As far as I know I was potty trained at a pretty regular age and apart 
from the odd accident I remained dry until I hit 8. For some reason not 
long after my birthday I started wetting the bed. It seemed like for a 
while I would wake up every morning soaked and after the first couple 
of nights that I seriously messed my pyjama pants my parents decided to 
put me back into diapers. Of course I was horrified when I came home 
from school one day to be informed by my mother of the new regime. She 
gave me a tour of the new facilities. As I climbed the stairs I was 
first confronted with a giant bag of youth disposable diapers sitting 
in the hall outside my room, (this clearly was not going to be 
concealed from my siblings). Then I was led into the bathroom to see a 
spacious diaper pail, all the creams, powders and wipes etc (all 
conspicuously baby products) lined up along the side and leaning 
against the wall, god knows where my parents got it from, an oversized 
changing mat. Finally, back in my room I was shown the neatly drawn-up 
chart on which my triumphs and failures were to be recorded. I cried 
and cried as she took me around but although I would have given 
anything not to be put in diapers. I did not raise my voice in 
objection for at least now I wouldn't wake up cold and reeking and 
anyone who's woken up to the mess of a pooped bed would prefer anything 
to confronting that again.

I spent the rest of that day dreading bedtime. My brother and sister, 
who were already in their mid to late teens, were courteous not to 
remind me of my renewed status as baby and my family cheerfully tried 
to avert my thoughts for it was plain to see I was terribly unhappy.

Mealtime came and went and was closely followed by bath time, 
throughout which time my mother began to become increasingly brisk at 
each new outburst of sniveling. My mother fetched me out of the bath 
quickly toweled me down and then rather then helping me into my pyjamas 
she lead me naked through to my bedroom. I was sat on my bed feeling 
stunned as my mother left the room to fetch the bits and pieces. This 
was the moment I had been dreading, not just for the previous few hours 
but ever since the wetting began.

I heard her outside the room rustling the plastic wrapper open and 
drawing out the crisp white diaper. In she came again unfolding it as 
she walked, the bottle of powder under her shoulder. She laid it out 
open on the thickly carpeted floor of my room and instructed me, a 
little too sternly perhaps, to come over and lie down on it, I hadn't 
even noticed the tears in my eyes. I started to protest that I could do 
it myself but it was clear that she wasn't in a mood to be reasoned 
with so mutely did as she said.

Memories of babydom came flooding back to me as I lay there with legs 
spread revealingly and the soft lightly crinkling diaper under my bum. 
She smiled at me with a slight tinge of pity as she knelt down at my 
feet and gently lifted my ankles, for I was still just about small 
enough for her to perform this one hand, while softly patted the 
perfumed powder generously around my diaper area. Finally, she laid me 
down again and pulled the front through my legs, the plastic fringes 
tickling my inside legs as they went, and pulling up firmly to avoid 
any leaks she taped the sides tightly across my middle.

After standing me upright she ran her finger all around each of the leg 
bands and when she was satisfied she patted me on the bottom as mothers 
seem to be want to do with there newly diapered babies. As I was 
finally put into my pyjamas I was told that penalties would be severe 
if the diaper was tampered with, for this was before the days of 
refastenable tapes, but how they expected me to use the loo on the rare 
occasion that I did wake up in time I don't know.

By rights I was allowed at this point in the evening to go downstairs 
for a bedtime snack and a story on the sofa but I was not just ready to 
face my siblings in such a degrading state (my pyjama bottoms would not 
come up over the top of the diaper so it was clearly exposed each time 
my top lifted up). Besides every step I took reminded with a rustle of 
the bulk between my legs so I opted for an early night and climbed into 
bed. As I lay there in the light coming in through the door from the 
landing I explored the new garment and cried myself to sleep.