Like Frankenstein’s Monster rising from the slab, Lynn sat straight up out of bed. She had been cozy and warm; tucked in even! But she shouldn’t be! She’d passed out sprawled on her bed. She hadn’t been sleeping had she?
She’d only meant to doze. To nap. To relish the feeling of... of….of victory...of getting away with something...of being naughty and clever! She’d planned to just rest her eyes. Then she would have hit the shower, cleaned up, ditched the diaper and changed into some clean pajamas before hitting the hay. Okay, she’d never exactly formulated that plan, but that HAD been the plan, because why wouldn’t it be?
Common sense dictated that that would have been the plan. Simple as that.
The sunlight flooding her room and the morning birds chirping outside her window told her that she’d rested her eyes for more than a few minutes. The diaper was nowhere near as warm as it had been ,but it remained almost as squishy. Not unpleasant at all.
It was a wonder that kids like Bradley tried to take their diapers off at all, it was so comfortable. Truth be told, though, Bradley was more of an outlier among her clientele. Bradley took his diapers off because he could. Not anymore though. Not for a couple of days at least based on the Luvs she’d left on his changing table.
Crawling out of bed, Lynn pulled the sheets back and checked her mattress with one hand, while squeezing the Huggies Size 8 with the other. The diaper had held! No leaks!
A strange thought: But why had she woken up under the covers? Lynn didn’t know, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
Still possessed of a certain morning lethargy, and a twinge of modesty, Lynn picked her discarded shorts off the floor and wriggled them over her hips. Gazing at her reflection, Lynn saw the obvious bulge underneath her shorts. The waistband sneaking out the back did nothing for subtlety, either. The only thing that would make people think she wasn’t wearing a Huggies was the assumption that people her age didn’t have Huggies that fit them.
The professional sitter shrugged. “I can toss the diaper later,” she said to herself. Like the tinge of alcohol in a fruity drink, she could only barely taste the lie she’d just told herself. “Got more experimenting to do.” In its own way, that much was true. She’d slept in a wet diaper, but she’d yet to eat or drink in one. What better way to continue to relate to her charges?
This was going to be the last diaper she wore for a while, so she might as well get the full mileage out of it.
“Time for some coffee.”
Her steps to the kitchen and past her sleeping mother’s room were broken only by the continued crinkle from under her shorts (even if the crinkle was far less crisp than it had been a few hours ago).
It wasn’t a chore to put some coffee on in the kitchen, or pop some bread in the toaster; more of a routine, really. Still, it was an annoying routine, like brushing one’s teeth or wiping one’s ass.
Something about toast didn’t feel right, either. Too bland. Not exciting. Not special enough. A quick inspection of the freezer showed Lynn what she was really craving. “Waffles…” They weren’t as good as the homemade ones that Mom whipped up on special occasions, but a couple minutes in the toaster and they’d hit the spot sure enough.
For some reason, Lynn found herself getting extra cream and sugar for her coffee, too. Rationally, Lynn knew she needed the coffee to wake up, but her tongue was absolutely craving sweetness. A more babyish wardrobe required a less refined palette evidently.
Pouring herself a fresh mug, Lynn added in as much cream and sugar as she could before taking a sip. “Bleh,” she grimaced. Too hot. Not enough sugar. Caramel syrup stirred in and some ice to cool it made it better. Not great. But good enough. STILL too much coffee, which was odd. Lynn normally liked her coffee black.
The waffles popped up, steaming hot and crispy. Just like Pavlov’s dog, Lynn started to drool. Just as she was plating the waffles, Lynn realized something else: Her bladder still ached, and now that the initial adrenaline rush from awakening in a most unusual manner had dissipated, she needed to relieve herself. Badly. She’d wet and fallen asleep. But she hadn’t wet while asleep. Her tank was full.
Closing her eyes, Lynn tipped the coffee mug back and drank. At the same time, she relaxed her bladder, filling the diaper even more. Cold coffee going in one end, warm pee-pee coming out the other. And still the diaper held. It was quickly becoming a bloated sagging thing, but no stray droplets were making their way past the leakguards. It just took them a little longer to splash around before being absorbed by the core.
“Good,” she said. Taking her plate of waffles, Lynn smothered them in butter and syrup and sat down at the kitchen table. She paused briefly, feeling the wet squelch beneath her. Checking her shorts, she neither saw nor felt any of the telltale signs of a leak; no wet patches or half-moons on the back of her thighs or trickles on the inside of her legs.
Digging into the waffles, the world blanked out for Lynn as her tongue luxuriated in the breakfasty goodness. She was a tad over half finished when her stomach started rumbling. The coffee was having another effect, besides waking her up.
Without breaking her stride, Lynn knew what she had to do. Might as well get the full experience, she rationalized to herself. Still forking in bits of waffle, Lynn lifted her seat and began to push, filling the seat of her pants like a natural. For whatever reason, focusing on her breakfast made it easier to overcome her potty training. Wasn’t that what potty training was, anyway: Learning to prioritize going to the toilet over other, more interesting things? That’s why toddlers tended to be so hard to potty train. They had far more interesting things to worry about that going to sit on some dumb chair with a hole in it.
Speaking of chairs, Lynn sat back down on hers the moment she was done pushing, giggling nervously as the mess spread around her backside. It’s what a real baby would have done. She wiggled her rump a bit, trying to get comfy. No blowout, it seemed. This diaper was magical in more ways than just size, she deduced.
If a grown-up had checked her, Lynn knew she would have been whisked away and made to lie down to be changed right then and there. She’d changed kids right on their living room floor or in their cribs for less. Sometimes picking a baby up and taking them to a changing table was just tempting fate (and more cleanup)
Maybe it was the caffeine hitting her brain, or the peculiar feeling of not-quite-leaking, but the little hamsters started to run on the wheel of Lynn’s memory.. Something enough to make Lynn spit the rest of her coffee back into her mug. That’s when Lynn realized. “Mom…” Her mother had seen her like this… in her bedroom. She only vaguely remembered it, like a half awake dream, but she remembered it all the same. Mom had seen her. Mom had CHECKED her. Mom had tucked her into bed!
But why?! The answer didn’t come to Lynn because of her diaper, but because of the rest of her outfit. Besides the Huggies which were threatening to fall down her hips if she moved the wrong way, she was wearing the same exact shirt and shorts she’d been wearing when Bradley’s parents had come home. They’d been curious about the outfit, but only passingly so.
They hadn’t seemed all that concerned to see their child’s babysitter in something more suited for a preschooler than a college student. “Maybe there’s more magic to this than I thought,” she supposed. “Maybe this makes baby clothes AND makes it seem normal for me to be wearing them.”
In a twisted backwards sort of way, it made sense. If the magic baby bag only made baby clothes, then the person wearing them must be perceived as a baby...otherwise the clothes wouldn’t be “baby clothes” anymore. Had Lynn not bought a magical bag that could manufacture such things, she would’ve thought it ridiculous.
But she had...
Stories of Age/Time Transformation