CLONK.
It takes a few seconds for you to even realize you're hurt. Mommy said you shouldn't be jumping down the basement stairs in your fairy costume, but you REALLY wanted to fly, and you didn't get hurt the first time... or the second time... or the third time. By little kid logic, that means you couldn't possibly get hurt ever. It was fun to feel the wind on your shiny costume wings, blowing your wavy hair, and whipping your skirt dramatically. For a good few minutes, it was like you really were flying.
But then the fourth time you got hurt.
A few seconds after impact, you are finally brave enough to open your eyes. You feel the beginnings of a bruise on your head, right between your eyes. Daring to look up from the floor, you also see a head-shaped dent on the hot water heater. Mommy won't be mad about that, right? Tears are welling up in your eyes from the pain, but the bruise is the worst of it. The rest is scrapes and dust on your pretty fairy costume, and-
No...
Your underwear feels warm, first in a tiny spot and then slowly spreading.
NO...
You can't be peeing your pants, right? Because if you were, you'd be breaking your promise to Mommy, and you wanted to be good this time. You look down to check, and-
NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO
The next few minutes are a blur of fear and pain and tears and urine. Mommy brings you back upstairs; she doesn't sound mad, just... very, very tired. Your panties, your tights and even your skirt are totally wet and smelly, and have to be put in the washing machine mere hours away from Halloween night. Your crying escalates into desperate banshee wailing as your dreams of being a beautiful fairy are doused with detergent and set to the delicate cycle. With a face as red as a screaming, crying tomato, your pleas for Mommy to fix it are barely coherent as you scramble around the bathroom in your birthday suit... which Mommy insists is not a good Halloween costume either.
There is a knock on the bathroom door. "Kim," says Mommy, "I'm bringing clothes." You go quiet for a moment- could this be your salvation? The door swings open, and what your Mommy is holding is anything but that.
"NO!"
You know this was the deal, but you fight it with what little strength a four-year-old girl has. Back on the bathroom rug, legs kicking wildly, shaking your head as snot pours out of your nose, you do everything in your power to stop Mommy from taping up the diaper around your hips. You can't be a baby for Halloween! This doesn't look scary OR pretty, everyone is going to laugh at your big butt! For a moment you manage to wriggle free of your cottony punishment and stand up, only for an extra-large pacifier to end up plugged in your mouth! It's so large that it's touching your nose and chin with every suck, and the nipple feels like it's spreading your cheeks. "NMM MMMMY," you protest, "MMM-MMM!!!" Mommy does not "MMM-MMM", and instead ties the pacifier to you with a soft, plush strap which wraps around the back of your head. No matter how hard you spit or pull, the big dummy won't do anything but go nuk, nuk...
Oh no... nuk...
Despite every bone in your body telling you to keep throwing a tantrum, something about the gentle rhythm of sucking on a pacifier just... pacifies you. Even as you continue to cry softly, you willingly lay down and let the diaper go back on your hips, staring in a foggy daze at the little cartoon fish drawn on it. Mommy dabs the tears off of your face with a tissue and makes soothing nonsense noises. "You're still a good girl. Will you be a good girl?"
You nod. Nuk.
Mommy pulls up a different pair of rubber pants than yesterday. These ones are glossy and black, and you somehow remember these being way too hot and sweaty to wear. You consider saying something about it, but then your pacifier goes "nuk, nuk" and you decide you're already too hoarse from all the screaming. There's a click as the pants seal firmly around your waist... and a second click as the pacifier strap tightens around you. Oh no, how are you supposed to eat candy like this?
"Listen, Kim, sweetie." Mommy strokes your hair. "I'm going to pick out another costume for you at the Halloween store. I'm going to leave you alone with your big sister for a little bit, okay? I'll be right back."
With no real input one way or another, you nod.
"Love you, Kim. Mwah." And with that, Mommy disappears into the car...
"This sucks," says nine-year-old Big Sis. She's already in her weird red astronaut costume. You know astronauts wear white, and being red just makes her look suspicious. "Why'd you have to make us wait? You're such a big baby."
"RRRM MMNH HMM." Whatever curse you thought up just now probably sounded way more menacing in your imagination. You fold your arms and refuse to even look at her. You don't even have any tears left to shed.
"Yeah, yeah, you'll be peeing yourself even when you're eleventy thousand years old, I know. But look, we could be outside, getting candy from everyone's houses RIGHT NOW. We don't have to wait for Jenny- uh, we don't have to wait for Mom to come back! You're not stopping me either, you're coming with me."
Now you're just confused. You incredulously poke at your diaper while giving her a look of disbelief. "HMMPH."
"No, I'm not making you go out in your underwear, Kim, that would be stupid. I got you a costume from a secret place." That's worrying, because she only says it's a secret when she's stealing stuff. A split-second later, she opens up her backpack and shows you the replacement costume she picked out. It's... not what you would have chosen. If you could talk right now, the first complaint you'd have is...