check in counter. “Drew, Graig, and ANDREW Peters” she presented me as she signed us all in. Drew and Graig took off to find whoever of their friends was there, leaving me with Amy and the clerk. “He’s just here for the day, and I hope he isn’t too much trouble. Karen called you about this, right?”

“Sure did - said you’d be bringing in a little boy. Looks about right! Now, does he have any special needs?”

“Nope, he doesn’t have any food allergies, usually naps around twelve, and he goes potty just fine. . .MOST of the time.” Amy’s eye caught a wickedish gleam, and I felt a bit of a cold sweat trickle down my shirt.

“Am. . .”

“ALTHOUGH,” Amy cut me off, “He sometimes pees in his naptime. So, you could give him a Pull Up, just for that. Otherwise, he should be no problem, and I’ll get all three this afternoon.” With that, Amy grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

“Amy, wait!” I called after her, but one of the attendants walked up behind me and grabbed my shoulder.

“Hey, there, I’m Monica, what’s YOUR name?” she asked sweetly. I figured her age to be 20 or 21, probably some girl trying to put herself through college and working here to pay the bills. She stood about 5’ 5’’ with curly brown hair and a pleasant face. Her tight white shirt had Tigger grinning maniacally at all the world and her beige kaki pants ended at midcalf.

“My NAME” I enunciated clearly, ”is Andrew Michael Peters and I am NOT in a good mood right this moment. I shouldn’t have to be here with a bunch of crackersnatchers. Please, kindly inform me where the bathroom is so I can relieve my bladder and then stay out of my way.” I looked up at her (and it was quite a bit “up”) with a menacing intensity, but all I got for my trouble was a crinkle around her mouth as she bit back a laugh in my face.

“Don’t worry about that one, Mon” the secretary called. “He’s Mrs. Peter’s brother-in-law, you know, the one with ARS?”

“Oh!” Monica exclaimed. “I’m really sorry, you just look like you fit right in here. There’s a boy in my class who came down with it, and he bottomed out at seven. Name’s Rick, does he go to your meetings?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know him, but it must be nice. Wish I could’ve bounced that old.”

“7 is old?!” Monica exclaimed. “I never thought of it that way. But I guess to a little kid like you, that makes sense. OH! Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound like you’re a baby.”

“You don’t need to apologize, I feel it all the time. Everyday, I think more of my “maturity” is slipping away. I get to do a little less, experience a little less, BE a little less. Some people have celebrations when they grow UP and get to do new things, but my life’s going the other direction.”

“Wow, you’re a regular day Merlin, aren’t you?” she asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“According to the legend, Merlin KNEW about the future, because he lived life in reverse! So, as all his friends got older and older, he kept right on going the other way. I’m taking a British Lit course and we just finished a unit on King Arthur.”

“That’s pretty close to how I feel,” I told her, warming up to this girl. Maybe THIS was one of the people I could grow close to, and if I had to be in this stupid baby business, maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad to spend the day with her. The first two hours weren’t all that bad, so I just hung around Monica. Some of the other kids tried to get me to play with them, and I even built a fort out of some blocks with ?Drew. The rest of the time, I helped Monica out with some of her jobs, serving juice and fig newtons for snack, and wiping off some of the tables after art class splattered them with paint.

“Well, you’re handy to have around!” she complimented me. I have to admit, it put a smile on my face.

After lunch, the ages were divided and they began to prepare us for “Nap” time. “Andy, come over here” one of the attendants called, I’d learned her name was Charlotte. I went over to the back of the room and thought she was going to ask me to go potty before nap. Instead, she simply bent over and began to undo my pants!

“Hey, stop! What’re you DOING?” I shouted.

“We need to get your Pull-Up on for nap” she told me while she unsnapped my pants.

“I don’t NEED a stupid Pull-Up. Amy was kidding with you, I go potty just fine!” I tried to struggle with Charlotte, but she was big and I wasn’t. In moments, my pants were down around my ankles and then they were off. Then, she grabbed one of the Pull-Ups behind her and handed it to me. “I said I don’t NEED it!” I cried. I could feel the hot, wet tears streaming down my face. I knew my nose was scrunched in, and running, snot falling on my face and I DIDN’T CARE! Everyday was a struggle to hold onto one more spot of adulthood. If I put on that training pant, if I gave up my underwear, it might seem like such a small sacrifice. But I had learned over the last few weeks that small sacrifices were the only kind I had left.

“Andrew, you can put on that Pull-Up, or I can grab a pamper and I can put it ON YOU!” Charlotte told me. I lowered my head as I pulled the Pull-Up on. It crinkled a little and I felt the padding up front, really thick underwear. Then, I bent down to pull my pants back up. “Oh no, Andrew, those stay off til after nap time. Doesn’t make any sense if we have to take it off and change you.”

CHANGE ME! Like I’m an infant. Some stupid baby. Change me. Charlotte led me to one of the mats in a room at the back. It was only as I walked in that I noticed Monica had been watching the whole fight.

Part 3

I’ve been 3 for the better part of a month now. The virus seems to be tapering off, and I can only hope that my regression has finally been arrested. God, it’s bad enough what I lost to get here. My baby blond hair covers my face and Mom LOVES taking me to get hair cuts. I’m easily the smallest member of the family now, although I’m fighting with them on whether Drew’s older or I am. Regardless, Drew only wears Goodnights when he goes to bed now.

And I wear Pull-Ups all the time.

It’s awful. When we go out together, I end up going with someone to the bathroom every time someone has to go. Usually, it’s Mom or Amy. They’ll take one of the boys and I go along to see if I have pee or poo. They don’t even call it crap or piss. “Do you have to go potty, Andy?” they’ll ask. Or “Somebody need to go pee-pee?” Yeah, it’s bad enough that I rarely even see the inside of the Men’s restroom anymore, except when it’s a rare time and Dad needs to use the bathroom. Otherwise, I get dragged into the Women’s with whichever adult I’m with. Usually, we all end up in the stall like some kind of bizarre circus troupe.

But at least it IS a Pull Up. I’ve been in the room when some mother was changing her kid’s diaper on the changing table. He’d be flat on his back with no freedom, no control, nothing to do but lay there while his mom undid the dirty diaper, wiped him down, and slid on a fresh, dry one.

The sheer humiliation, the feeling of complete helplessness and lack of control. I go to bed each night terrified of that happening to me in the morning. It’s bad at the help sessions too. They split us into age groups. No point in putting six and seven year olds in the same rooms as infants. But there’s also no point in putting the one and two year olds in the same group as three and four year olds. And I’m one of the smallest ones in that group. Only Jamie wears Pull ups like me. Any more slipping and I move into the toddler room with the changing tables, cribs, and sippy cups.

Everything pretty much came to a head on Tuesday, November 15th. The boys were with their Mom’s grandparents who came into town for a visit so it was just Amy and me. She needed to swing by the bank and move some money around and once again, I was along for the ride.

In my car seat, as per state law.

“Andy, we could be out for a couple of hours. Did you go potty?”

“I didn’t have to go,” I told her. I have to use a potty chair now, ?cause Mom doesn’t want me to fall off the big toilet and hurt myself. She also wants me to tell someone when I did go (I even have to report to Graig if no one else is around).

“Why don’t you try again before we go? I don’t want any accidents in my car!” Accidents, sheesh, she SOUNDED like my freakin Mom.

“I SAID I don’t have to GO!”

“Hey, don’t take that tone of voice with me, young man. I don’t let my own children talk to me that way, let alone someone who’s younger than they are. I’m old enough to BE your Mother.” I could watch the red flash across Amy’s face, her tone reminiscent of times I’d heard her scold Graig or ?Drew. “Come on, we’re leaving.” I didn’t notice until she belted me into the car she’d forgotten to grab MY Pull up bag. (Now that ?Drew only wore them at night, he had proudly passed the bag to the “little kid”)

We were maybe twenty minutes from home when it hit me, that feeling of pressure that you know is going to come out. As I’d grown smaller, my window of responding had also grown smaller and smaller. And that urge, it hit! I squeezed my legs together! “AMY!” my small boyish voice called from the back of the car, “I have to pee NOW!”

“Honey, I told you to go before we left! Hold it and I’ll see if I can find us a gas station.

”Hurrryyyy!!!” I whimpered. I squeezed my eyes closed as if that would make a difference. See, I had NEVER wet my pants since getting this small. There were a couple of times where they were a little damp, and I had wet the bid a few times. But NEVER lost control and flooded by pants in the day time. But this time was different. This was Niagra about to burst loose. . .

“Noooo!!!” I cried and felt it go. It went out in a rush, the warmth going from my tiny penis (which did feel good now that it was out of me) but quickly cooling as it hit the car temperature. But it was too much for the Pull up to hold or maybe it was a bad Pull up ?cause it started to leak all over my pants and the carseat.

“Did you wet?” Amy asked. Without taking her eyes off the road, she felt around to me and put her hand down my pants, feeling the soaking wet cloth AND the drenched Pull up. “Of, Andy, you’re drenched! I told you to pee before we left.”

“I didn’t have to GO then,” I whined. It wasn’t my fault. I tried to go, I really did.

“If you were really potty trained, you would have known this was coming. You don’t pee this much without feeling it a long way off.” Amy pulled the car to a stop at a Shell station. She walked to the back seat, pulled open the door and began looking around. “Shit, where’s your diaper bag?”

“It is NOT a diaper bag,” I said indignantly. “It’s a Pull up bag.” But Amy ignored me and continued to hunt for it.

“Crap, we must have left it at the house. Traffic going back across town will be murder and I still have to get to the bank and move that money for the bills tomorrow.” Suddenly, Amy snapped her fingers. She quickly popped the trunk, rooted around for something out of sight and came back with . . .a disposable diaper and some wipes! “Can’t have you sitting in pee, it’s not clean. But I also can’t trust you not to wet again. Glad I still had a few of these for ?Drew in case of emergency.”

“Nuh uh, I am NOT wearing a diaper, keep away, stop,” but Amy already had unbuckled me from the care seat and proceeded to lay me over on the open seat. Quickly, she jerked my pants down to my ankles, leaving just my wet Pull up. The Pull up was the kind that could be undone and Amy wasted no time at removing it. I struggled, I tried, but she had me pushed against the seat with nowhere to go and this was a Mother who had changed two diapers at once before. One small 3 year old didn’t have a chance. Holding me down with one hand, she grabbed a wipe from the pack she had also pulled out of the trunk and slid it over and around my groin. Then, she tickled me, which caused me to lean to one side. Amy caught my legs in her left hand and slid the pamper under me with her right. Then, she tickled me on my other side and as I shifted, she taped the flaps. In less than sixty seconds, I was in a disposable diaper for the first time in nearly 30 years.

“There,” Amy said with satisfaction. “That should hold up until we get home.” Then, Amy snapped me back into the car seat, got back into the driver’s seat, and turned the car back onto the road. “Can’t wait to see the look on everyone’s face when we get home, babe. You look really cute in that diaper.”

And all I could think for the rest of the trip was what Mom would do or say when she saw me. Somehow, I just knew that my Pull ups were a thing of the past, just like all of my old life. But the new life for Andy Peters, well I better get used to the thick plasticky feeling around my waste. And the sound of scrunching that came whenever I shifted.

I felt a small tear begin to roll down my cheek and this time didn’t try to fight it.

 

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