Alternative Therapies - Chapter 9

We entered a large, bright, and colorful room, divided in the middle by a glass wall with a door. The transparent partition, whose existence I was already familiar with from previous visits when dropping off or picking up Sophie, simultaneously connected and separated the kindergarten area. It split the room into a front section for older children up to six years old, like Sophie and Jana, and a rear section serving as a nursery for the youngest children up to three years old.

As soon as we stepped through the door, we were greeted by Ms. Weber, the educator responsible for the older children in the kindergarten. "Hello," she welcomed us with a beaming smile before bending down slightly to speak to Jana and Sophie. "Will you show us how big you are and take off your street shoes and put on your slippers?" Both nodded in agreement and took a seat on the small bench by the coat rack near the entrance to remove their shoes.

The two girls had barely taken their seats when Jana's mother announced her departure. "I have an urgent appointment at work," she apologized. She quickly gave Jana a farewell kiss before stepping out the door in the next moment. However, she couldn't resist casting a final, skeptical glance at me and my clothing. Unfortunately, my mother didn't seem to be in as much of a hurry. First, she handed Ms. Weber a large bag she had brought with her, saying, "These are diapers and spare clothes. I think this should be enough for the time being." Then, she actually engaged Ms. Weber in a seemingly endless conversation, leaving me with nothing to do but stand there silently, wishing we could leave for home as soon as possible.

At least Ms. Weber didn't react like Jana's mother, staring at me in shock due to my changed, unusual appearance. On the contrary, she frequently glanced at me during her conversation with my mother, offering friendly smiles. It's likely that Ms. Weber, being exposed to so much children's clothing in her line of work, didn't even notice my infantile outfit.

"To sum it up, she's been a bit cranky the last few days  and has had a few accidents during the day and at night, so if any issues arise, you can reach me on my cell phone anytime," my mother finally got to the point. I had hardly paid attention to the long conversation and judging by the last sentence, I hadn't missed anything. It was unbelievable that my mother was so overprotective; after all, Sophie had been going to kindergarten here for almost a month now, so the two teachers should already know her well enough not to have to notify my mother about every little thing. "I think we'll manage, don't worry," Mrs. Weber reassured my mother in a relaxed manner, smiling at me once again.

Although I hardly knew Ms. Weber, I couldn't deny that I instinctively found her likable. Her warm and sensitive nature, her expansive smile that took up the room, and her large, attentive brown eyes captivated me, almost making me forget that we probably couldn't have a profound, serious conversation without getting into a heated argument. Ms. Weber was cut from the same cloth as my mother in terms of her worldview. This fact was also reflected in the philosophy and design of this private kindergarten, which Ms. Weber herself had founded several years ago.

It should be noted that this kindergarten was only established because more and more public kindergartens began requiring basic vaccinations as a prerequisite for enrollment. As a result, countless new private kindergartens like this one emerged, serving as a refuge for children who hadn't been vaccinated by their parents. But what set this kindergarten apart from the usual ones were not only the annual outbreaks of measles but also the fact that it was exclusively for girls. Ms. Weber firmly believed, and my mother shared this view, which was why she had enrolled Sophie here, that boys with their aggressive behavior hindered the free development of young girls. Whether this was true or not, I cannot say, but at least Sophie hadn't complained about the absence of boys in her new kindergarten so far.

"You're probably right and I'm just too worried. Well, I'll be on my way, I'm already late anyway," my mother said goodbye to Ms. Weber, still visibly worried. As difficult as it was for my mother to leave, I was glad at the prospect of finally being able to get out of here. Every minute I spent here increased the likelihood of another mother or father with their child showing up and seeing me in my embarrassing outfit. I was about to say goodbye and hurry towards the exit when something unexpected happened. Without any warning, my mother leaned down to me and gave me a kiss on the forehead. "Take care, my dear, and be nice to Ms. Weber and the other children. See you tonight," she said, and at the same moment, she stepped out of the door, leaving me alone with Ms. Weber.

At first I could not make sense of what had happened and, after my mother left, I also made an attempt to leave the kindergarten. However, Ms. Weber gently took my hand and prevented me from taking another step. "I understand, Emily, that you don't want to be separated from your mommy, but she has to work and unfortunately can't take care of you while she's doing that," Ms. Weber said in a tone of voice as if she had a real child in front of her. "A lot of kids have a hard time saying goodbye on their first day, but believe me, we're going to have a lot of fun here, even without your mommy."

I was staring at her in disbelief. Completely bewildered by what was happening, I was unable to form a coherent thought. I had assumed that after dropping off Sophie here, my mother would drive me back home. I had thought that she was just working from home or taking time off to supervise me during "my therapy". It never occurred to me that she might have planned to leave me at a kindergarten. Let alone that there was a kindergarten that would go along with such nonsense.

"Let's take off your shoes first," Ms. Weber said kindly and led me to the small bench at the entrance. Most people might wonder why I didn't resist, why I didn't just break away and run off, but it wasn't in my nature to fight back in situations like these. I had always been someone who had a hard time asserting my will and struggled to stand up for myself. Silently I watched as Ms. Weber took off my shoes and placed them in a small compartment, where they would wait for me until I left the kindergarten.

Following this, she grabbed the large bag she had previously received from my mother and rummaged through it, obviously looking for a specific item. "I hope your mother didn't forget to pack you a pair of slippers," she sighed, when at first she didn't find what she was looking for. It was only at that moment that the eerie realization flashed through me that my mother had packed the bag not for my little sister, but for me. Not only that - the endless conversation between my mother and Ms. Weber had obviously revolved around me. Everything had been carefully planned; that's why Ms. Weber had kept smiling at me. Ashamed, I turned my gaze to the pull-ups and children's clothes that had spilled out of the bag during Ms. Weber's search, and which I only now identified as my own. I didn't need to fool myself; Ms. Weber probably knew not only about my past accidents, but also about the infantile protective companion I wore around my hips for that very reason. My face turned fiery red with this realization. It had been one thing that my mother and my little sister had known about my accidents, but that now a person outside my family also knew about them was so embarrassing that I would have preferred to sink instantly into the ground.

Oh, there they are," Ms. Weber murmured in relief, pulling two pink slippers in ballerina design and princess print out of her bag. I was still too embarrassed to look up and let her pull the slippers over my feet. "You don't have to be shy Emily. The other children are all very sweet and I'm sure you'll make friends with them right away," Ms. Weber tried to cheer me up when she noticed my stare of fear. However, it wasn't the presence of the other children that frightened me, but the fear that more people might find out about my pull-ups under my leggings.

Taken by the hand, I was led by her into the group room, where the other children, including my sister, were already sitting dutifully in a circle on the floor and awaiting our arrival. I took a seat right next to Ms. Weber in the circle. As soon as we were seated, she began to sing a song. "Good morning, good morning. How are you today? Good morning, good morning. I’m happy let’s play." Ecstatic and beaming with joy, the children also joined in. I, on the other hand, just looked around in disbelief and wondered how the hell I had allowed myself to end up here.

After three more horrible verses, the song finally ended and Ms. Weber began her morning speech. "As you have probably already noticed, we have a new child in our group as of today. This is Emily," she said, pointing at me. I looked suspiciously at Ms. Weber, and not only because she had called me a child. If Ms. Weber truly believed that I would attend kindergarten for even one day beyond today, she was sorely mistaken. My mother may have been clever enough to lure me into this trap once, but I would not be tricked so easily a second time.

To my dismay, I noticed that the children seemed hardly surprised that I, a 19-year-old, was now supposed to be part of their group. No questions, no great astonishment could be discerned, only curious glances met my eyes. "Emily is a bit shy, but don't hesitate to invite her to play with you," Ms. Weber continued, not even paying attention to my suspicious look.

"That was all for the morning circle, now let's go to breakfast!" As soon as Ms. Weber finished speaking, the girls eagerly sprang to their feet and hurried to the large table in the center of the room, which was already prepared for the morning meal. Ms. Weber grabbed my hand one more time and, following the other children, pulled me to the table to sit next to her. Another short song sounded before Ms. Weber gave the round permission to eat.

"Which bread do you prefer, Emily? The one with jam or egg?", Ms. Weber inquired of me in a caring manner. "Jam," I replied curtly, as I stared at my plate to avoid her eyes. "And what would you like to drink? Water, tea, or juice?" she echoed. "Juice, please," I added quietly. She put a slice of bread with jam on my plate and poured some juice into my cup. "I have to get something from the kitchen, I'll be right back for you, Emily," she explained to me, rising from her chair.

However, Ms. Weber seemed to find it insufficient to simply inform me that she would be absent for a brief moment and unable to assist me during breakfast. "Anna, would you be so kind as to help Emily if she needs any support while eating?" she asked the little girl sitting next to me, requesting additional assistance. Confidently, Anna nodded and smiled at me. I saw no other option but to hurriedly take a bite of my bread, in order to avoid the possibility that Anna might feel the need to teach me how to properly eat.

After about half an hour, breakfast came to an end. While Mrs. Weber cleared and cleaned the breakfast table, the children, including myself, were allowed to go play. At first, I was content to sit on the sidelines, staring at the clock and silently wishing for the day to pass quickly. The idea of simply escaping from the kindergarten crossed my mind repeatedly, but two factors kept me from leaving. Firstly, I had no money for the bus ride home, and it was much too far to walk. Secondly, I didn't have a key for our front door.

At some point, I realized that staring at the clock mindlessly wouldn't make the time pass any faster, so I turned to an activity that, among all the available options, seemed the least childish to me. Painting was something practiced by people of all age groups. There were adults who dedicated their entire lives to this art form. In contrast, no sane adult would voluntarily play with dolls. Unfortunately, I had never shown any particular talent for painting, so there was a considerable risk that any artwork I created would be on a similarly pitiful artistic level as the painted images by the other children displayed on the kindergarten walls.

So, I decided to join two other girls at one of the children's tables, grab one of the coloring books, and limit myself to coloring in the pictures. After all, many adults found relaxation in coloring mandalas, and I could certainly use some relaxation in my situation. As for the effectiveness of the method, there should be no difference in whether I was adding color to circular patterns or children's motifs.

And it worked. In fact, I found solace in the mindless coloring of the pictures and even managed to forget how absurd my current situation was, at least until the moment an urgent need arose within me. Just as I was giving a lively green touch to the fin of a little mermaid, my bladder demanded attention. Having learned from yesterday's accident, I immediately stood up to find the restroom. There was just one problem—I didn't know where the toilets were, and there was no sign in sight that indicated their location. I had no choice but to approach Mrs. Weber. "Excuse me, could you please tell me where I can find the toilets here?" I asked politely, trying to sound as adult and mature as possible, hoping she wouldn't treat me like a toddler this time. But my efforts were in vain. "Do you need to go pee-pee, Emily?" she inquired unabashedly, as if she were speaking to a three-year-old. I rolled my eyes but nodded. It made little sense to argue about the way she spoke to me at this point, especially knowing how little time I had to find the restroom, and I definitely didn't want to embarrass myself by wetting my pull-ups in front of her.

Mrs. Weber took my hand and led me into a small, tiled side room. I looked around, but there was no toilet in sight. The only thing that caught my eye was a large changing table in the corner of the room. Had Mrs. Weber misunderstood me, thinking she needed to change my pull-ups? But she didn't take me to the changing table; instead, she led me to a cabinet on the other side of the room. She opened it, pulled out a pink potty with my name on it, and silently placed it on the floor. She couldn't be serious!? I stood there, frozen in disbelief, staring at the object. There had to be a toilet somewhere; after all, Mrs. Weber didn't do her business in a potty. Since I didn't take any initiative to use the potty in front of me, Mrs. Weber stepped in. "Do you need some help, Emily?" she asked, but didn't seem to care about my answer. Before I could respond to her question, she bent down, and in one swift motion, pulled down my leggings along with my pull-ups.

I was beside myself. What on earth was this woman thinking!? Instinctively, I wanted to pull up my clothes immediately and give her a piece of my mind, but I panicked as I realized my bladder had already decided to empty itself in the next moment. In order not to pee on the floor in front of Mrs. Weber, I lunged for the potty, and as soon as my skin touched the plastic, a loud splashing sound filled the room. "You're doing a great job, Emily," Mrs. Weber praised me enthusiastically. I, on the other hand, was at a loss for words. How could I give her a piece of my mind now, while I was using a potty like a toddler right in front of her eyes? "With what your mommy told me, I was worried I'd have another child to change diapers for. But if you keep using the potty so well, you'll surely be able to wear big girl underwear soon," she explained to me with a beaming smile.

Just in time, before the potty overflowed, my stream stopped. Finally, I could get off the thing. I stood up and hastily grabbed my pull-ups and leggings to pull them up, so I wouldn't have to stand half-naked in front of Mrs. Weber any longer. However, she stopped me immediately. "Your crotch is still all wet, Emily. After going pee, you need to wipe yourself dry before you can get dressed again." She took some toilet paper, and I opened my hands so she could hand it to me. But Mrs. Weber didn't intend to let me do the job; instead, she wiped my crotch herself, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "Now that we're clean, we can put our pants back on," she informed me while simultaneously pulling up my pull-ups and leggings. Meanwhile, I felt completely disempowered.

"And what do we do after going pee, Emily?" I hesitated. I had no idea. All I could think of was wanting to get away from here. By now, I almost believed myself incapable of using a toilet on my own, considering how often Mrs. Weber had needed to correct me. "We wash our dirty hands," she explained when I remained silent, pointing to the sink. In the end, I probably washed my hands more thoroughly than ever before in my entire life, but at least this time Mrs. Weber was satisfied and didn't feel the need to explain how to properly clean one's hands. Silently, she handed me a paper towel before finally uttering the relieving words. "You can go back out to play, Emily. I'll quickly clean up your potty, and then I'll join you." Without saying a word, I left the room, praying that I wouldn't have to pee again today.