All my aunts, uncles and cousins were lounging on the couch, watching some pop-star performing during the half-time show of the football game. They didn’t notice me at first when mommy pulled me into the room, her hand still gripped firmly around my arm. But once they did, the whispers started.
“Look at her pants.”
“Did she really pee herself?”
“I told you she wasn’t actually potty-trained.”
Mommy practically dragged me to the center of the room, right in front of the TV.
“Listen up everybody. Listen up. Annabelle has something she needs to say,” mommy said, turning to look down at me.
“Annabelle, why don’t you tell everyone how old you are?”
My mumbled response was incomprehensible, but the laughter that followed from my relatives was crystal clear.
“Stop muttering. Speak up. We didn’t hear you.”
“Eight.”
“You want to tell everyone what you just did in your pants?”
I emphatically shook my head sideways. The tears were already beginning to flow.
“I’ll do it for you then. Annabelle’s pants are wet because she just peed in them, because even though she is eight years old she’d rather do that than go to the bathroom like a big girl.”
Tears rolled down my face, going across my cheeks before following down to the floor.
Then the laughter came. Laughter, laughter, and more laughter. From every corner of the room they were all laughing at me.
“Mommy… please…”
“Please what? You were the one who said you were a big girl this morning. You told me you could keep your panties dry.”
Everyone kept laughing, except for an aunt and uncle, ones I hadn’t ever met before, who had hadn’t brought along any kids of their own. They stood by themselves in the far corner, scowls on their faces.
Another trickle of pee leaked out involuntarily, splattering on the floor and drawing gasps from my audience. Daddy gave mommy a look, and then whispered in her ear.
“So disgusting,” daddy said, as he grabbed me from underneath both my arms and hauled me away to my bedroom.
The spanking began without the usual lecture. At least daddy had been in such a rush to get it started that he hadn’t bothered with grabbing a paddle and was instead using his bare hands. Not that it still wasn’t painful. I thought that by now I should have used up all my tears, but I must have found another reservoir of them, because the tears kept flowing without any pause until the spanking concluded.
After the spanking, daddy laid me down on the bed. Back to pull-ups for me. I tried to be not too upset about it. That was the status-quo after all. Panties were just the exception.
But he wasn’t holding a pull-up in his hand; he had a diaper instead. The type with the Sesame Street characters I use at night or in the car when we went on long road-trips. I squirmed away and jumped off the bed, but daddy grabbed me and placed me back on the bed. He held both my legs in one hand so I couldn’t move.
“You have three seconds to stop or your bottom is getting another spanking. With the paddle this time.”
He won. I knew that threat wasn’t a bluff. Though the tears had stopped, I still sniffled as daddy taped the diaper on me with a well-practiced efficiency. It was bad enough to have to wear a pull-up around my cousins, but a diaper. I could already hear their taunts ringing in my ears.
Once I was off of the bed, I started to walk to the dresser to grab a pair of jeans, something that would hopefully hide that I was wearing a diaper.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m getting dressed.”
“Dressed? You already are dressed.”
The implications of that statement were immediately clear.
“Daddy. No. Please. Everyone will see it.”
“You should have thought about that before you decided to pee your pants. Now, come on. No more hiding in your bedroom.”