adult_diapers raze they came in the mail without explanation — three pairs of pliable briefs. the model on the cardboard that curled around the anonymous insult looked too young and uncommonly happy to be shitting himself. junk_mail of any other kind would have gone straight into the nearest blue box. but not this. a gift for your brother, ten years your senior, at tomorrow's breakfast. 240330 ... ovenbird There was a year when four generations of our family wore diapers at the same time. How did this happen, you ask? I will tell you. My son was a baby. So that one is easy to explain. My husband’s grandfather was in his 90s and nearing the end of his life. So that one is pretty easy to explain too. The other two generations–that’s where it gets interesting. My father-in-law wanted to ensure that his dad got the best quality diapers to wear. So he decided he would do some research. By which I mean, he tried a bunch of brands himself to see which were the most comfortable and absorbent. It was a strangely beautiful act of care, though also absurd and hilarious. Maybe that’s the intersection where you find the best kinds of love. I was the final generation. And I told this tale already on the desperation blathe. But let’s just say that motherhood will make you do the strangest things as you try to survive, and peeing in a diaper in the middle of the night isn’t the strangest. So there you have it. Four generations in diapers at once! A funny story. Except it’s not. Or at least it’s not JUST funny. I do see the dark humour, but there’s this too: one child arriving in the world while one old man leaves it, those in the middle grappling with impossible grief and loss and fear and love, a bizarre confluence of lives, all of us tangled and weary, my son sleeping on my chest, my bladder screaming for relief, my father-in-law so far away from his own father and wanting to help so badly, his father losing the last of his mind and slipping into some other place where we will all follow, soon enough, our bodies bringing us back to our dependent state, like infants swaddled tight, looking for milk with our unfocused eyes. 260527 what's it to you? who go blather from