Her morning shower had been less than pleasant. Wearing the diaper and baby clothes had been fun last night and at breakfast, but the playful veil of research and experiencing things from her charge’s point of view had faded the moment her clothes and very full Huggies Size 8 had plopped to the bathroom floor (doubly so where the diaper was involved).
Diapers were less much fun when you had to change yourself. Plopping down on her poopy bottom and wriggling around in her kitchen chair had only made more work for Lynn to clean up. Not all of it had stayed near the back.
Lynn was grimacing as hot water and a rough washcloth scrubbed every inch of her skin below the waist and above the knee caps. She no longer felt silly or squishy or messy; no such infantile words to cushion the disgust. Lynn simply felt unclean.
Even when her children were so disgusting that a simple change wouldn’t do it, Lynn was there with them; plopping them in the tub and telling them it’d be okay after a quick rinse and a fluffy towel. Just then she was wishing the same for herself; hoping that her mother would burst in and start telling her more of the same.
No such luck. Mom wouldn’t be up till at least noon the way she slept after a late night. More independence and agency for less contact and reliance on others; that was the tradeoff with growing up. (A bad trade, at that.) Now that she was fully grown, she barely saw her mother anymore: They were two people living two very different, very separate lives who just happened to live in the same house. No more Mommy to kiss boo-boos or tell her daughter everything was going to be alright when she was embarrassed or sad or hurt.
The water had gone cold by the time Lynn stepped out of the shower. She stepped over the discarded shit filled mass like it was a landmine. Teeth gritted, she shuffled the wretched thing into the garbage bag she’d smuggled in from the kitchen. She’d almost tossed in the cute shorts and shirt, but it didn’t seem right to throw away a set of perfectly good clothes.
Dried off, but naked, Lynn dragged the trashbag and clothes back to her bedroom. She’d dispose of the black Hefty after she was dressed more appropriate. The purple shorts and shirt went into her hamper. They’d pass at a glance.
Lynn opened her dresser drawer and grabbed a pair of panties. But she didn’t put them on. The shorts and shirt had passed. For some reason, Mom hadn’t freaked out about the diaper either. Maybe she had though...maybe it was just a quiet freakout. A “we’ll talk about this in the morning” kind of anger. Being a nurse, Mom was in fact good at holding her temper for unruly patients. Part of triage was addressing the most immediate need before everything else.
That didn’t explain everyone else. Not even the people on the bus had given her anything more than a cursory glance. Maybe the toddler outfit wasn’t babyish enough? They’d just thought she was a raver? Maybe the popular girls were already wearing short shorts and toddler tops? Lynn wouldn’t have known.
She looked at the diaper bag still by her bed. How to test her theory? She’d need two things: A friend who could keep a secret if something went wrong, and a new outfit.