paddedlittleparadise: “Now, now, honey. Be a good girl and let me check your diaper, okay? Don’t you
paddedlittleparadise: “Now, now, honey. Be a good girl and let me check your diaper, okay? Don’t you remember what Dr. Bharat told us about those control issues of yours?”His voice was gentle but firm, and even as stared imploringly up at him, struggling against his solid grip on my arm, I felt myself relenting. He was indeed right; our counselor had repeatedly warned me about my controlling side, how I never wanted to let anyone help me, how I couldn’t bear having someone help me with anything. Of course I remembered - that’s how I’d ended up in these ludicrous clothes. But remembering and actually stopping that behavior were two very different things, I’d found…Our marriage had been in trouble after only the first few months; Doug never seemed to catch on to all the super important things I did to keep the household running, while he repeatedly insisted that he did want to help but that I’d never let him. Things got to such a point that my mom begged us to see a marriage counselor; we’d been reluctant, but when she paid an obscene amount for five entire sessions in advance, we couldn’t really say no without looking like utter douchebags. So we went, despite my own deep misgivings.The real issue, so the counselor claimed, was control and power exchange. I seemed to have major issues letting go, while Doug simply needed to be more assertive of his own needs and desires. She’d strongly recommended something she said was a new sort of couples therapy called PEAR - Power Exchange through Age Regression. Basically, she said, by letting one partner virtually regress to a very young age, they would inevitably cede control to their partner; this partner would as a result be obliged to care for them and exercise power over them. The idea was that by correcting the imbalance of power and control, the relationship would proceed much more smoothly.It had sounded silly at first, but we couldn’t very well refuse to follow her advice. And really, I’d figured, how bad could it be to let Doug cut up my food for me or something? But what I hadn’t been prepared for was the radical regression she’d prescribed - and which Doug actually seemed delighted to implement. They weren’t sending me back to first grade or preschool; no, my “issues” were far too extensive for that. Dr. Bharat informed me in no uncertain terms that for the sessions to be a success, I’d be regressed back to the virtual age of a two-year-old for as long as necessary until we achieved results.God, do you have any idea how embarrassing life is as a two-year-old? Let me tell you, it’s no picnic. Can’t choose your own food, eat without a bib, or go without regular naps. Can’t brush your own teeth, go outside alone, dress yourself, or watch any more scary shows. (Dammit, Game of Thrones!) And worst of all, you can’t use the bathroom anymore.Yep, that’s right. It it’s been back to diapers for me. Honestly, after the first week they’ve sort of become second nature; I’m almost getting used to the crinkle and waddle wherever I go. But I’m never, ever going to get over the humiliation of Doug checking me and changing me whenever I need it. Because, yes - I have to use them too, for both, erm, functions.“You’re not a big girl anymore, honey,” he chided now, gently pulling my hand away from my backside, where I had defensively sought to keep him from examining my embarrasingly wet diaper. “Little babies like you need diaper checks, and that’s precisely what I’m going to do.” I whimpered discontentedly behind my massive pacifier - another prop of the entire regressive charade. I could hear the smile in his voice. “Now remember; you’re not going back to big girl life until you start being happy about diaper checks!”I sighed and suckled once more at my pacifier, blushing as I felt his fingers slip into the soggy padding encasing my butt. Sure, whatever. I didn’t really have much choice at this point. And after all, this was all child’s play - quite literally - compared to the one giant monster still lurking in the back of my mind.Whatever will we tell my mom when she asks how counseling is going? Image Credit: ABDreams.comPlease keep my caption intact if reblogging; as long as you do, may the odds be ever in your favor. -- source link