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Credit: Ian Conley
You wake up in the middle of the night after a pub crawl, needing to take a leak, but the bathroom is so far away. Wouldn't it be easier, you think, if I just wore diapers?
An uncontrollable bladder isn't why I tried wearing Depend Underwear for Men. I did it because my wife and I are expecting our first child this summer, and I have no idea how to handle an infant. What better way to learn, I figured, than by spending 24 hours in adult diapers? Hey, I'm a method father. Oh sure, new-age moms would suggest using your imagination, but it takes a dedicated dad to piss and s*** himself.
First thing in the morning, I feel extremely self-conscious purchasing the undergarments. The cute cashier probably assumes they're for my elderly parents or something, because why else would an able-bodied man buy these?
At noon, I open the bag and deploy the diaper under my street clothes. It doesn't fit particularly well. These things bunch up like crazy. I have to pick between my legs with every step, and my inner thighs become chaffed. In terms of appearance, it's not exactly flattering. I look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man from the waist down--well, more so than usual--even though I bought the smallest size.
My wife returns home from buying baby clothes. She doesn't know that I'm wearing a kind of baby clothes. I begin to sweat. Everywhere. Why did I have chimichangas and burritos for lunch?
Later that afternoon, for the first time since I was potty-trained, I pee into a diaper. It takes deep meditation and concentration to overcome decades of learned behavior. (Good thing I had the foresight to remove the wallet and phone from my pockets.) Release. It is orgasmic. Just warmth...warmth and freedom. No visible spots on the pants, no run down the leg. Success!
But I get why a baby would be fussy with a full diaper. The wetness hangs underneath you with incredible weight, slowing your movement down. I add some baby powder to my new dressing to get the full effect. It is delightful.
That evening, my wife pats my butt...and notices a little too much padding. I confess what I'm doing. She is not amused. I will be sleeping alone tonight. In a diaper.
Suddenly those chimichangas and burritos are kicking. At 8:33 p.m., it begins to crown. I don't want to do this. I should've gone with medium or large, not small. Misery. Shame. IT'S EVERYWHERE OH GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE I AM SO SORRY.
Twenty-four hours? No, thanks. I lasted nine and then spent the rest of the night weeping in the shower. I can't say that I learned anything useful for my soon-to-be-born daughter...but at least when she cries, I'll understand why. And I might cry along.
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