into-littlespace123 - Tumblr blog

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🦄 🌌🌈

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Uh oh! Does someone need to go potty? Or did you already go??

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Open wide 💕🍭🐰

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🎀🍭💕🔮🐰🩷🪀

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Be a good boy and relax for mommy. This wont take long I promise 🦒🐘🦜🦁

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Waiting patiently for her diapy change 🎀🍭🩷🐰

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No Daddy! Im not wet! 🤨 🍼🌨🌌

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She was such a good girl today, do you think she deserves a reward? 🩷🪄✨️

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We had the most fun playing together tonight 🐤🐇🐴🐄🐖🐓🦉

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Daddy put me in a fresh pull-up before I went upstairs to play! 🌟

justfor.fans/lil_princessbug

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Today was a great day. Daddy padded me and we went out for ice cream 🍦🥰

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Friends in Low Places, Pt. 1

This caption was inspired by, and features @crinklecutie, hope you enjoy it!

I love when a situation humiliates her all on its own, without me needing to say a single word.

Kelsey has been looking forward to the party for weeks. We kept our relationship private for a while, but we couldn’t wait any longer. It was time for her to meet my friends. And, more important, time to make our relationship public.

But, as the party drew nearer, Kelsey began to worry. Unlike most girls, Kelsey wasn’t worried about my friends liking her. No, Kelsey was worried about how they’d react to her…well, status.

Most girls don’t need diapers to stay dry. Or need Daddy to change them. Kelsey wasn’t like most girls.

She’d been determined to prove she’s a “big girl” this last week. Loudly wondering why I—and everyone else in her life—treat her like a baby, not an adult. Without a trace of irony, she’ll argue that she’s a “big girl” as she’s dutifully lying on the changing table as I wipe her messy butt clean.

She can’t help it.

I let her ramble on for her sake; it’s crucial for Littles to use their imagination. I nod along haphazardly when she pauses, letting her feel good about herself as I tape up her diaper. She’ll toddle off distracted looking for her favorite stuffy once I finish anyway.

I afford her these flights of fancy because it makes days like these much more satisfying.

Kelsey isn’t a big girl. We both know that, despite her whining. She’s right where she belongs. Meeting my friends will throw the disparity of adulthood between me, my friends, and her into sharp relief. We’re all adults with jobs and responsibilities.

The closest thing Kelsey had to a job is filling her diapers.

I dressed Kelsey in her favorite outfit. I wanted her to feel confident, even if it was far too cute to be considered “adult” attire. And, of course, it failed spectacularly to cover her diaper.

The diaper she needs, whether she’ll admit it or not.

Just before we left the house, she threw her biggest tantrum yet. Yelling and that she was an “adult” and “not a baby,” choosing to ignore the diaper poking out from under her skirt. She wouldn’t let it go.

As if she had any adult clothes to choose from.

Her tantrum spilled into the car as I buckled her into her car seat. Kelsey was so cute, going on and on about why she isn’t a baby. Arms and legs flailing, diaper poofing out of her car seat.

“Ifth nawt fawr! Awl yo fwiends will fink I’m justh a baby! An’ I don’ need ma diapees, Daddy!” Kelsey whined through her paci, “you mayk me wear ‘em cus you big meanie!”

“Is that what you think, ladybug? You think you wear diapers because I’m mean? Not because you need them to keep your skirt clean?”

“Uh huh! I no nee ‘em!”

“You really are precious, peanut! But we’ll see about that! I’ll tell you what. If you can go the whole party without using your diapers, I bet all my friends will believe you’re a big girl!”

“W-weally, Daddy?”

“Of course, kiddo! They’re all lawyers like me! They love some good evidence! And what better evidence is there than a clean diaper?”

“Ima be a big girl, yo—mmmphff.”

This never gets old. If I wasn’t positive she already lost all control, I’d swear she chose the most embarrassing times to fill her diaper for maximum effect. But she didn’t choose this moment. And knowing her body betrayed her at the absolute perfect moment—ugh, it’s better than the first sip of a cold beer after a long day.

“Uh oh, is someone making stinkies?”

Her attempt at a glare is deliciously interrupted by a grunt.

“Awww, peanut! Just relax and let all the ickies out into your diapee! That’s what it’s for!”

The scene unfolding in my rearview mirror is a sensory delight. I can see her red face contorted in effort—and the diaper bulging and browning as she squirms in her car seat. I can hear her little grunts and toots as she pushes, along with the crinkling of her diaper as it expands to accommodate her mess. I can smell the baby powder mixing with her growing mess—that wonderful, infantile smell of a nursery.

“All done, ladybug?” I prod, knowing I’m fueling the inevitable tantrum.

The look of humiliation, shame, and embarrassment plastered on her face says more than words ever could. So does the silence.

I let the silence linger, daring her to break it, watching her squirm. Nothing is more enjoyable than this. She loves this. She hates this. Humiliation is funny like that.

“D-daddyyyy!” she whines, fidgeting more than ever, “ickkkyyyy!”

“Sorry, peanut, you’ll just have to wait until we get to the party for changies!”

Cue the tantrum.

I let her rage until she ran out of steam, fighting against her restraints, screaming about this and that. The longer she goes the more incoherent and infantile she becomes.

A tempest in a teacup.

When she finally quiets down, I offer her the one thing that never fails to put a smile on her face: a Happy Meal. It’s a win-win for me. She’ll forget all about her messy diaper and I’ll get to watch her waddle into the party, Happy Meal in hand, looking even more adorable than I ever could’ve imagined.

My friends are going to melt when they see her.

By the time we pull into to the drive-through, she’s singing along to the music. She switches from dramatic tantrums to blissfully singing along to music so fast it’s hard to believe she’s actually an adult—not an overgrown toddler.

The girl working the window was positively unprepared for what she saw in the backseat of my car. She never expected to see a girl her age strapped into a car seat, a soggy, brown diaper bulging out of her skirt, cheerfully singling along to the music, not a care in the world.

She stares at Kelsey in utter disbelief, completely forgetting about the Happy Meal resting on the counter. Not that I blame her. She composed herself quickly, a cheeky smile replacing the look of shock.

Kelsey remarkably remained blissfully unaware her infantile performance now has a captive audience. I instinctively reach for my phone, wanting to record this moment.  

But, as if a struck by a sudden spark of inspiration, the worker grabs the Happy Meal from the counter, disappearing for a few seconds. She returns with a devious smile. “Here’s your Happy Meal, sir,” she smirks, “your little girl is sooo cute singing along like that, I thought she deserved another toy!”

The singing stops mid-note. Kelsey’s eyes grew so wide I worried they might never stop expanding. Horror struck, she slowly turns to look out the window, only to find the worker smiling down at her.

Kelsey desperately squirms in her car seat in a futile effort to cover her diaper with her skirt. Her face so red it made her pink paci look white in comparison. It’s one thing when I humiliate her, it’s another thing entirely when a girl her age catches her in this position.

There is no escaping the truth in this position. Kelsey isn’t an adult—she isn’t even a big girl. Girls her age aren’t her equals. She’d have to toddle into a preschool to find her equals. She’s nothing more than a toddler who needs her Daddy, or any other available adult, to care for her.

I take the Happy Meal from the giggling employee. “Thank you very much, ma’am!” I emphasize, adding to the discrepancy between my little and the worker, “now, peanut, can you thank the nice lady for your extra toy? It was very nice of her to do that!”

Abandoning her attempt to cover her diaper, she instead covers her face with her hands, no doubt hoping to disappear.

The worker laughs. “Awww, she’s a shy little thing! It’s okay! I’m sure you’ll enjoy your toys once you’re in a clean diaper, sweetie!”

“She’s always fussy when she needs a diaper change, don’t take it personally,” I say starting to drive off, “thanks again!”

I can’t help but smile as Kelsey grumpily sucks on her paci, arms folded, trying to hang on to whatever scraps of dignity she has left.

Of course, Littles should never worry about things as abstract as dignity. Not when they have Daddy there to make everything better.

“Are you excited for the party, peanut?” I ask, not expecting an answer.

I know she is.

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🌸 find more of me here, uncensored 🌸

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waiting for daddy to tuck me into bed🌙

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Finally have a day off of work! No more big girl worries for today, I'm spending all day cozy in my diapers 🥰