Falling into Mommy’s Arms (A Diaper Regression Story) — Part 4

The following story contains adult content and is intended only for adult readers over the age of 18. Any characters depicted in adult situations are over the age of 18. This story is entirely fictional and has been written and shared for entertainment purposes only.

I scrunched my face in discomfort as my Mommy pulled me by the wrist down the crowded grocery aisle.

I was forced to walk bow-legged, toddling as my fresh load of poopy mess squished and settled into the crotch and back of my diaper as I walked.

The fresh icky load was quickly growing hot, stinky and heavy between my legs and up against my butt, smushing and chafing between my thighs.

And the customers around us were all wrinkling their noses as they stepped aside in confusion and alarm, at what was obviously the smell of a dirty diaper approaching, but with the only boy they saw clearly much too old to be possibly responsible for such a thing.

To make matters worse, half-way down the aisle, I suddenly had to halt and freeze in place—

While my body abruptly involuntarily squatted down again and—

FLRTTT

FLRRRRTTTTT

FLRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

I startlingly exploded with three more mounds of hot, smelly poop into my already packed pamper.

I slowly opened my eyes back up, my cheeks burning red in horror at my apparent absolute loss of bowel continence, while my Mommy waited before me impatiently.

As I slowly moved to stand back up—

Hiiiiisssssssssssssssssssssssssss

I flinched and winced as I felt the massive gush of my bladder finally losing control as well, this time soiling the front of my diaper.

I breathed an involuntary sigh of pleasure as I suddenly experienced a new wave of euphoric relief. I hadn’t even realized how badly I needed to pee!

But once again, the pleasure of my relief was cut short by the sight of the surrounding customers all staring at me and fanning their noses in disgust at my quickly emanating poopy stench.

Even I was starting to get a whiff of the powerful, poopy stink bomb I had just dropped in the middle of the grocery store, and I was mortified by it.

My Mommy raised an eyebrow. “Are you done?” She flippantly asked.

“I… uh… ummm…” I stammered, not sure what to say. The truth was, at this point, I felt like I had lost all control of whatever was happening to me ‘downstairs’.

My Mommy just rolled her eyes and grabbed my wrist again, continuing our walk down the rest of the long and crowded grocery aisle…

My toddling was now even more pronounced and squishy than before, with the back of my disposable ‘special needs’ diaper now not only packed even worse with my poopy mess, but the front also now extra soggy from my recent flooding with my hot, squishy peepee.

* * *

We finally reached the end of the crowded grocery store aisle, and my Mommy pulled me out past the endcap, where we at least had a little more room.

“Alright, turn around. Let’s inspect the damage,” she instructed in a stern tone.

I blushed and didn’t move. I didn’t understand what she meant. Or perhaps more truthfully… I didn’t want to believe what I was hearing.

“Come on, shirt up, pants down. I need to take a look at the mess you made so we can see what we’re dealing with,” she instructed.

I felt my face burn even redder.

Even though she had walked me down to the end of the aisle, where it was a little less crowded, the whole store was still pretty busy, and I could feel the eyeballs of at least half-a-dozen passing strangers still watching me, no doubt curious about whatever was going on.

“Young man,” my Mommy scolded after another moment where I failed to move. “You are already in big, big trouble. I really don’t think you want to push your luck any further today. So I’m going to ask you again, shirt up, pants down…”

I stared back at her, still too dumbfounded and overwhelmed to move.

“One…” she started counting.

“Two…” she continued.

“Three—“

Before she could finish ‘three’, I snapped out of my daze, instantly dropped my pants to the floor, and obediently held my shirt up. My Mommy smirked, seemingly pleased that such a simplistic, toddler-focused manipulation tactic worked on me like a charm.

I felt a cool breeze on my exposed skin as I now stood in the middle of the grocery store with my pants around my ankles, my shirt all the way up… and my diaper on display.

My poopy diaper on display.

My lumpy, brown, yellow, squishy, visibly poopy diaper on display. Now openly exposed for the whole store to see in all its shameful glory.

I started blushing red hot again in shame and humiliation, cringed and squeezed my eyes shut, just hoping for her to get whatever she needed to do, over with. I felt like just standing there, I could feel the contents of my warm poopy diaper gurgling against my butt, a sensation that made me shiver in disgust.

“Oh, yucky!” my Mommy said, grabbing the back of my poopy diaper and giving it a fresh firm squeeze, causing me to squirm and grimace from the hot stinky mess being pressed into my crevices.

“You made a big, big poopy mess! Didn’t you? Didn’t you, little stinker?” she said as she continued to probe my visibly brown and yellow diaper. Then she had me spin around so she could pull the waistband back and look down the rear. “Oh my gosh, this is the biggest, poopiest mess I’ve ever seen in the back of a diaper on a boy your age. This is one heavy, stinky, poopy diaper, you naughty, naughty boy!” she loudly announced as I felt her hand land beneath the lump on my bottom, lifting and squeezing it.

Then she spun me forward again and began vigorously squeezing and squishing the soaked, yellow, soggy front padding against my genitals.

“And oh my, my, my, you didn’t just have a big poopy accident, you made a big, soggy, yellow, stinky accident in the front of your diaper, too? You didn’t just poop your diaper like a baby, you wet yourself like a baby, too?!” she announced in exaggerated indignation.

And to my immense shame, as she publicly squeezed and pressed the crotch of my wet, stinky, squishy diaper against my peepee and balls, I even began to develop an involuntary hard on. Fortunately, this wasn’t something my Mommy seemed to notice while it was happening. Or at least, I don’t think she did…

At this point, I felt the waterworks start to return. Not the ‘peepee waterworks’ that had led me to soak the front of my diaper… but the teary waterworks that caused me to start crying like a baby again. The full gravity of what I had done was only just starting to set in. That is… what I, a big boy, had done in my diaper. The very thing I swore I didn’t even need to wear at all.

I opened one of my eyes to peek at my surroundings and saw a small crowd of passing shoppers all stopped and staring at me in my mortifying state.

Some of their faces were disgusted at the poopy mess they could see I made in my pants that they now had to smell.

Some of them had looks of perverse amusement. As if watching a car crash, or a freak show.

And one group of girls in the distance even had expressions of pure, sadistic glee, all of them plainly pointing and laughing at me with each other, seemingly delighting in the humiliating spectacle they got to voyeuristically observe.

Under the intense pressure of all the stranger’s humiliating, cruel gazes, the hot, loaded, poopy-filled diaper around my waist and bottom felt 50 pounds heavier with my infantile mess. The stench now filling the air felt 100 times more degrading and shameful by the second.

I suddenly felt like a real-life, totally helpless baby.

“So, what happened, Mr. Stinkerpants, huh?” my Mommy lectured, putting one hand on my shoulder, one hand beneath my poopy bum to keep me still and get my attention. “Why did you make this big poopy mess in your diaper? Only dumb, stinky babies poop their diapers. But you told me you were a big boy. You told me you were potty trained!

“I was expecting you to go this full week of potty-probation without peeing yourself. Instead, you couldn’t even go three days without pooping yourself! What happened, huh? Is this some kind of funny joke to you or something? Making a big stinky mess for all the nice people around us to have to smell now? What happened? Answer me!” she demanded.

I stared up at my Mommy, fresh tears welling up in my eyes.

I gave her the only answer I had.

“I don’t know, Mommy! I’m sorry! But I swear… I didn’t mean it! It was just an accident! I guess I just couldn’t hold it and… and… I guess I’m not a big boy after all!” I squealed, then burst into hysterical tears.

My Mommy took a step back, folded her arms, and quietly watched as I stood before her sobbing in the middle of the supermarket, my pants still around my ankles, my poopy diaper still totally and utterly exposed.

I felt totally helpless and at her mercy. I just didn’t want her to be mad at me.

Finally, after a moment, my Mommy said in a somber tone, “So, I guess the truth finally comes out, huh? That’s what this is.”

“Huh?” I asked, looking up and trying my best to dry my tears with my shirt.

She stared at me for another moment, then let out a long sigh.

“Never mind. We’ll continue this discussion later. For now, let’s go take care of this,” she said, palming the poopy load in the back of my diaper and giving it a firm squeeze, causing me to squirm and blush yet again.

“Now come on, let’s go,” my Mommy said as she pulled my pants up and tugged me by the wrist again. “I guess you’re about to find out that if you act exactly like a diaper pooping baby, I have no choice but to treat you exactly like one. Whether you like it or not.”

* * *

“Excuse me, Sir?” my Mommy said to the teenage grocery store worker in the produce aisle. “My little boy just made a really big stinky mess in his diaper. Can you direct me to the nearest restroom with a diaper changing station?”

I blushed red hot, utterly mortified as the guy looked at my Mommy, then looked down at me standing behind her while she held my hand, and cringed in a familiar mixture of pity and disgust.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I don’t know. The restrooms are across the store though, by the entrance, so I guess maybe there?” he said.

“Thank you so much,” my Mommy said, pulling me along.

As we walked away, I was pretty sure I saw the worker sniff the air and grimace from the lingering nauseating stench of my poopy diaper.

I couldn’t blame him. As we trekked back in the opposite direction, the filthy odor of my poopy diaper mess was really starting to get to me, too. Mainly out of sheer self-consciousness about what I was subjecting everyone else around me to through my humiliating, messy diaper accident.

My Mommy approached another worker, this one a very attractive young woman stocking shelves. I immediately blushed from just how pretty she was. To say that she was out of my league was an understatement… and that’s if I wasn’t currently being trekked around by my Mommy in a poopy pamper!

“Hi, Miss? My little boy here did a pretty nasty number two in his pants and I’m looking for where is best to change his poopy diaper,” my Mommy said, causing my cheeks to ignite in instant embarrassment.

It took a moment for the attractive woman to register that my Mommy was talking about me. That is… the adult-turned-baby currently blushing and hiding shyly behind her.

The young woman stared for a moment. But even after putting it together, before she could even answer the question… she, too, suddenly recoiled in absolute disgust, the stench visibly hitting her like a punch in the face.

“Oh, pee-ew! Yeah, you weren’t kidding, that diaper is stinky! My gosh…” the worker said, spinning in the opposite direction to catch her breath and hold her nose. “I used to work in a daycare center… and boy, I do not miss that smell.”

I was positively mortified.

“I know, I’m so sorry about him having a poopy diaper in your store right now, stinking up the place,” my Mommy said. “Like I said, do you know the appropriate restroom for me to change his diaper in? Does the men’s room have a diaper changing table?”

“You know, I’m not totally sure, but the restrooms are across the store,” the worker said, practically gagging.

“Thank you! We’ll go take a look,” my Mommy said, dragging me along.

I just wanted to die of humiliation as my Mommy continued pulling me through the store, the filthy, sopping, poopy mess in my pants feeling more squishy, uncomfortable, and filthy every minute. I swear, I could almost hear the audible squishing and squelching of my shameful mess with every step.

“Excuse me, Ma’am?” my Mommy asked a somewhat busy worker near the checkout counter, this time a heavyset, middle-aged, homely woman. “Do you know where the diaper changing tables are? My little boy just had a super big poopy accident in his pants, and I need to change his diaper before he stinks up the whole supermarket.”

The middle-aged worker looked up, glanced at me, and flashed an instant look of disgust, somehow lowering my self-esteem even lower.

“Bathrooms are over there,” she nodded across the store, then returned to her task of counting change.

As we walked away, I realized that that was the third employee my Mommy had asked that same exact question.

I didn’t understand why she was doing this, pointlessly inquiring about the same thing over and over again, until it dawned on me… that my Mommy was seemingly just deliberately tormenting me! That is, making me walk in circles around the store in my poopy mess for as long as possible, humiliating me over and over again by telling every employee she could find about my shameful diaper mess.

Or at least, that’s how it felt! I guess I couldn’t be certain that’s why she was doing this…

“Excuse me, sir. Can you help me with finding something in the store? Are you familiar with this location?” my Mommy said to the well-dressed man behind the customer service counter.

“Of course! I’d say I’m pretty familiar, I happen to be the manager,” the charming, attractive middle-aged man said from behind the counter.

“My little boy just made the biggest poopy mess in his diaper while I was shopping,” my Mommy said, making me cringe from embarrassment again. “Do you know where I can change him before he gets a diaper rash? Do the restrooms have diaper changing tables? Specifically the men’s room, as I’m not quite sure I want to subject the women in the ladies room to the unique spectacle that is a grown boy’s adult-sized poopy diaper.”

“Oh!” The manager said, a little red coming to his cheeks as well. “I’m so sorry. Well, I believe the restrooms do have changing tables. But please let me know if you’re still having trouble finding a place to change him.”

“Perfect, thank you so much!” my Mommy said, pulling me along again.

At this point, my eyes were just glued to the floor, desperately trying to avoid seeing any more of the expressions of the victims I was exposing to my shameful, squishy, baby-mess.

Part of me wanted to yell at my Mommy to just take me to the stupid restrooms already. But I didn’t. I knew better.

I knew that even if she was purposefully humiliating me, there was nothing I could do about it, anyway.

I was in the ultimate position of vulnerability—being walked around with a heavy, poopy load in my pants, just desperate at this point to get changed out of my humiliating filth.

I was totally at her mercy. Just like a real baby, helplessly waiting on their Mommy for their diaper change, no matter how badly they needed it. And like a real baby, I felt myself more and more on the verge of descending into wailing, screaming sobs of frustration with every second that passed…

* * *

At long last, my Mommy and I approached the door of the men’s bathroom, which was pretty full of guys going in and out.

“Ah, here we are,” my Mommy said, confidently pulling me into the crowded men’s room. “Remember this place, little stinker? The big boy bathroom? Remember how I tried to make you go in here before we started shopping? Wouldn’t that have been such a better idea for you to have listened to Mommy and gone poopy on the toilet in here, rather than make a big stinky mess in your diaper for Mommy to have to clean up?” she asked loud and clear enough for everyone in the crowded men’s room to hear.

“Yes, Mommy…” I grumbled in humiliation.

My cheeks burned painfully red with embarrassment as all the infinitely more masculine men surrounding us all stared at me while my Mommy held my hand. First, with confused pity. Then disgust, even indignation, as they got a whiff of the stinky diaper I was waddling in with. You could immediately sense their anger at the idea that a pathetic Mommy’s boy like me would apparently soon be subjecting their whole bathroom to the overpowering stench of my shameful dirty diaper when my Mommy opened it to change me.

But despite my humiliation, I obediently grumbled, “Yes, Mommy.”

At this point, I would do anything for a diaper change. Of course, the idea of having my poopy diaper ‘changed’ was still absolutely terrifying and unimaginably embarrassing to me. But I was already starting to painfully chafe from being walked around the store in my overloaded, poopy mess. I just desperately wanted to not smell like a poopy diaper anymore…

“Is that all you have to say?” my Mommy pressed.

“I’m very sorry I made a poopy in my diaper and not on the potty. Please change my poopy diaper, Mommy, I promise I’ll be a good baby boy,” I added, desperately just trying to give her what she wanted. My thighs seemed to already be suffering from a developing poopy diaper rash, making me walk even more bow legged with every step.

“Well, alright then,” my Mommy giggled. Then she slowly looked around the bathroom while I kept my eyes locked on my shoes, trying to avoid anymore traumatizing glares from the small crowd around us. I was desperate to just get this stupid thing over with.

“Hmmmmmmmmm…” she said after a moment. “You know what? I don’t see a changing table in here, after all! This is exactly what I was afraid of. Don’t they know big boys need their poopy diapers changed, too? And their Mommy’s don’t want to take them into the ladies room, because it’s not always appropriate for a boy your age to be in the ladies room, even though you still mess your pampers like a baby. This is so unfortunate.”

My heart sank. I realized this process was about to be drawn out even more than it already was.

“Oh well,” my Mommy said as she walked me out of the men’s room. “I guess we’ll just have to try the women’s room, anyway. I’ll just have to try to get permission from all the women in there first before I bring you in there for your diaper change…”

I wilted even more. That sounded like it was going to be even more tedious…

I waddled behind my Mommy as she led me around the corner to the women’s restroom, where she stopped outside.

After a moment, she stopped a woman who was about to enter the women’s bathroom. “Excuse me, miss? Do you mind if I bring my little boy in with me to the ladies room? I know he’s a little too old to be in the women’s bathroom, but he’s got a very poopy diaper that I need to change and the men’s room doesn’t have any changing tables for him.”

“Oh, uh, sure, I don’t care…” the woman said, giving me a weird look before quickly moving on, making me feel like a freak show again.

“Excuse me, Ma’am?” my Mommy stopped the next woman going into the bathroom. “Do you mind if I bring my little boy in with me to change his poopy diaper? I’m sorry, I know it’s a super stinky diaper, but I promise I’ll try to be quick.”

“What? Yeah, of course, I mean… oof! Yeah, I see what you mean about the stench,” the stranger replied, pinching her nose the second she detected the stink bomb. “But yeah, sure, do what you gotta do. Hopefully I’ll be out of there before you open that thing up. Boy, I’m glad I don’t have kids…” the woman muttered before hustling into the bathroom.

We continued waiting outside the restroom while my Mommy stopped another woman going in. And another. And another.

I let out a quiet grumble of exasperation. I didn’t know what she was waiting for! It seemed like she was just trying to torment me again—dragging out the experience of my poopy diaper as long as possible, while finding an excuse to tell as many strangers as she could about it!

By time she stopped the sixth woman going in, I was really getting cranky and irritable. I couldn’t help but whine.

“Mooooommmmmmyyyyy, can’t we just go in already…” I whimpered.

“Excuse me? What did you just say young man?” She snapped at me.

“It’s just… well… I… never mind…” I said, shrinking in response to her harsh tone.

“That’s what I thought,” my Mommy chided. “Because guess what? You may not like being forced to sit in your poopy diaper and wait for a change, but that’s too bad, it’s not up to you. Babies don’t get to decide when they get a diaper change, their Mommies do. And the fact of the matter is, you don’t have a right to be in the women’s bathroom at your current actual age, even if you are still only behaviorally as mature as a toddler who still poops his pants.

“Which is why your access to the bathroom is contingent on attaining the permission of all the women currently using it, first. So why don’t you sit that bottom down and wait silently, like a good little stinky baby, while I make sure I do that. And let this experience be a lesson to you. Two lessons, actually…

“First, that this is why big boys go poop in the potty, rather than in their pants. It saves them all the trouble of the stinky mess you’re sitting in now. And second, going forward, I expect you to show far more fealty, obedience, and respect to all members of the female sex and gender in general, of which your Mommy is a representative party of. This means respecting the boundaries of their domains, like women’s restrooms, while you merely selfishly seek a place to dump your dirty diaper and clean up from your shameful stinky mess. Is all that understood?” she barked.

“Yes…” I grumbled. I couldn’t help but feel that my Mommy was being extra hard on me today, which felt so unfair, given the challenges I was already facing from my unexpected accident.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you,” my Mommy scolded.

“Yes, Mommy,” I reluctantly said louder. Still totally glum, but apparently at least loud enough.

“Good,” my Mommy said. “Now sit that butt down until I say otherwise. Right here on the floor.”

I glanced up in protest, but then seeing her expression, quickly gave a defeated nod and complied.

On the one hand, sitting down was appealing, because my feet definitely were tired. But I had been loathe to even attempt anything close to sitting down since my big ‘rear door mudslide’, so to speak, out of fear of what I knew that would entail…

I leaned against the wall and slowly sank down to my butt until…

Squish.

I scrunched my face up in disgust the second I felt it start happening. My massive, humiliating mound of poop starting to smush into my bottom.

But even though I was hovering slightly off the ground using my hands and feet, I knew I wasn’t athletic enough to stay hovering in my current position for forever. So I knew I had to proceed with lowering myself down even further…

Squiiiish.

And further…

Sllllrrrtttt

Until finally, I grudgingly finished sitting the whole weight of my body on my big, poopy mess.

Sppllllqqquishshshh.

I shuddered in disgust as I felt the mess squishing up and deep into my butt crack, smearing around the sides of my waist, and practically submerging my genitals in my shameful diaper sludge. Somehow, the experience of sitting down on my massive poopy diaper mess was even worse than I thought it would be…

I buried my face in my hands and let out a pathetic, hopeless sigh. I was miserable. I just wanted a stupid diaper change so bad. Was that so much to ask for?

But then again, thinking about it, I guess I was experiencing just what my Mommy said I would experience. Exactly what it’s like to be a diaper pooping baby. Because diaper pooping babies just didn’t get any control over the state of their diaper, no matter what.

I suppose I really was only suffering the consequences of my own actions. My own failures. That is, my failure to accomplish what every other grown up did every day without problem—poop on the potty, instead of in their pants.

I thought back to that fateful moment, right before I messed myself. It was all a blur now. But even still, I could ever so slightly recall the moment when it happened…

The whispers. My Mommy’s whispers. Telling me it was okay. That I should just ‘go’. That I should in fact choose to let my massive BM go into my waiting diaper…

I knew now the whispers themselves had to be nothing more than figments of my stupid, babyish, overactive imagination.

But now that I thought more about it… did this mean I had lied to my Mommy earlier when I told her the poopy mess I made in my diaper was ‘just an accident’?

Was the real, deep down truth, that in the final moment, I had actually made the choice to poop my pants, rather than continue to hold it like a real big boy would and should?

Being forced to confront the reality that I might very well have chosen to mess myself like a baby—right as I was being forced to suffer the intensely intimate and mortifying consequences of that stinky, mushy mess as it squished and slopped ever further into the recesses of my butt crack and groin—was uniquely horrifying.

It meant that I had chosen to make my ‘stinky diaper bed’. Which meant I truly deserved to ‘lie in it’, no matter how objectively shameful, filthy, and degrading it was to be forced to sit and stew in my poopy diaper for so long.

I suddenly felt more ashamed of myself than ever.

As I sat there, squishing my filthy mess beneath my bottom and staring down at the blank floor in a despondent gaze, I suddenly wanted to just be forced to sit in my shameful mess for eternity.

I was a naughty, naughty boy.

At this point, I doubted I even deserved a clean diaper change from my wonderful Mommy, after all.

* * *

“Alright, come on, stinkerbell,” my Mommy said, snapping me out of my daze a short time later. “Let’s go finally clean up that poopy bottom.”

She grabbed my hand to help me up. I realized she must have finally gotten through asking all the women in the bathroom if I could come in with her.

I screwed my face and shuddered as I got to my feet—the mass of poopy mess in my diaper shlorping downward as I adjusted to a new posture felt almost as unnerving as when I first sat down in it.

But even still, despite the ever-present yucky mess still stewing beneath my bottom, the glum spiral I had still been trapped in up until just moments ago, was suddenly rapidly dissipating.

I felt a surge of high spirits. Finally! I grinned to myself. Finally, my Mommy is going to change my diaper!

I was practically giddy as she grabbed my hand and led me, waddling, into the crowded ladies room.

I just couldn’t wait to finally be clean again.

It suddenly felt like the only thing I’d ever really wanted as a human being.

A fresh. Clean. Diaper.

Just imagining it now sent a shiver of sheer joy and warmth through my body. Which was ironic, given that every previous time my Mommy had ever put me in a diaper was always one of the worst and most traumatic things I had ever experienced.

I closed my eyes and fixated on imagining the super dry, crinkly texture. The fresh warmth and sweet smelling baby powder. The soft, soft cotton and plastic hugging every bit of your most intimate regions.

We were standing in the middle of the somewhat busy women’s restroom for an extended moment. I was too distracted by my private ‘clean diaper’ fantasies to pay attention to what my Mommy was doing. Let alone any of the other women, although I doubted they were giving me many pleased expressions, given the way I had almost certainly already transformed the fragrance of the whole restroom for the worse.

But then suddenly, my Mommy grabbed my hand again.

Then she uttered the words that would soon shake me to my very core…

“Aw, shoot. Well isn’t that just the darnedest thing. It looks like they don’t have a diaper changing table here in the women’s room, either! Well shucks, it looks like we can’t change that dirty diaper of yours, after all.”

It took a moment after she said the words for me to even hear them. Understand them. It was like receiving a sudden fatal wound in battle, where one’s mind is too shocked to even comprehend what just happened. It just wasn’t possible.

Before I knew what was happening, my Mommy was already unceremoniously dragging me back out of the women’s room.

And as we walked back out into the crowded grocery store, I was forced to face the nightmarish fact… I was still, still, wearing my absolutely drooping, smushed, festering, chafing, stained and almost leaking, dirty, dirty diaper.

I suddenly yanked my hand away from my Mommy and stopped cold, right in the middle of the bustling grocery store floor.

“But… what do you mean?” I asked.

“Hmmm?” my Mommy replied, slowly turning around and raising her eyebrow. It was clear I was already on very, very thin ice.

“What… what do you mean you can’t change me? I need a diaper change…” I whimpered.

“Oh, trust me, stinker. Everybody in a ten mile radius of that nuclear stink bomb you’re packing on your bottom right now knows you need a diaper change. Believe me. But guess what? There’s nowhere for me to change your diaper, so I can’t change it,” she said in a terse tone.

“But… but…” I stammered. “When am I gonna get changed out of my… my… my…”

“Your poopy mess?” my Mommy coldly finished my sentence.

I gave a shaky nod.

“I don’t know, buddy,” she shrugged. “Sorry, I tried. But for now, you’re just going to have to keep waiting. We’ll see what we can do after I finally finish the grocery shopping. You know… that thing you interrupted by exploding with a massive poopy mess in your pants like a toddler, instead of holding it for the potty like a big boy?”

I just couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My heart started pounding. My face turned bright red. But for the first time today, my face wasn’t red with humiliation. Or embarrassment. Or bowel cramps. Or deep-down potty anxiety.

This time… my face was red with pure anger.

“Now come on,” she said, grabbing my wrist to resume pulling me forward.

But I yanked my wrist away even harder and loudly shouted, “No!”

My Mommy turned around again. This time, beneath her controlled demeanor, it was clear she was absolutely furious. “Excuse me?” She said in her most seething, threatening voice.

But I no longer cared.

“I said no! No, no, no, no, no!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, stomping my feet. “I said I need a diapee change! I need a diapee change RIGHT NOW!”

“Well, too bad. Because that’s not up to you, is it, stinky pants,” my Mommy said coldly, trying to grab my wrist to pull me along again.

I pulled away and started shaking with anger. Tears came to my eyes. I finally couldn’t take it anymore. It had all finally become way too much.

I fell to my knees, right there in the middle of the crowded grocery store, took a huge breath… and exploded.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”

I shrieked like a banshee as I rolled onto my back and began indiscriminately flailing and kicking in every direction, screaming at the top of my lungs.

And that was the start of what was to become one of the loudest, angriest, most over-the-top, pathetic-diapered-toddler-tantrums anyone in that grocery store would ever see.

TO BE CONCLUDED…

IN PART V (Conclusion!)