My Mother's Home Remedy

I can still remember the first time like it was yesterday. My mother pacing around the kitchen, speaking loudly on the phone in French to her mother. I couldn’t understand most of it. Though my mother did speak to me in French from time to time, I never really picked it up.

I watched her peripherally while I played with a toy, laying on the plush carpet of the living room floor. Near the end of the call I saw her purse her lips, listening attentively to her mother.

“Une couche?” She said, raising one eyebrow and glancing over at me. “Oui…” She kept saying, nodding in acknowledgement, before thanking her mother and hanging up the phone.

I hadn’t realized what exactly the call had been about at the time, but I knew it was about me. My mother often called home to France to get parenting advice from my grandmother, always deeply skeptical of raising me “the American way.”

Aditionally, with my dad working as a consultant and traveling almost incessently for his job, Grandma was my mother’s only real confidant. And as my mother was quick to call Grandma for advice, Grandma was quick to give it. She almost always had a strong opinion on any issue regarding my upbringing, and problems seemed to always have their solution in her French folk wisdom.

This time, the problem was that “Mommy’s pumpkin,” hadn’t made “the pooh pooh”, as she called it, in the last few days. Overbearingly maternal as always, Mom used to make a written record of all of my toilet habits when home, also asking me every day when she picked me up from third grade, whether I had made “the pooh pooh” while at school.

Her apparent obsession with knowing, and writing down, whenever I used the bathroom was adopted from Grandma, who believed that constipation in children was the cause of many common ailments, from fussiness to fevers. Mom wanted to make sure I was having at least one “pooh pooh” a day, and would check her records to make sure I had any time I seemed to be whining too much or threw a tantrum.

After the phone call between my mother and Grandma ended, the day proceeded as usual and so did the evening. Actually, it wasn’t until Mom picked me up from school the next day that anything seemed amiss.

Getting in the car, my mother greeted me an leaned over to give me a kiss on the cheek. With her strong French accent, she asked how my day was, before asking her usual questions of whether I had used the toilet that day at school. I nodded no, blushing lightly as I noticed her smile turn to an expression of concern and worry.

She then asked if her pumpkin’s tummy was hurting, to which I nodded no. The rest of the drive was filled by a gentle questioning interrogation.

Did Mommy’s pumpkin try to make “the pooh pooh” at school? Was Mommy’s pumpkin feeling anxious about using the potty for some reason? Was it because Mommy’s pumpkin was upset about something? Was Mommy’s pumpkin upset because Mommy had been particularly busy the last few weeks?

I bashfully nodded no to each question, though I could tell my mother didn’t believe me. No matter what I would have said, she was already convinced. Though I wasn’t aware of it, Grandma had already given her the diagnosis: that my mother hadn’t given me enough attention recently, leading me to hold in my “pooh pooh” because of the resulting anxiety.

When we arrived home, my mother held my hand as we walked from the car to the door. After finishing her questioning earlier in the car, she seemed to have made up her mind about something, replacing her tone of corncern with one of motherly affection. She gripped my hand tightly until we got to the front door.

Once we got inside, Mom put on the television for me before putting away my backpack. After, she joined me on the couch, holding my head against her chest as we watched television together, her stroking my hair.

“Mommy will make everything better.” She whispered to me devotedly. She began cooing to me lightly as she began to notice that I was nodding off.

The next thing I knew, I was laying down on the floor, looking up at my mother’s doting face kneeling in front of me. I yawned lightly, blinking my eyes groggily.

“Shhh. Shhh. Relax mon petite bebe. Mommy is taking care of you. No more worries.” She whispered softly to me as I started to notice that she was gently removing my sweatpants and underwear. Once they were off, I could feel a slightly cold feeling of plastic against my bottom. I put my hand down and felt the material with my fingers. I was laying on a baby changing mat.

“Shhh. You are being so well behaved for Mommy, aren’t you?”

I couldn’t help but smiling, enjoying the special attention being showered on me. It wasn’t until my mother started unfolding something in front of me that I started to squirm a bit.

“Shhh. It is only une couche for my pumpkin. No need to worry sweety.”

Finally realizing what it was, I blushed and shortly feigned resistance, whining lightly as my mother placed the disposable diaper underneath my bottom. I was embarrassed, but there was also something in me that instantly desired for my mother to continue diapering me.

“Shhh. Shhh. Just relax mon bebe.” My mother comforted me as she placed her index finger to my lips, hushing me gently.

I closed my eyes, surrendering to the intense feeling of being loved an cared for. “That’s a good little pumpkin. Just relax. Don’t worry about anything at all.”

Continuing the diapering, my mother powdered my derrière with a little powder puff before pulling the front of the diaper up between my legs.

I opened my sleepy eyes, looking up at her as she taped the diaper on me snugly. I could see that somehow she was enjoying this also. Even though I could never explain it, there was something in her posture, in the way she held herself during the change, that revealed the intense maternal feelings that were overcoming her.

“C’est très bien!” Mom exclaimed lovingly as she looked down at me laying on the changing mat in nothing but a diaper, t-shirt, and ankle socks. I blushed lightly, looking up at her. I didn’t understand quite what was happening but I knew that I was too old to be in diapers, but that I also felt a strong desire to stay in them.

“Aww, don’t be embarrassed pumpkin. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” I squirmed a bit, feeling the overwhelming sensation of the diaper’s padding against me.

Carefully picking me up off the baby changing mat, she carried me over to my bed, laying me down. She picked up a French language version of The Little Prince, and laid down next to me, propping herself up against a pillow.

She pulled me against her, and I nuzzled my face into her chest, feeling the cashmere of her sweater against my face. She began to read softly in French to me as I looked at the book’s pictures, lulling in and out of sleep.

I could feel my whole body relaxing more and more as she read, her voice like a soft cradling velvet. The embarrassment I felt at wearing the diaper was almost completely forgotten as I entered a state of bliss.

The feelings that ran through me were so overwhelming, rendering me completely tractable. The feeling of the diapers padding, the warmth of it, my mother’s voice, and her soft touch. I remember imagining that the feeling had to be similar to what cats are feeling when they are purring.

My mother ran her hand along my back as she read aloud, every now and then moving down to the seat of my diapered bottom.

Oddly, As Mom read to me, I began to feel a tiny pressure in my bottom growing more apparent the more I relaxed. I nuzzled my head against the soft cashmere of my mother’s sweater as I instinctively and uninhibitedly pushed my diapered rear out against my mother’s hand.

Feeling this, my mother paused shortly, raising an eyebrow. Grandma is always right, she seemed to be thinking before she continued to read in her soothing voice. Her hand stayed there, cupping my diapered behind.

The pressure was building as I lay in her embrace. I pushed my bottom out again, almost uncontrollably. My mother heard a muffled noise come from my rear. Her head cocked to one side and she smiled down at me, putting the book down on the bedside table.

She readjusted, being sure not to startle me even slightly. She ran her fingers through my hair with one hand, her other pressed lightly against the set of my diaper.

I blushed lightly as more muffled noises came from my bottom, knowing I was far too old to be doing this, but I was unable to resist the blissful cared for feeling that had overcome me.

My mother was staring down at me intently, anticipating what was to come. Her entire psyche was in complete subservience to her maternal instincts in that moment.

“Mon petite bebe…make a push for your Mommy.” Her hand cupping my rear moved to my stomach, beginning to gently mAssage my abdominal area.

Uncontrollably, I could feel it pushing its way out very slowly.

“Mon bebe… Make a big pooh pooh in your couche for Mommy.” She continually whispered me encouragement as I felt it start pushing out. “No reasons to hold it in, let it all out into your diapers…”

I pushed my face into the softness of her chest as I felt it finally pushing its way out of me into the diapers. I could feel the warm firm mass pushingy cheeks apart as my mother encouraged me with her calming voice.

I whimpered lightly, feeling my cheeks spread to accommodate the expanding dirty mess in my diaper. The smell soon became apparent as well.

My mother’s eyes gleamed with a caring sympathy as she began to smell what I was helplessly pushing into my diaper. I could feel the seat of the diaper stretching slightly to make room for the “pooh pooh” I was making.

“That’s a good little pumpkin. Such a well behaved little pumpkin. That’s good. Just relax.”

Suddenly, I was powerlessly wetting my diaper as well. Feeling a warmth spreading throughout my entire diapered area. I blushed, feeling so childish, yet unable to stop myself from what I was doing. My mother smiled, almost surprised, as she heard the muffled hissing sound of my wetting.

She stroked my back, singing French lullabies softly to me. I felt transported to heaven, the large poopy bulge pressed tightly against my rear, the diaper’s padding warm an swollen between my legs.

“Mommy is so proud of her pumpkin’s pooh pooh diaper.” My mother reached down, patting the bulging mess lovingly. I fell asleep to the smell of poopy diapers.

Though this was my first memory of Mom using Grandma’s French home remedy, it surely was not my last memory of it. Throughout my childhood, I often purposefully held it in for days, knowing the treatment that would eventually come to me. After a few days without making a “pooh pooh”, I always knew the changing mat and a fresh diaper would be waiting for me at home once i got out of school. Thinking back on it, its quite embarrassing how much I would purposefully try to get “the treatment.” It’s embarrassing how helpless I was to my childish cravings for diapers and my mother’s attention was. But no matter what I think of it all now, I can’t help but know that those were some of my fondest memories from my entire childhood.

1 Like

Re: My Mother’s Home Remedy

Very nice. Please share more memories :slight_smile:


Re: My Mother’s Home Remedy

Thanks. Glad you enjoyed the story. :slight_smile: BTW this isn’t actually a true story. It is partially based on certain rl things, but mostly just imagined. Sorry if there was any misunderstanding about that.

Re: My Mother’s Home Remedy

It really is a great story. Thanks for writing it.

Re: My Mother’s Home Remedy

Aww how cute!. I loved this it was so sweet. My only complaint was that you
did a good job keeping the character ambiguous. But then you reveal
that he’s a boy. It would have been so cool and original if you left it up in the air.

But still a great story and i’d love to see more like it. Thank you for sharing. :slight_smile:

Re: My Mother’s Home Remedy

Glad you enjoyed it! I actually wanted to keep it completely ambiguous, as the gender isn’t essential at all to the story. Thanks for pointing that out. I didn’t notice I had revealed it until you pointed it out. Made a little edit, so now it is as I intended it.

Re: My Mother’s Home Remedy

i loved it!
you missed one though

That’s a good boy. Just relax. Don’t worry about anything at all."

Re: My Mother’s Home Remedy

Real or imagined, it was very nice. I’d love to read more.


Re: My Mother’s Home Remedy

I agree i’d love to read more from you. :slight_smile: The new edit is great btw its the perfect short story.

Re: My Mother’s Home Remedy

Yes, this really is the perfect short diaper story. I’ve re-read it more than once, and I don’t usually do that. I just love it!