shymerseysider

[shymerseysider]

[shymerseysider]

mommy takes the best care of her little ones 🩷

[shymerseysider]

the best thing about keeping her in diapers is that there are so many ways to casually embarrass her: “Honey, do you need to be changed, or are you still good? Just want to make sure you’re comfy, okay?” "You’re waddling a bit, sweetie. Let me check if you’re wet. No need to act shy, it’s just us.”

"Oh, let’s not worry about finding a bathroom today, okay? Just relax, and we’ll take care of you later.”

“It’s a long car ride, so I think it’s best we make sure you’re extra protected today.”

“Nobody’s gonna notice. I mean... Daddy can hear you crinkle when you walk, but I’m *sure* nobody else can tell." "It's not obvious. They'll just think your butt looks cute. They're not gonna guess that you're still in diapers at your age."

“Let’s get ready to go. Can you bring your daytime bag in the car for Daddy?”

“Yes, honey, we do need to pack your changing pad this time. There probably isn’t gonna be a family restroom with a changing table big enough for you...”

"Make sure to tell me if you feel wet down there, sweetheart. Otherwise, I’m gonna have to pull you aside in front of your friends, and you’re not gonna like that.”

“She’s been having a lot of issues lately… yes, all the time now. We’re just trying to make sure she’s comfortable.”

“Honey, come here… you’re looking a little squirmy. Is there something you need to tell me?"

“Do you have a quiet room somewhere where I could take care of her? We’ll just be a minute.”

“Oh - do you think I could borrow some wet wipes? We just ran out.”

"Sweetheart, could you come with me to your friend Katie's bedroom for a minute? I just need your help with something real quick."

"She'll be right back."

“Oh baby... you’re soaked! Why didn’t you tell me? Did you know you had an accident?”

“Do you want to be a big girl for Daddy? You do? Good girl. You need to stop fussing and hold still so we can get you changed.”

“Yes, I know you don’t want to smell like baby powder in front of your friends. But we don’t want you to get a rash...”

"It’s so much easier now that you don’t have to worry about the bathroom, isn’t it?"

"I had to explain to the hotel staff why we needed the mattress protector. They were super understanding, though…”

“It’s okay... No one expects you to stay dry at night, sweetie. You haven’t had a dry morning in months.”

“Let’s put a towel down under you for the movie… just in case."

“Can I borrow her for a minute?”

“Let’s get your shirt tucked in back there. You were sticking out of your pants a little bit.”

"Maybe we should try a onesie for you when we get back home, huh? We could button you up, so you don't keep accidentally... showing off. Would you like that?"

"Hold still please. I need to check your diaper. It’s gonna be a lot quicker if you stop squirming.”

“Now. Come here. We need to get you ready for nighttime. I don't want any arguments.”

"Aww, you want to try to use the potty tomorrow? How about we try that another day? We’re not ready for potty training with you right now."

"You looked so cute today when you tried to act like a big girl.”

[shymerseysider]

What To Do When Your Little Has The Grumps!

Oh no! Your Little is grumpy! Come out of the bathroom and really, don’t dial 911, it’s going to pass. Yes, I promise.

When your Little has the grumps, it’s important not to punish them for being grumpy. Littles are prone to higher levels of emotional activity and sensitivity, and getting the grumps is part of this process. The only reason you should punish a Little who has the grumps is if they have taken their grumps out on their Big or another person. Punishing a Little simply for having the grumps may cause resentment in them towards you.

Do not tolerate tantrums! Swift spankings and/or timeouts will fix these.

If your Little has not approached you themselves and said that they have got a case of the grumpies, calmly approach them ask ask them. If your Little tells you they’re infected with the grump virus, proceed to the next step. If they’re shy or in denial about their grumps, a good way to gather a confession (Because being honest about our feelings is the only way to be!) is to make a game out of it. Try this: “Well I happen to know a (Little) who had the grumps, and (they) didn’t tell anyone and you know what happened?” “No what?” “The grumpies grew inside their belly and almost came out their mouth and ate their stuffies!” Or whatever works for your Little. 

Once you’ve established a case of the grumpies, all that’s left to do is figure out how to get rid of those suckers! If it’s a mild inflammation, a small treat like a Happy Meal or gesture like some playful wrestling or tickling might be in order. If a lingering case of the grumpies has been persisting, I suggest building a pillow fort somewhere your Little can have ample access. (Always make sure your Little as adequate medical care and is not suffering from depression or other medical issues! If they are, please be sure they are treated!) Let your Little stay in their jammies, give them baths, make their favorite meals, host movie marathons and make sure their favorite toys are nearby. 

Never forget the love, kisses, cuddles and hugs! Littles crave contact and attention. With the grumps, they might not want it at first, so give them space if or when they need it, but don’t neglect to shower them with affections when they want it.

[shymerseysider]

Ms.Mina preps baby for bed so she can watch the debate in peace💁🏻‍♀️😅🖤

#mdlb #diaperkink #mommydom #femdom #abdI #submissive #diaper #humiliation #abdlcouple #fetish #diapersub #mommy#abdlrelationship

[shymerseysider]

You know what I would love for it to exist? An adult sized car seat that faces you backwards. Like the added humiliation of not being able to see where we're going on top of the fact I can glance over and see the desperate look in your eyes as you're strapped in, the belt rubbing against your incredibly soaked diaper, with nothing to do but suck on your paci and subtly move your hips hoping I don't notice. Would be a fucking dream.

[shymerseysider]

Playing House - 2

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Bruce shot Sandy a supportive wink as he lowered the side of the crib and pulled her out, carrying the small woman over to their changing table. He laid Sandy down, and with an expertise that only comes from years of experience, quickly removed Sandy's messy diaper and wiped her clean. Out of habit, he reached for a clean diaper and began to tape her into it.

"Daddy! I mean... Bruce, no! I'm the Mommy today, remember?"

Bruce smiled as Sandy interrupted him. She was the Mommy today. However, after years of being diapered 24/7 while at home, he was concerned about his wife's ability to keep her clothes clean and dry without some extra protection.

"You know, Mommy," Bruce said, deliberately using her new title despite the fact she was the one laying half naked on the changing table, "plenty of other Mommy's wear protection too. I mean, it's not uncommon for biological mother's to have bladder issues after giving birth. So, if you were concerned that you might have an..." Bruce didn't get another word out before Sandy cut him off.

"No, I'm the Mommy, and I don't need a diapy... I mean diaper! You're the baby! You do! Now let me down!"

Sandy's torrent of words made Sandy sound more like a toddler throwing a tantrum than the 'Mommy' she was trying to be. But, Bruce had agreed to let his wife be in charge for the day, and he was a man of his words. So, reluctantly, Bruce helped his wife down from the changing table undiapered, her infantile onesie hanging unbuttoned just over her crotch.

"Thank you, baby," Sandy said more firmly, her tone holding more control now that she wasn't laying with her baby smooth groin and ass on display on the changing table. "Now, Mommy is going to go put on some big girl clothes. I want you to sit right here on the floor of the nursery until I get back. Can you do that, Little One?"

Bruce smiled as he sat down and nodded his head in affirmation. It was entertaining listening to his wife repeat words back at him that he had told her hundreds, if not thousands, of times.

Sandy, for her part, smiled contentedly as her husband complied with her command. Bruce smiled as well, although his grin was caused by how silly Sandy looked as she turned and half-waddled out of the nursery towards their master bedroom, the tails of her open onesie swaying from side-to-side, exposing her cute, naked butt with each step.

Bruce sat in his very adult pajamas on the soft carpet of the playroom for longer than he would have liked while Sandy changed into her Mommy costume for the day. He was happy that he had thought to turn off the stove before coming to get Sandy ready for the day. He was certain if he hadn't, he'd be dealing with a small fire in the kitchen by now.

However, as he sat on the nursery carpet like an obedient toddler, another concern began to weigh on Bruce's mind. He'd already drank his first two cups of coffee this morning and hadn't had time to take his normal morning trip to the bathroom. Bruce needed to pee, and that need was creating a dilemma.

On the one hand, Bruce, at his core, was an adult man. He had not wet his pants in decades. He had never desired or even dreamed of wetting himself, despite spending the last few years changing his wife's diapers. The shame of wetting himself plus the knowledge of how gross the clean up from an unprotected accident was made the idea of just letting lose feel disgusting and wrong.

On the other hand, the rule of the house, that he had made himself, was that babies don't hold in their potty. They have to release the instant the urge strikes. He agreed to play baby today. He should follow that rule. Plus, by following the rule, Bruce could start demonstrating just how hard caring for an adult baby was to his wife.

In the end, Bruce's desire to toy with Sandy outweighed his shame and disgust. With little fanfare, Bruce released his bladder right where he sat. It took only moments before a damp patch formed on his pajamas and the carpet he sat on.

As Bruce felt the warm, wet urine saturate his pants and flow down his crotch and groin, he couldn't help but blush at his perceived misdeed. At the same time, he found himself wiggling where he sat, trying to absorb every aspect of the strange sensation knowing he may never have the opportunity to act this childish again. Eventually, Bruce let himself smile thinking again about how much more Sandy was going to appreciate him after this day.

It didn't take long after Bruce let loose for Sandy to re-enter the room. Dressed in a cute sundress that stopped just below her knees and showed off her ample cleavage, Bruce couldn't help but giggle at the fact that that dress was not that different than something he would have dressed her in while she was in baby-mode to go out to a park. Bruce's smile didn't last long though, as Sandy quickly noticed the aftermath of his recent accident on his pajamas and floor.

"Oh Brucey! What happened here?! Did you have a potty accident all over the floor? I thought you were a big boy, not some little baby!" Sandy's voice rang with the resigned disappointment of a mother realizing they tried potty training their child too early. "Well, I guess it's back to diapers for Baby Brucey! Stand up and let's get those wet jammies off, Tiger."

Bruce couldn't help but blush Sandy's expert twist of his accident to justify putting him back into diapers (even knowing he agreed to let her do that exact thing only minutes earlier). This wasn't how Bruce had expected Sandy to act at finding him sitting on the urine soaked carpet. Rather than overwhelmed and disappointed with herself, some how she had turned this back on him. This stunk suspiciously of something HE would have done to HER. Maybe Sandy had been paying better attention to the mind games he played with her than he realized?

Bruce didn't get much time to dwell on those thoughts before Sandy placed her hands under his armpits and helped him to his feet.

"Uppsie, daisy!" His wife said as she helped pull Bruce to his feet. "Now, let's get those icky, wet big-boy jammies off!"

Without ceremony, and as if he was an actual infant with no shame, Sandy yanked Bruce's pajama pants down to his ankles, exposing his hairy, naked lower half to the nursery. Bruce reflexively tried to cover himself in shame, only to find his hands being slapped away as Sandy lifted his arms above his head and ripped off his pajama shirt.

"Nuh uh! Baby boys don't get to hide their cute little ding-a-lings from their Mommy's! Babies are too little to be embarrassed by being naked. Plus, it's not like it's nothing Mommy has never seen before."

Bruce could feel his whole body turning red as Sandy turned phrases he had previously said back on him again. How was she so good at this? Was he underestimating her?

"Alright, baby boy, can you show Mommy what a big boy you are and climb up on the changing table for me?" Sandy said once she had Bruce undressed, interrupting her husband's thoughts again with her words.

Feeling exposed as his once warm urine cooled and dried on his now naked flesh, Bruce quickly complied. Being quite literally stripped naked like this made him feel more vulnerable than he had ever felt in his life. He was desperate for any form of covering for his body, even if it was just a diaper. Climbing awkwardly onto the changing table, Bruce couldn't help but wonder why it already felt like he was breaking, instead of his wife.

With a triumphant smile, Sandy approached the changing table and secured the waist strap around her husband. She gave him a condescending kiss on the forehead before walking over to their sizeable diaper stash and producing a plain white diaper to put her husband in.

Bruce, despite his desire to get covered, couldn't help but grimace at the garment as his wife approached with it. Bruce also cursed, for the first time, Sandy's beautiful, voluptuous ass. Bruce knew, based on a situation where Sandy's underwear had been hidden as a punishment and she had stolen his underwear to avoid being padded at work, that despite their height and weight difference, Sandy's curves made his wife and him functionally the same size in underwear. He had know doubt that every single one of Sandy's diapers, including the one in her hand, would fit him.

That knowledge was quickly confirmed as Sandy brought the diaper to the changing table, slid it underneath Bruce, and proceeded to take him into the padded undergarment.

"Oh, doesn't Baby Brucey look SO cute in his adorable little baby pants! Maybe after my little tinkle monster fills this one up, I'll get you a cuter one. What about one of my... I mean your... Bunny diapers! I bet you'd love that!" Sandy said as she patted Bruce's pamper laden crotch.

Bruce, surprisingly, smiled in response. As he looked down at his diapered body, he couldn't help but grin. Despite Sandy's demonstrated ability to talk a big game, Bruce knew that by the end of the day, their relationship would revert back to normal. The tapes on Bruce's diaper we visible messed up. She failed to fluff the diaper or adjust the leg gatherers. In other words, Sandy had done a horrible job diapering her husband and he was liable to leak after only one wetting.

Being so poorly diapered gave Bruce a modicum of relief. Sandy might sound like a Mommy, but she didn't have the skills of one. By the end of the day, Bruce remained certain his relationship with his wife would revert back to its normal status quo.

[shymerseysider]

Do you mostly change on a schedule, or by trying to sense when a change is needed and do it then?

So, the only time I've ever changed on a schedule was when I was trialing wearing the super thick and absorbent diaper and booster combos for 24 hours, quite some time ago. To test if it was a feasible idea, during my tests and weeks of doing it, I wouldn't change until 24 hours had elapsed essentially.

How I check these days though whether I'm in need of a change or not, is I actually really like to touch the outside of my diaper when I get the chance. It's honestly way easier than trying to check by sight, because you can pretty subtly put a hand under your skirt or just feel your diaper through your jeans or whatever without having to properly strip down. Personally, I find that you can gain so much information from just running your fingers across the diaper, like whether any of the padding in the immediate vicinity of your fingers is wet, to what extent wetness has traveled across the diaper, how saturated any one point of the diaper is, how swollen the padding is, etc.

I've even taken to asking one of my partners for a second opinion lately and having them feel my diaper, and that's been pretty fun! I feel pretty confident in my diaper checking method actually because even they can tell, without much diaper experience, and just from touch, if they think I might need a change, and they're right the majority of the time!

Once upon a time my love of and often over-reliance on high absorbency diaper combos, as well as a healthy dose of laziness, meant that it wasn't uncommon that I only knew I needed to change when I was leaking and my clothes were getting damp, haha, but I've been making an effort to be more proactive with checking my diapers since my partners have been around!

Common courtesy and all that <3

[shymerseysider]

Doing Business, Part 77 + 78

I'm a week or two behind in publishing chapters, I think, so I thought I'd share two chapters this week.

Seventy-Seven

I still wasn’t used to the idea of getting ready for work in the morning. For some time now, my mornings consisted of being woken by Mommy, getting my diaper changed, having breakfast made for me, and then being sent off to the living room with my cartoons. Now, after a diaper change and breakfast, there was a stack of adult clothes waiting for me to slip into. Tight, restrictive, adult clothes.

Something seemed off, though, and I wasn’t completely sure what it was until I spotted Mommy again in the kitchen after I had gotten dressed.

“Are you not going to the office today?” I asked. Her yoga pants and t-shirt couldn’t have been further from what she normally wore to work. In fact, she rarely looked this schlubby when it was just in the house.

“Not today, Baby.”

“But…”

“Don’t get your diaper twisted. I’ll still be driving you to the office. But then I’m coming back home.”

“Are you okay? Are you sick? Are you…”

“I’m fine,” she said, smiling. “Thank you for caring, Baby. Mommy just needs a little me-time this morning. And then, this afternoon, I have an appointment that I’m not really looking forward to.”

“An appointment?” I asked. “What kind of appointment?” My mind quickly scrolled through the worst-case scenarios. Some sort of diagnosis from her doctor? Business issues? A job opportunity that would take her far, far, away from me?

“It’s nothing you should trouble yourself over right now,” she said. “I promise, we can talk about it more later.”

I wanted to trust her, but it was the ‘right now’ part that troubled me. Did that mean, at some point, I’d have to trouble myself over it?

I let it go. Clearly she was already feeling stressed about it, and she didn’t need me badgering her for more information. I gave her a tight hug as a show of support, which she reciprocated by tightly grasping my body as well.

Soon after, I was in the passenger seat as she drove. Sitting next to me was a bagged lunch she had packed for me. I hadn’t looked to see what she packed, but judging by the shapes I could feel through the paper bag, there was at least a baby bottle waiting for me. While I had no doubt that whatever she had packed would be received well by the office, I also knew that it’d probably cause me to blush.

Future-me problems, I told myself.

It felt right to offer one more sign of support for whatever it was that seemed to be weighing heavily on her mind–whatever it was that involved her ‘appointment’: “Mommy, whatever’s going on, I’m sure it’s going to work out for the best. These things usually do–especially when you’re involved.”

She took a hand off the wheel and put it on my thigh. “You’re a sweet boy, Clarky. I know I’ve told you this a thousand times, but it continues to be true.”

“At least ease my mind a little,” I said. “You’re not, like, dying, are you?”

“No,” she said, chuckling a little as she stared ahead. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Oh. Well…that’s good.”

“I promise you, I’ll tell you everything soon enough.”

“Okay,” I said, believing that.

“Clark?”

“Yes?”

“This is going to sound like a silly question, but I need to ask it anyway. You know that I love you, yes?”

“Of course.”

“I do. I love you very much, Clark. In fact, it’d be hard for me to think of anyone I love more than you. And that’s not just in some romantic way. That’s a familial love. That's friendship love. That’s a love I thought I’d only feel for my actual flesh and blood–if I ever had children. I love you, Clark.”

“I…I know that. And I love you too. But…”

“I just wanted to say that,” she said. “That’s all. I wanted to make sure that it was extremely clear.”

“I do understand that,” I nodded. Her words were making me nervous. It sounded like the sort of thing people said in movies before they sacrificed their lives. Or…made some sort of questionable decision.

This was usually the point where I’d start to panic or overthink things–but I trusted Mommy far too much to let my worries get the best of me just yet. Soon enough, as she said, I’d have answers. And when I did, I had no doubt that everything would make sense.

“I hope you have a good day at work, Baby,” she said, pulling up in front of the office building. She leaned towards me, planting a wet kiss on my cheek. “I’ve asked Lyndie to keep an eye on you today. Try not to give her much trouble, okay?”

I shrugged, laughing. “No promises.”

“That’s a good boy,” she smirked. “Now, off you go. I’ll see you tonight.”

No sooner than I had departed the car, Mommy was off and down the road, headed back to the house, I presumed, for her me-time. It was a rare occurrence for Mommy to just stand, or sit, still–it seemed like she was always doing something. Always moving. I tried to imagine what her me-time would even look like. A giant cup of tea–or glass of wine–while she watched soap operas? Did she read a book in the bathtub? She did like to read–though her taste in books never seemed especially relaxing either. True crime and true crime adjacent, usually. How she didn’t have nightmares about it all was beyond me.

“Good morning, Clark,” Amber said as I approached the front desk.

“G-good morning.” Amber seemed nice, and Mommy spoke highly of her, but I had yet to get a good read on her. She was distant enough from the baby-shenanigans that I just didn’t know what went through her mind when she saw myself or Risa waddling around in diapers.

“Think you’ll be alright without your Mommy today?”

Was she mocking me? Or was that a genuine question? “I, uh, think I’ll be good.”

“Of course he’ll be alright,” said another voice. Lyndie was approaching. “He’s got me looking after him.”

“Good morning, Lyndie.”

We walked deeper into the office, and when I felt we were far enough away, I had a question: “How do you feel about her?”

“Amber? She’s cool. Don’t expect her to change your diaper, but she’s never going to give you any problems.”

“Hey, uhm, do you know anything about Mommy staying home today?” I asked. “Some sort of appointment?”

She was quick to shake her head. The suspicious part of me thought it was way too quick.

“Can’t say I do,” she shrugged.

I wasn’t about to call Lyndie a liar, so I kept my doubts to myself.

“So, how’s the diaper doing this morning?” she asked, her hand giving my bottom a good firm pat. Behind us, I could hear Risa giggling, causing my cheeks to blush.

“Dry so far,” I said.

“I’ll check again soon enough,” Lyndie assured me. 

“Well, you know where to find me.”

I sunk into my office chair and booted up my PC. There was actual work to do. Actual responsibilities. I still wasn’t used to how novel this felt. 

I had a few tasks assigned to me–nothing that seemed extremely critical or urgent. Likely just the boring and tedious tasks that nobody else wanted to do–the sort of stuff that would’ve been relegated to the interns, if this company had them. 

Interns. Wow. That used to be me.

There was some file organization to do. Some data entry. Some proofreading on an early draft of an employee handbook. There was a folder of images that needed to be moved to another server to be used on the company’s still-developing website.

“Are they giving you lots of work to do?” Risa asked, strolling up to my desk. There was a baby bottle in her hand, filled with what looked to be milk. She casually tipped it into her mouth, suckling from the nipple. When she was done, she wiped the drips of white liquid from her lips with the back of her hand. All without the slightest care in the world as to what other people might think. Too, her attire was quite infantile–a colorful onesie underneath some pastel pink overalls. I wondered if she actually wore this into the office or if she changed into this outfit when she got here. I tried to imagine someone walking down the street in this get-up, but it just didn’t seem likely.

“I’ve got a bit, yeah. Enough to keep me busy today.”

“Same,” she said. “It feels like there’s always something to do. But I like that.”

“How, uh, are you feeling about the company?” I asked. It felt like just small talk, but I was genuinely curious to get more insight on her thoughts about this place.

“Love it,” she said. “It’s like a dream job. I’m getting paid while I’m using my diapers, you know?”

“How do you like Ms. Beaufort?”

“Oh, she’s the best. And the, uhm, breastfeeding? Like…holy shit.”

I laughed and nodded my head. “It’s nice.”

She grabbed a chair pulling it up alongside my desk and took a seat. “You know, I just want to say, you’re, like, my hero.”

Lyndie had mentioned something like this to me when I first started working in the office–something about Risa and Bradley seeing me as a legend for how I taken into Ms. Heller’s home to be treated like a big baby for a good length of time. Still, hearing her say this to me now, my only response was: “Huh?”

“Like, man, I would kill to live like you do. Okay, well maybe not kill, but you know what I mean.”

I wasn’t sure that I did, but I nodded anyway.

“That had to be awesome, right? Living the dream? Full-time baby?”

“It certainly had its perks,” I shrugged. I opted not to talk about the downsides. The feeling I had of being so far behind now–the insurmountable amount of catching up that I felt I had to do now. The loss of familial and friendly connections. 

“I’ve got so many questions for you,” she said. “But if I start asking them, I’m sure we’ll be here all day.”

“Well, uh, I’m around if you ever want to chat.” I was just being polite. I didn’t mind talking to her about my experiences, but I wasn’t entirely comfortable about the idea of just being interviewed by someone I barely knew.

“Good morning, Clark,” said another voice, just beyond Risa. I looked up to see Ms. Beaufort’s smiling face–and her ample milk-filled bosom.

“H-hello, Ms. Beaufort.”

“Oh please. It’s Auntie.”

I tried that again: “Good morning, Auntie.”

“My assistant isn’t being too distracting, is she?”

“N-no,” I stammered. “Of course not.”

“She can be a chatty little baby. But that’s why we have this.” Ms. Beaufort revealed a pacifier and slid it into Risa’s mouth. Risa’s cheeks blushed as she looked down at the floor.

I was tempted to reiterate that Risa had done nothing wrong, but it didn’t really seem important. As embarrassed as Risa seemed to be, I could tell that this was also the sort of thing she lived for. Relatable, really. I’d have died if Mommy pushed a pacifier into my mouth back at the old office, in front of my other co-workers–but I’d have thought about that moment for weeks after.

“And, one more thing,” Ms. Beaufort said, helping Risa to her feet. “Let’s check on the status of your diaper, hmm?”

Risa let out a meek moan of protest through her pacifier, though did little to actually resist. Of course her diaper was going to get checked right here, in the middle of the office. That was how this place worked. 

Ms. Beaufort unlatched the shoulder straps from the overalls, letting them tumble down Risa’s legs. Next, her hand reached between Risa’s legs and gave the bottom of the onesie a good tug to pull the snaps apart. Next, the onesie was pulled up past Risa’s hips so that her diaper was exposed. 

I had been told previously that Risa was all about the cloth diapers, and here they were. I was expecting a pair of plastic pants, but these were more like a cloth diaper cover–I suspected they had a waterproof liner. I couldn’t see the cloth diaper itself, but given the bulky shape of her bottom, I had to imagine it was pretty thick.

I was curious to see how Ms. Beaufort would go about checking diapers like this, since you couldn’t really see the cloth diaper itself. Sure enough, waiting just another moment revealed that answer, as Ms. Beaufort’s hand gently squeezed the bottom of the diaper. I imagined that she knew the feel of a wet diaper. Then, she lowered her head closer to Risa’s bottom and gave it a quick sniff. It didn’t seem necessary–messy diapers rarely needed that thorough of an investigation to identify–though I suspected this was more for show. Really, if all she was going to do was to squeeze the diaper, she probably didn’t need to unsnap the onesie.

This was just how this place worked.

“Wet,” Ms. Beaufort announced–just as much to Risa as it was to anyone who felt like listening. “It could probably hold more though. I’ll be checking you again soon enough.”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” Risa stated. No ‘Mommy.’ No ‘Auntie.’ It was a curious way to address her, but Ms. Beaufort didn’t seem to have a rebuttal or correction for her. As best as I could tell–’ma’am’ was just the expected way for Risa to address her at the moment. I had questions about that–but this probably wasn’t the time to seek answers.

“Clarky,” Ms. Beaufort cooed in my direction, “it’s always a delight to see you in the office.” 

As quickly as she materialized, she floated back to her office, closing the door behind her, leaving Risa to reassemble her onesie and overalls on her own. I couldn’t help but notice the struggle she was having with the onesie snaps.

“Do, uh, you need help?” I asked.

“I appreciate you offering,” she said, looking up at me with glowing pink cheeks. “But I can get this.” 

Perhaps realizing that she was better off taking her struggles back to her own desk, she slowly shuffled backwards towards her own space, her overalls still around her ankles. By the time she got to her chair, it seemed that she at least had her onesie fastened overtop the waterproof diaper cover.

I told myself again: This was just how this place worked.

Soon enough, I found myself deep in my own work again. Time seemed to zip by at a quicker clip when I had purpose, and that seemed fine by me. The quicker the day went by, the sooner I could talk to Mommy about whatever it was her ‘appointment’ involved. Of course, part of losing myself to work–losing myself to anything, really–was that I stopped paying attention to my own potty-needs. 

Suddenly, my diaper seemed sopping wet. I had a vague recollection of it growing warmer and more swollen a few minutes earlier, but it seemed so normal and expected that I just didn’t dwell on it much.

This, I presumed, would be the hardest part of potty training.

Glancing over to Risa’s desk again, where she was finally sitting down after untangling the shoulder straps for her overalls, I realized that I didn’t want my next diaper-check to be a huge production. I’d be proactive, taking my diaper to Lyndie instead.

“Out of work already?” Lyndie said as I entered her office. “Or…” She sniffed the air. “Nope. Doesn’t smell like a dirty diaper.”

“Well, actually,” I said, feeling my cheeks warm, “I did kinda want to talk to you about my diaper…”

I caught her checking the time on her smartwatch. “Hmm, it’s later than I thought it was. I suppose that was enough time for you to dirty your diaper. Just wet?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “But wet enough to be changed, I think.”

She laughed. “Well, you’d be the expert. Come on over to the changing table.”

“You don’t mind?”

“For you, Clarky? I don’t mind a bit.”

Soon, I was on my back with my legs up in the air. It felt like the most normal position in the world, especially because I was in the company of Lyndie.

“How goes the potty training anyway,” she asked, her lips curled into a wry smile.

“Uh…I’m working on it. D-did you hear that I actually used a toilet the other day?”

She snorted and shook her head. “I did not hear that. Just once?”

“Well…I was at, uhm, someone’s house. And…it probably would’ve been rude of me to do in my diaper what I did in her toilet.”

“Her?” Lyndie asked, honing in on the most important detail. “I need a name, Clarky. Who were you visiting? Megan?”

“N-no…” Though, I still owed her a call…

“Someone I know?”

“You know who she is, but I don’t think you know her name.”

“How much longer are you gonna leave me suspense, Clarky? Out with it. Who have you been spending time with?”

“Her name is Paige…”

“You’re right,” she shrugged, peeling the tapes of my diaper open. “That name means nothing to me.”

“Pizza Girl.”

She had to stop what she was doing and step back from the table for a moment. “Wh-what? Are you serious?”

I nodded.

“How in the hell did that happen?”

“We…ran into each other.”

“Oh shit,” she said, shaking her head. “That night at the pizza shop?”

“Yeah…”

“And…she gave you her number? Even though she knows about your diapers?”

“Uh, funny thing about that…” 

I told her the whole story. I told her about the brief conversation at the pizza shop, and Paige’s note. I told her about how our little stunts back at the old apartment had somehow inspired Paige to seek out diapers of her own. I told her about the bar, and the subsequent trip to Paige’s house, where I had to make a hasty decision about where I pooped. All the while, I was laying atop the oversized changing table like it was a therapist’s couch–my diaper open and my caged cock dangling in the open without either of us batting an eye.

“Hm,” was all Lyndie could offer when I finished my tale, quickly returning to the task of wiping my skin in preparation for the next diaper.

“That’s…all you have to say?”

She laughed and shrugged. “You have to see that this is a very ‘Clark’ problem, right?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“These sorts of things are always happening to you.”

“I guess,” I said.

“It’s not a bad thing. Someday, it’s all going to make a very interesting memoir.”

“Who would want to read that?”

She laughed again, sliding a new diaper under my freshened-up bottom. “I bet there’s an audience for that somewhere.”

New diaper in place and taped up, I slid off of the changing table to get my clothes back on so that I could return to my job. Someday, returning to work after a piss could be as easy as zipping up my fly and washing my hands. Can you even imagine?

“You know,” Lyndie said. “You should talk to Ava.”

My ears perked up and I spun around to face her again. Did she say something? Had Ava indicated that she wanted to spend time with me too? Did Ava somehow mention that… Well, maybe it was best if I just asked: “Oh yeah?”

“Well, she’s been hassling me to join her and Caleb for a night out, but I wasn’t really interested in being the third wheel. But maybe you and Paige should join them. Like a double-date? Wouldn’t that be adorable?”

“Uh…maybe.” I could just imagine it: half the table sounding excessively crinkly while the other half giggled and pretended not to notice.

“Ava would love it, you know,” Lyndie shrugged. “She’s always saying that she wishes she got to hang out with you more.”

“Oh. Maybe it’s not a bad idea…” No, I was pretty sure that it was a bad idea.

“Okay! I’ll throw the idea out there to Ava tonight.”

Was it too late to tell her not to bother? Whatever. If Ava was actually interested in the idea of a double-date, I’d let her be the one to tell me that. And if, by that time, I decided it really wasn’t something I wanted to do–I’d tell Ava myself.

Who was I kidding? If Ava told me to meet her on the moon, I’d drive to Florida in a heartbeat to hijack a space shuttle.

The rest of the workday held few other surprises. Apart from another wet diaper of my own in the afternoon to change–and Risa scrambling to Ms. Beaufort’s office after she claimed to have ‘made pudding’ in her diaper–the day seemed light on infantile hijinks. I was productive, too, getting through almost all of my assignments, and even finding some time to organize some of Mommy’s files for her. When it came time to leave for the day, I was almost disappointed–a feeling I didn’t think I’d ever had about work before.

“You ready to get out of here?” Lyndie asked.

“Are you my ride home?” I asked.

She nodded. “Gabby asked me to drive you back. You don’t mind, do you?”

I shook my head. “No, of course not. Did she say anything to you? About what she had been up to today?”

Lyndie shook her head, but it was all that convincing. She knew more than she was letting on, but it was hard to say how much. It was fine. Whatever Mommy had going on, that was her business and it was on her to tell me about it. I couldn’t hold it against Lyndie for keeping Mommy’s secrets if that’s what Mommy wanted.

It was a quiet drive back. Lyndie tried to make small talk, and I did my best to roll with it–but I was back to just thinking about Mommy. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so stressed if I had an inkling of an idea as to what this was all about, but I had nothing. Zilch. Not an ounce of context. Not only that, but it felt like this mysteriously dark cloud had come from nowhere. I didn’t remember it being there yesterday morning. What changed? When?

Why?

How?

Etc.

Lyndie’s car finally rolled into Mommy’s driveway. It wasn’t always easy to determine if Mommy was home or not, because there was no way to tell if her car was in the garage or not.

There was, however, another car in the driveway–one that I didn’t recognize. A white Mercedes that looked relatively new–given how exceptionally pristine it appeared.

“Looks like company,” I said.

Lyndie shrugged and offered a playful laugh, but it rung pretty hollow. Did she know who this car belonged to?

“Let’s head inside,” she said to me, turning the car off.

“You’re, uh, coming in too?”

“Yeah, well, Gabby thought it might be a good idea I was here.”

“Okay, so, what is going on here?”

She sighed. “It’ll be okay. But we should head in. She’ll explain everything.”

“Explain?” I asked. “What is there to explain?”

“This isn’t a bad thing,” she said. “I promise. But you might not like it at first. And I’m really sorry about that.”

“You’re really not going to tell me what’s going on?”

She shook her head and waved for me to follow her up the sidewalk. I swallowed, rotated my shoulders in an attempt to loosen myself up, and let out a little spurt of pee into my dry diaper.

Okay. Here we go.

The front door opened and we stepped into the foyer. I could hear talking. Two voices. Both feminine. One, without a doubt, was Mommy. The other was familiar, but just muffled enough that I couldn’t make a perfect identification for.

The cadence of the conversation seemed polite, but awkward. I knew Mommy’s various tones well enough. She was talking to someone she didn’t know that well. She was being cautiously friendly.

The closer I got to the entrance of the living room, the more clarity the conversation had. I could hear the familiar clink of spoons in teacups.

“...it’s not really my business,” Mommy was saying. “I’ve tried to encourage him to reach out, of course. But, at the end of the day, that’s not a decision that I can make for him.”

Was she talking about me?

“You understand why I had to assume the worst, don’t you?” the other voice asked. 

Oh. That voice was also very familiar to me. Suddenly, I felt myself getting a little lightheaded. Not to the point where I thought I’d topple over, but enough so that everything around me seemed a little fuzzy.

Let’s get this over with, I guess.

I stepped forward, clearing the corner and entering the living room. There they were: Mommy was sitting on the loveseat, a cup of tea hanging from her hand. Across from her, on the other side of the coffee table, was my mother. Annette Leiland-Ashburn, in the flesh. 

Finally in the same room at the same time as Gabrielle Heller.

“Clark,” my mother said, standing up. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Seventy-Eight

In the back of my mind, I knew this day was going to come. My mother wasn’t going to just shrug, kick at the ground, and say ‘Oh well, I guess he’s gone now.’ Sooner or later, she’d accept my silence as a challenge.

On one hand, it occasionally made my mother look like the Terminator–an unyielding agent who wouldn’t stop until she got what she wanted. On the other hand–wasn’t she just being a good mother? Her son had fallen off the grid without saying where he’d be off to–what else was she supposed to do?

So I wasn’t mad to see my mother. I felt upset–but I was only upset at myself. I had ample opportunity to reach out to her and to try and explain things. I probably didn’t even have to tell her everything. Or even much at all. All I had to do was reach out and confirm that I was alive and doing well, and I could’ve bought myself more time if I wasn’t ready to have a bigger conversation with her.

“Clark,” my mother said, standing up. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Well,” I said, feeling my heart shake violently in my rib cage, “you found me.”

“I truly didn’t want it to come to this,” my mother said, walking towards me. “I didn’t want this to be a whole production. I just wanted to know what happened to you, and I wanted to be sure that you were alright.”

Her arms opened and wrapped around me. For a moment, I was too dumbstruck to reciprocate, but I finally lifted my arms and hugged her back.

“How did you find me?” I asked. The question seemed to imply things, I thought. It implied that I was trying to hide, or that I didn’t want to be found. Really, I just wanted to know what led to this moment.

“I’ll take the heat for that,” Lyndie said, waving to me. “Your mother and I had exchanged numbers back when she came and got brunch with you and me.”

“I only recently reached out to her,” my mother said, releasing me from her grip and stepping backward from me. “Though I probably should’ve done it much sooner.”

“I wasn’t sure what to do,” Lyndie said. “I probably should’ve come right to you, Clark. I’m sorry I didn’t. But I went to Gabby instead.”

“And I reached out to your mother myself,” Mommy said.

I was surprised at the anger that I was feeling. I didn’t think I was mad a few moments ago, but Lyndie’s admission that she should’ve talked to me first stirred me up a little. Yeah. She should’ve talked to me first. Because now–looking around to see my mother’s, Mommy’s, and Lyndie’s concerned faces–it felt like an intervention. Or, worse, a shaming.

“I’ve got to go take care of a thing or two,” I said to the women. “Why don’t you all keep talking about me without actually talking to me.” I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going, so I just let my feet take me wherever. I ended up going up the stairs to the nursery, shutting the door behind me.

Fuck me. That was a temper tantrum. And for what? So that I could storm into my nursery?

I checked my own diaper–as if I might’ve surprised myself by it being more used than I remembered. No, only mildly damp. I thought that I might fix that soon enough. That’s what I needed–a good load in the back of my diaper. One that I could sit on, squish all over, and stroke myself to.

Supposing, of course, I had a key to the damn cage.

I sat down on top of the changing table. The plan was to just do nothing for a while. Here, in my infantile sanctuary, I’d just wait out the rest of the adult world that I didn’t want to have any part of. I knew I couldn’t stay here forever, but a few minutes didn’t seem like a bad idea. I’d just sit. Think. Maybe I wouldn’t even think all that much, if I could help it.

I must’ve managed to disassociate from reality a little, because when I heard footsteps approaching the nursery door, it felt like I was being woken from a nap. It was going to be Mommy, probably. She was going to apologize. She was going to say some magical thing to make me feel better about this situation.

There was a knock at the door.

“Yeah?”

When the door opened, I saw it was Lyndie. I wasn’t mad about this, though. If anything, I was relieved to see her. Lyndie kept me grounded.

“Hey,” she said, slowly entering and closing the door behind her.

“Hey.”

“You alright?”

“Did I overreact down there?” I asked.

“Look, if I were in your shoes, I’d have cursed someone out. You were pretty civil about it.”

“That’s something.”

“I’m sorry I went to Gabby instead of you when your mother reached out.”

“It’s fine,” I sighed. “I was living my life like an infant for almost ten months now. Mommy was taking care of everything for me. I can’t, then, be surprised when everyone keeps seeing me as a baby.”

“Are you gonna go down and talk to her?” she asked. “Because, if you want, I can down and tell her to fuck off.”

I laughed. “No, no. You don’t have to do that. I’ll talk to her. I just needed a minute.”

“You’ve been up here for a little bit. Did you need another minute? Did you need a diaper change?” Lyndie smirked

“N-no. It’s dry. I checked.” Of course, I wasn’t that sure how long it had been since I first came up here. Maybe my diaper still wasn’t as dry as I remembered it being. I shifted my body a little, trying to feel how my diaper squished beneath me. It didn’t seem wet.

“Well, the offer will still be on the table if you need one later.”

“I’m sure, eventually, I’ll have to take you up on that.”

We both laughed and shook our heads. Just another surreal moment in a long, long, series of surreal moments in our lives.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” Lyndie asked.

“Maybe? I’ll be honest, these days, it feels like my memories of the old office start with Mommy handing me a diaper.”

Lyndie laughed. “I think I started, like, two weeks before you did. They kept telling me that there were more interns coming, and I was kind of dreading it. They put me in a fucking closet, but…it was, like, my closet, you know? And so then you showed up. I did not like you.”

Maybe this shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was–I could recall Lyndie being kind of distant for those first few weeks, though I just assumed that was her personality. “Really? What was it that you didn’t like about me?”

“I think I just thought that you were the person that I didn’t want to be. I didn’t want to be a corporate drone. I didn’t want to be indoctrinated into the world of being a ‘team player’ or having to give a shit when the company put cupcakes in the break room. But you–you just had this naiveness about you. I firmly believed that the company was going to swallow you whole and turn you into all the things that I never wanted to be.”

“Wow,” I said, shaking my head. “I guess that premonition came true, huh? I became the ultimate lapdog.”

“Don’t be silly, Clark. The exact opposite happened. Gabrielle made a move to get her hands on you, and the person I thought you’d be would’ve resisted. That person would’ve–I dunno–gone to HR. Quit. Got reassigned to another company for your internship. But you went for it. Even when things got weird–and they got pretty damn weird pretty damn quickly.”

I had to laugh again. ‘Pretty damn weird’ was still an understatement.

“I’m not all that sure what that has to do with right now,” I said.

“I just wanted you to know that I look up to you. I always have. Sure, you were always the baby. The one that everyone got to take out their weird fantasies on. But you always rolled with it, embraced it, and made it your own. If you had rejected Gabrielle’s ideas early on, I definitely wouldn’t be where I am now.”

“You? You look up to me?”

“You think with your diaper sometimes,” she shrugged. “But you seem to keep your heart in your diaper too, so it’s not all that bad of a thing. Look, here’s my point: Whatever happens downstairs–whatever awkward conversations you have, whether it’s today or tomorrow or ten years from now, I don’t want anyone to ever make you feel like you made the wrong decisions, okay? At the end of the day, you’ve always done exactly what you wanted to do. So many people never get to live out their fantasies like you did. Maybe they can’t. Or…maybe they’re just too afraid to. But you did it, Clark. I’m proud of you. I’m happy for you. And I hope that you never let anyone else tell you that you lived your life wrong.”

There was so much I wanted to say to her. So many details in her words that I wanted to comment on. But really, the only response I could give was to hug her. I slid off the changing table and threw my arms around her, squeezing as tightly as I could.

“Now don’t go telling people I was being this nice to you,” she said into my ear. “I don’t want anyone thinking I’m soft.”

I chuckled, finally relinquishing my grip. “Thank you, Lyndie. I really needed to hear that.”

“Of course. But I meant it. Every word of it.”

“I know.” Someday, I hoped to say something equally as beautiful to her.

“I should probably head back downstairs,” Lyndie shrugged. “You coming with me? If you need more time to yourself, I can pass that message along for you.”

“I should go too,” I sighed. I didn’t want to go, but I felt like I had run out of good reasons to hide–though I had plenty of bad reasons.

“It probably won’t be as bad as you think it’s going to be,” Lyndie said.

“Probably?”

“I mean, there’s always the chance your mother takes out a sword and cuts Gabby’s head off. Or yours. It’s not likely, but it’s possible.”

The idea of this didn’t really make me feel any better, but it at least served as an interesting distraction as I tried to imagine my mother as some sort of ninja.

“You’re an adult, believe it or not,” Lyndie continued. “Your mother knows that. The only reason she’s here is because she wanted to make sure you’re alive and that you’re safe.”

“Yeah…but she saw photos and–”

Lyndie shrugged. “So what?”

Her response was so simple, so blunt, that it forced my mind into overdrive as I tried to rationalize all the concerns and fears I had developed over the last ten months. “So what? Lyndie, I sent her photos–well, I didn’t send them, but she thinks it was me–of me at one of my absolute worst moments. It’s probably changed the way she looks at me. It’ll change the way she sees me for the rest of my life. Or her life, at least.”

Lyndie shook her head. “Don’t be so sure of that. Your mother isn’t this infallible being–she’s human. She’s probably had moments like this herself in her life. Like, no, she probably never wore diapers as an adult. But she probably humiliated herself in front of the wrong people. Or exposed the wrong part of herself to her mother. If what she saw in those photos disgusted her so much that it changed how she saw you, she wouldn’t have put in all the work that she did to find you. She would’ve cut you off in the same way that you cut her off.”

That made sense to me. I wasn’t completely certain that I bought it, but it at least made sense.

“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe.”

“Worst case scenario–well, outside of the one where she has a sword–is that she says mean things to you. And then, Gabby and I tackle her and roll her out the front door.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Clark, I’d roll anyone out a door for you.”

“Well, uh, I’d do the same for you,” I said, despite the fact that I was hoping that there’d never be a scenario where I’d be expected to follow through on such a promise.

“Perfect. So? Shall we go, then?”

“Yeah…”

“Wait, before we go,” Lyndie said, her lips twisted into a little smirk, “can I get a status update on that diaper?”

I felt my cheeks warm a little. Somewhere in the midst of that conversation, I had felt a little trickle of pee in my diaper. It wasn’t much, and I didn’t feel especially soggy now, but I couldn’t really say that I was ‘mostly dry’ anymore.

“It’s a little wet.”

“Wet enough for a change?”

Were it any other time, I’d have said that it wasn’t. But if I had to go back downstairs, and I had to wear a diaper while I talked to my mother, it seemed better that I do it in one that was completely dry. “I think I’d feel better if I was wearing a dry diaper.”

“Wow. Changing you twice in one day? Just like the old days, huh?”

The old days. Sometimes they didn’t seem that old. Sometimes they seemed like entire lifetimes ago.

I was back on the changing table, my pants pulled off and the diaper opened up so that Lyndie could wipe me down. A new diaper was slid under me, and a dusting of baby powder was applied. Lyndie and I both looked at each other at the same time, likely thinking the same thing.

“Should I have skipped the powder?” Lyndie asked.

“It’s scented,” I said. “I’m…going to smell like a baby.”

“Well, you always smell like a baby. This house smells like a baby.”

“Fair enough,” I shrugged. It seemed like a moot point anyway–the powder was already on me.

Soon, I was fastened into my fresh padding and my pants were eased back up my legs. That was that–there weren’t any other distractions or delays. It was time to, quite literally, meet my maker.

To my surprise, when Lyndie and I came down the stairs, the tone of the conversation I was hearing in the living room was unlike anything that I expected. It wasn’t dour, nor was it awkward. It wasn’t combative. It was the sound of…camaraderie? Friendly conversation. Some laughing. 

“...but as cute as it was,” my mother was saying, “I knew that those were the flowers I was growing in the garden. So I was simultaneously annoyed that he had uprooted them all–but completely charmed that he had made this haphazard bouquet for me.”

“Ah, Clark,” Mommy said from her couch, watching Lyndie and I slowly stroll into the room. “Your mother was just sharing some adorable memories of you.”

The idea of my mother and Gabrielle Heller having a civil conversation about the embarrassing moments of my childhood was usually the sort of thing I had nightmares about. I took a deep breath and steadied myself. It felt good to have Lyndie next to me–her presence gave me strength.

“Did she tell you the wedding story?” I asked. “That’s usually the first one she tells people.”

Both my mother and Mommy laughed, nodding their heads. I felt my cheeks blushing some, but I did my best to shrug off the rest of my humiliation.

I was trying to think two or three steps ahead. If I sat down, where did I sit–who did I sit next to? What did we talk about? How much could I say–how honest could I be–with an audience?

No. I needed to just do what I should’ve done months and months ago–I needed to have a conversation with my mother. One on one.

“Mom?” I asked. Amusingly, both Mommy’s and my mother’s faces perked up–though it didn’t seem like my mother noticed this. Mommy quickly realized I was talking to my mother, chuckled, and sat back in her seat.

“Yes, Clark?”

“I was hoping you and I could talk. Like, uh, just you and I.”

“Of course. Did you want me to join you in another room, or…”

“Lyndie,” Mommy said to her. “Maybe you and I can step out for a little bit?”

“Sounds good to me,” Lyndie nodded. 

Mommy got up, waved goodbye to me, and left the room–Lyndie following behind.

Finally, and for the first time in a very long time–my mother and I were in a room alone together. It wasn’t a public place. We weren’t at risk of being interrupted by anyone or anything. Unlike our moment together at brunch all those months ago, we weren’t just waiting for Lyndie to return. It was just us, and there hadn’t been a moment like this in years.

“Hi Mom,” I said, sitting down in the seat that Mommy had been sitting in previously. I felt my diaper crinkling beneath me–and even though I had that extra padding between my ass and the seat, I could still feel the warmth of where Mommy’s ass had been moments before.

“Hello Clark.”

“I owe you an apology,” I said.

“You do,” she nodded. That was my mother–a little too direct at times.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you,” I told her. “I’m sorry I didn’t reach out–even if it was just to let you know that I was okay.”

“You moved and you didn’t even tell me,” she replied. “I didn’t even know you had moved, let alone know where you had gone. What if something happened? What if I needed to get a hold of you?”

I sighed, nodding my head. “S-sorry…”

My mother took a deep breath, held it, and slowly released it. To my surprise, when she was finished exhaling, there was a small smile on her face. “Clark, I’m not actually angry at you.”

“No?”

“You’re my only child, Clark. And, for a good part of your childhood, I was raising you by myself. Yes, I know I’ve been a bit overprotective in the past. Overbearing, even. I just thought that I had to be. I will probably always be very critical and concerned about your well-being. I’ll be like this when you’re fifty years old.”

“Fifty?” I laughed. “I can’t even imagine that.”

“It’ll happen to you someday, believe it or not,” she said. “But to my point, I think all that worrying and concern is my problem. You’re still an adult. You can, and should, do whatever it is you want to do.”

Whatever it is you want to do. It felt like she was tip-toeing around what she knew, or thought she knew, about my lifestyle.

“But,” I said, “I shouldn’t hide from you. You should know where I live.”

She laughed. “It’d be nice. Though…I suppose that’s really up to you. It occurred to me today, as I was driving here, that I might not have had the right to just barge into your life. If you didn’t want to talk to me anymore–or if you didn’t want me to know where you were–I suppose that’s a right you have too.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” I said. “I’m glad we’re talking.” Sure, it wasn’t really that simple–I had plenty of thoughts about the timing of this visit and if she had, in fact, ‘barged’ into my life. But I had known for a very long time that I wanted to talk to her–and if she hadn’t done so, who could say how long it would be before it actually happened.

“Good,” she said.

“Look, maybe we should rewind a little. Those pictures that I sent you…”

“No,” she said, wagging a finger at me. “You don’t owe me an explanation for those, just so you know. Unless it’s something you truly think that I should know.”

I laughed. It probably wasn’t really that funny–especially not to her–but I couldn’t help myself. On no planet would I ever think that it was important that my mother know I was willingly using diapers and acting like a baby.

“I think we’re better off not talking about it,” I said.

She nodded. “Fair enough. I deleted the photos, just so you know. I don’t have them anymore. I only ever looked at them once–and that was more than enough.”

The photos were burned into my memory–I felt like I knew every single pixel of them. They probably were a lot for her to see. Especially without context.

“Gabrielle seems nice,” my mother said, looking around the living room. “And she seems invested in your happiness–whatever that entails.” 

Again, I had to wonder what she imagined when she thought about my lifestyle.

“She’s been very good to me,” I said.

“Is she, like, your partner?”

“Uh…” I was almost about to say ‘no,’ but the answer didn’t feel that simple. “Not in the traditional sense, I guess.”

She laughed at that. “Whatever is going on here, I imagine it’s complicated.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“And Lyndie is in on it?”

“In a way.”

She nodded, seeming to mull it over for a moment or two. “But you’re happy?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not harming anyone else?”

“No.”

She shrugged. “I mean–I guess I’m happy for you, then.”

“It’s not going to be like this forever,” I said, well aware that ‘this’ had yet to be defined out loud.

She nodded, her smile implying a “Sure, if you say so,” sort of response.

“I suppose I do have one question,” my mother said. “You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”

My heart pounded in my chest as I held my breath. I was dreading what this could be.

“So, you’re living with Gabrielle, and it seems like you know each other well and she takes good care of you–I suppose the details of that are none of my business. But…I’m curious. Do you see her as a mother-figure, Clark? Is she the version of a mother that you wished I was?”

Oof.

What a question. I could, and probably would, spend years breaking down and dissecting that query. Was it even possible to offer a concise answer for my mother now?

Maybe.

“It’s different,” I said, realizing that the room had likely been silent for a good minute or three. “I wouldn’t want her to be you. And I wouldn’t want you to be her.” That felt like an alright answer–one that scratched the surface. But it also occurred to me that there may have just been one thing that she wanted–perhaps needed–to hear: “She doesn’t replace you.”

My mother nodded. It was unclear if she believed me, or if she was happy about this answer–but I at least felt that she understood it. That was the best that I could do.

“Whatever it is you have here, Clark, it seems to make you happy. Gabrielle and Lyndie speak very highly of you, and they clearly love you. I’m not going to pretend that I’m not jealous, but I am happy for you.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I said, “Thank you, Mom,” but I wasn’t entirely sure what I was thanking her for.

“I could impart some motherly wisdom for you, if you’d care to hear it,” my mother said.

I sighed, expecting some speech about how I needed to grow up or get my life in order. Perhaps some words about responsibility or maturity. “Sure.”

“I may be a little late with this advice, but it’s still a good thing to know.”

“Uh huh.”

“See, when you were young, you’d get diaper rashes all the time. I tried a lot of different topical treatments and ointments. But do you know what worked best? Coconut oil. Every time–cleared it right up.”

I felt my cheeks glowing–my face might have been on fire. “Jesus, Mom.”

“I’m just saying,” she shrugged. “Maybe you’d find that information useful.”

***

If thou desires more Doing Business, then ye need...eth to go...

Go to my Ream Stories thing. Lots of stories. More Doing Business.

[shymerseysider]

Sweetie, we talked about this. You're not the boss anymore. You don't give orders, remember? You're my assistant now, not the other way around. To be honest, you're not really even that. You're more like the office mascot, so I don't want to hear about you raising your voice at the staff again, okay?

Don't pout, little boy! You should be grateful you've even got a job at all. Most men attend adult daycare or discipline school during the day, but I thought it would be fun to watch you running little errands for me in your adorable sailor suit and your diapers. Speaking of which... I can smell pee. Have you wet yourself again already? I swear the intern just changed you! Pants down, baby. Let's check the damage.

Oh wow. Yep, you did a big tinkle in these, honey. They're soaked! Still, nobody can spare the time to change you now, not so soon after your last visit to the baby changing station. I think we'll wait until you do a poopy before taking you again. In the meantime, get that soggy butt over to the coffee machine and make me a cappuccino. Oh, and try to remember sweetie, at work you're supposed to reply with "yes Ma'am". I'm only "Mommy" once we get home!

[shymerseysider]

“Hi!! It’s nice to finally meet you in person! I’ve heard so much about you from Ashley! You’re so much cuter than I expected, it must make it so much harder being in diapers. If you weren’t, this could have been a very different kind of date!”

You feel yourself violently blush, unsure about she meant about the date. “Thank you, you’re very pretty too!”

“Aww, that’s sweet of you to say, cutie! Are you hungry because I’m starving!”

You meekly nod your head, confused why she keeps calling you “sweetie” and “cutie.”

“Great, grab my hand and we’ll get a table!”

You give her your hand, letting her lead you to the host stand. “Hi, table for two please.” You follow her to your table.

“Sweetie, you don’t need to be nervous! You have nothing to be scared of! Just be yourself!”

You aren’t even sure how to be “yourself.” Not in this situation, anyway. “I know, I��ll be fine after I get a beer in me,” you say.

“You really are a cutie, but I can’t let you have a beer on my watch! How about apple juice?”

“That’s fine, I guess,” you answer, confused why you weren’t allowed a beer but she ordered a Cosmopolitan.

“So, Ashley says you’re not very experienced with girls because of your diapers. But don’t worry, sweeetie, that’s not a problem at all for me.”

“Yeah,” you mumble.

“Well, who cares! This isn’t that kind of date anyway! I’m not looking for a boyfriend, I’m looking for someone like you.”

“W-what do you mean?” you blurt out.

“Ohhh honey. You thought this was an actual date? No, I thought you knew! Like I said, I’m not looking for a boyfriend, I’m looking for a different kind of relationship!”

“What kind of relationship?”

“I want a cute boy to love, nurture, and care for. Someone who’s sweet and innocent. Someone who doesn’t mind that I check and change his diaper. Someone who listens to me and loves me. I want to be your Mommy.”

“My m-mommy? I don’t understand?”

“Well, think about it sweetie. You’re not going to find a woman who sees you like a real man. One who can satisfy their sexual and emotional needs. You’re in diapers, you know you can never be that person, right?”

You feel your heart beating faster. This wasn’t what you expected.

“Awww, sweetie, I don’t want you to feel bad! I’m not insulting you! I’m just saying you need a different kind of relationship. You need someone like me to help you through life. We’ll be together, but it will just be a little different than a normal relationship.”

“What kind of different?”

“Well, obviously, we won’t have a sexual relationship, for one. Mommy’s can’t sleep with their babies. But we will still have so many intimate, loving moments together. Like when I blow raspberries on your tummy during diaper changes. Or when I tuck you into bed for naps and bedtime. And so many more!”

“I don’t know, it seems a little weird…”

“It might now, but what other choice do you have? Are you going to be by yourself all your life, sitting alone in wet diapers wishing you could be with a woman? Well now you will never have to! You’ll be with me! I’ll love you more than you could ever imagine. You’ll make me the happiest girl in the whole world!”

“I guess that does sound better,” you concede.

“See! No more being alone ever again. You’ll always have me or one of my cute friends there with you to help you. You’ll never have to worry about your diaper again! Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“Yes…”

“And you’ll won’t have to feel bad about never having sex again! Nobody will judge you for it, they’ll love you even more because of it. You’ll be the sweet, innocent boy everyone loves. Doesn’t that sound better than looking at porn all alone every night wondering why you never have sex?”

“Yes…”

“And how much better will it be to know that you’ll always have me to love you? I’ll never abandon you. I’ll never leave you alone again. You’ll know you’ll always have someone that love you! Does that sound good?”

“Yes…”

“So you’ll do it? You’ll be my baby boy, for now and forever?”

“….yes.”

“Yes, what, baby?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Oh baby, I’m so excited!” she says, grinning from ear to ear, a tear in her eye, “I promise I already love you!”

As you eat, you feel the gravity of your new life. But, as she looks at you, you smile. You made the right choice. You’d rather her be your Mommy than spend any more nights alone.

[shymerseysider]

All The Small Things

You check for any nosy neighbors one last time. The coast is clear. You have the house all to yourself.

Finally.

Finding time to indulge in your secret diaper kink is never easy. But for today, at least, you have a few hours to yourself. Your boyfriend won’t get off work for another few hours.

You hate hiding this from him, but what choice do you have? He would never accept the idea that his girlfriend was hopelessly turned on by diapers, of all things. Shame drove you to hide your diaper stash—deep in the darkest recesses of your closet, right next to your onesies, pacis, and stuffies.

But not today.

You get to work building your little space, laying your blankets and adorning the space with pillows and stuffies. Toys and changing supplies are strewn about. The smell of baby powder drifts through the room, an erotic scent that makes your legs shaky with lust.

It was perfect. Cozy, warm, and undeniably cute.

All that was left was that thick, delicious diaper calling your name. Just unfolding and fluffing it sent erotic jolts through your body. By the time you finish taping it on, your mind is flooded with ecstasy.

Your paci bobs in your mouth as you focus on the growing warmth in your diaper. Your hand rubs it greedily. Desperate, overwhelming arousal floods your brain.

You lay in a daze for the next few minutes, empty of all thoughts. Empty of everything except your diaper, its warmth, and the touch of your fingers.

A car door slams. It was close. Terror replaces the ecstasy from moments before. This wasn’t supposed to happen! What is your boyfriend doing home so early?

You stare at the door like a deer in the headlights. Despite begging your body to move, your legs remain glued to the floor. Any second, your boyfriend would walk in the door and see you pathetically sucking on a paci in a soggy diaper —exposing you as the diaper girl you are.

Minutes—or was it an eternity—pass. But the door never opened.

It wasn’t your boyfriend’s car door slamming; it must have been your neighbor's. Breathing in deep relief, you grab your phone and text your boyfriend.

“Hey babe, when do you think you’ll be home from work?”

“Working late tonight,” he replies, “My boss is out of control on this project. I’ll call you when I leave.”

Perfect. You’ll have plenty of time to clean up before he gets home.

“Time for Bluey,” you say to nobody in particular as you turn on the TV.

You spend the next hour and a half in a blissful little space, watching Bluey and playing with your toys. All the while, your diaper slowly swells without any conscious effort.

A sudden cramp forces your attention to your tummy.

You’ve been waiting for this moment for days, eating high-fiber foods and even holding it yesterday. All for this. You didn’t want to mess your diaper—not when days like these are so rare—you wanted to destroy it.

Never taking your eyes off Bluey, you get on your hands and knees, lowering your diapered bum into the perfect squatting position.

It was like nothing you have ever experienced. You were a passenger in your own body. Your diaper is filled with wave after wave of mess without any effort.

It just happened.

Your diaper crinkled under the effort of your load, the mess spreading to every nook and cranny of your diaper.

No drug could ever make you feel as good as you do right now. The bulging warmth of your mess, the smell mixing with the baby powder. Bluey playing on the edge of your awareness.

You were so lost in the moment you never heard two car doors closing. Or the keys rattling in the front door. You didn’t even see two people walk inside, laughing at the scene unfolding before them.

“I think she pooped her diaper, babe!” That voice—her voice—startled you out of your daze.

In your sheer horror of realizing you weren’t alone, you fall backward, landing on your poopy diaper. A sickening, humiliating squelch echoes through the room.

“Wait, was that her diaper?”

Tears well in your eyes. You look up to find your boyfriend holding hands with your best friend, Mia, both with rabid excitement in their eyes.

“Don’t be scared, Kayla,” your boyfriend coos, “Everything is okay. We know all about your diapees! You have nothing to be ashamed of! Not even a poopy diaper!”

Too stunned to speak, you do nothing but blankly stare at your boyfriend, doing your best to cover your browning diaper.

Mia steps toward you. “Yeah, Kay-Kay, we already talked all about your little, uh…interests, and we settled on something that works for all of us!”

“Wha-what do you mean,” you whine.

“Well, sweetie, that stash of diapers of yours wasn’t as hidden as you think. And you really should use incognito mode if you're gonna browse on my computer. I read all the silly things you want. So, Mia and I decided to make all your dreams come true!”

Your face burns in horror, shame, and humiliation. You’ve never felt so exposed. They know.

Mia kneels next to you. “I promise, it’s okay, Kayla. Why don’t you lean back for Mommy so I can get you into a clean diaper while we explain how things will be from now on.”

You scan Mia’s face but find nothing but compassion….and authority. Too overwhelmed to argue, you lay back.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Mia gushed, “You already laid out all your diaper change supplies too! Such a smartie!”

Your boyfriend sits on the couch behind you, leaning over you. “Obviously, things are gonna change around here, Kayla,” your boyfriend starts, pausing when Mia rips open the tabs of your diaper, “You were right about hiding this from me, I never would have been in a sexual relationship with someone who poops her diapers. So, Mia is going to take over for you.”

You try to get up, but Mia gently nudges you back down. “Where do you think you’re going, little one? Your bum is still covered in poopies!”

“From now on, I’m not your boyfriend—I’m your Daddy. And Mia agreed to be your Mommy! Isn’t that great?”

You look at both of them, flabbergasted at this turn of events. “I-I-…b-but…”

“Let me finish, honey. Mia is moving in tomorrow. She’ll be sleeping with me. We’ll turn the guest room into a nursery for you, complete with everything an oversized baby like you needs.”

Your boyfriend continues, “Now that we know what you really are, you can expect to be treated like the baby you are. You’ll be in diapers all day, every day. What your websites called ‘24/7.’ You are never allowed to change yourself—you will wait for me, Mia, or whoever we put in charge of you to change you. And do not ask for changes either. We will check your diaper.”

Mia lifts your legs into the air. She grabs wipes with her free hand, cleaning the mess you left for her.

“You will not have any adult responsibilities—or privileges. You can kiss things like driving, alcohol, and any movie or TV show rated above PG. You’ll be put to bed at 8 PM every night and nap every day at noon.”

Mia buts in, “Babe, don’t forget about…you know!”

“Oh, right! I almost forgot! Sex. Or, more appropriately for you, the lack thereof. Babygirls are far too sweet and innocent for things like sex. But, if you behave, you’ll get some special diapered buzzy time with your wand once every week or two. Always with your diaper on, though. Your princess parts will never have anything touching them except a soggy diaper.”

You hear Mia fluffing your next diaper. She smiles at you. “Up!” she says, tapping your bum. She slides the diaper under you. “Thank you, sweetie!”

Baby powder rains down on you, the infantile scent proving you belong where you are.

Under their control.

“What do you think, baby?” Daddy asks, “are you ready to start your new life?”

[shymerseysider]

I agree with your last answer, its so much more interesting when it's written that way. I also love the way you do that condescending casual humiliation rather than the outright malicious humiliation. A smirking babysitter treating me no different than she would a toddler just makes me melt...

Thank you! I'm glad you enjoy it, because I think ABDL captions are much more effective when a dom(me) is casually condescending. Especially when you add a touch of love into it.

I'm not a little or regressor, but what I really enjoy is the power dynamics involved. One major theme in my captions is the loss of adulthood. Especially the process of losing it. Because when a dom(me) says/acts in a way that says, "you're not an adult—but I am," they're just emphasizing the power dynamic I love.

You, a non-adult, need an adult to help you function. To change your soggy diapers. To feed your. You are not in control. You don't make decisions—it would be absurd for pamper packers to be in charge. That's for the adults. You behave for the adults.

And obviously diapers are the ultimate symbolic proof of lost adulthood. Adults don't wear diapers—that's for babies like you (I know that's untrue, trust me, I'm an adult who needs diapers for medical reasons, but still).

So, to me, if I want to emphasize the power dynamic that I am an adult and you are the "baby," I can't be outright malicious to you, because that's not how you treat a poor, helpless little pamper packer!

I treat you like your place as a helpless, diaper-wearing pamper packer is the most natural thing in the world. That your lack of adulthood is so obvious, so indisputable that it goes without saying. Let the diapers and embarrassing situation speak for itself. That's what should be doing the humiliating.

I've said it before, diaper cuties should always have a red face from their own embarrassment to pair with their colorful diapers, with an adorable hint of yellow.

How can I be mean to the whiny little thing in a wet diaper? You didn't mean to wet it! You can't help it! You're just an overgrown toddler!

Plus, I just love how you can use sweet, innocent acts and sayings as tools of humiliation. Sweet smiles, "aww, so adorable"-s, cute nicknames, all of it.

ABDL at its best is adorable, loving, condescending humiliation.

So, to everyone reading this (except the caregivers!), just know I think you're the cutest little thing sitting there, reading this in your bulging, soggy diaper. You're right where you belong, little one.

[shymerseysider]

“The Magic Locket: Regressing My Brother Into A Helpless Baby” from Natasha’s Bedroom:

My pervy brother *needs* to be punished. I found yet another pair of my panties hidden in his room, and I can only imagine what he’s been doing with them. When I told my best friend at school about the situation, she smiled with a twinkle in her eye and handed me a package with a locket inside. “I have the perfect solution for you,” she cackled. “Call him into your room, and then open the locket. I can’t tell you what’ll happen next, as the outcome is different for each person, but the necklace will decide the perfect punishment for your brother. And I can guarantee that, after this, he’ll never steal another pair of panties from you again.”

I’m skeptical, but I decide to give it a try - after all, I have nothing to lose. I confront my brother after school, following her instructions exactly. Once I open the locket, I see my brother begin to shrink, growing younger and younger each second. I close the locket with a gasp, but it’s too late: I’ve regressed my brother into a toddler! “You won’t be stealing my panties anymore, little brother. You’re just a helpless little toddler now, and toddlers can’t sniff panties or masturbate. They can’t even feed themselves!”

I open the locket again and watch my brother regress into an infant. I feel a surge of love when I look at his tiny face and body; he’s so cute and innocent as a baby! But he’d be perfect as a totally helpless newborn, I realize. And then I open the locket once again..

[shymerseysider]

That’s enough out of you, no fussing.. time for bed little one 🧸🍼

[shymerseysider]

Two Worlds, One Family

This caption is for @baby-bear-den! I hope you enjoy it!

I smile as the front door opens. This is my favorite part of the day.

As always, you’re wearing your favorite big girl costume: a fancy white lab coat covering your chic clothes. Nobody would ever guess what you truly are. Or what you’re hiding under all those fancy clothes.

But I know.

For the few hours you leave the house, you get to pretend you have everything a diaper girl like you lacks. Power. Authority. Respect. It’s well-deserved, I’ll readily admit. You earned it. Not only do your colleagues respect you, but your subordinates fear you.

It makes me laugh every time I think about it. If they only knew.

“Hi, Daddy!” you chirp, walking over to me to let me check your diaper.

“Hi, sweetie!” I respond, removing your lab coat and feeling the soggy diaper under your clothes, “how was your day?”

It’s the contrast I love so much. Listening to you ramble on about roleplaying as big girl while you obediently lift your arms so I can remove your shirt. On and on you go. All the while, I strip you of your big girl costume, replacing them with clothes much more suited to your authentic self.

You continue rambling on about your “big girl” life, even as you’re standing in nothing but your soggy diaper. It’s adorable. But not as adorable as the onesie I put you in, delightfully colorful and covered in all kinds of barnyard animals.

Perfect for you.

I shove your paci in your mouth when I finish buttoning your onesie, stopping your adorable rambling midsentence. I’m done listening. You may command a room there, but not here.

I’ll never get tired of the look on your face when the paci silences you. It’s the look of a woman caught between two worlds. The moment you truly understand whatever happens outside of the house is nothing but a mirage. You aren’t the well-respected, highly competent biologist you think you are. Not at home.

Here you’re nothing more than Mommy and Daddy’s diaper girl—our plaything. You never have been—and never will be—in charge. Not over us, not over your own life. Your place is filling your diapers for us, adorably begging for changes, desperately wishing you could join our adult fun.

I carry you to your playpen, playing Doc McStuffins, before heading to the kitchen to make dinner. You may supervise others out there, but here you are supervised. The only thing you supervise here are the stuffies scattered around your playpen.

Someone walks into the kitchen. I turn around, preparing to scold you for leaving your playpen, only to find my girlfriend smiling back at me.

“Hey babe, how was your bath?” I ask, kissing her.

“Amazing, I love those new bath bombs,” she replies, “do I hear Doc McStuffins? She’s home early!”

“Yep, she got home a few minutes ago!”

I watch as she approaches your playpen, kissing you on the forehead. She picks you up and carries you back into the kitchen, sitting you in your high chair at the table.

Your face still burns in embarrassment whenever you’re locked into your highchair. I have no idea how we went so long without it. You look so cute in it, especially when Mommy puts your bib on you.

For the next twenty minutes, you sit in silence, listening to Mommy and Daddy talk about our day. We make an effort to ignore you, all to make you feel even more little. Besides, adults don’t want or need a baby to talk about her day.

Once dinner is ready, Mommy prepares a plate for you, cutting your chicken into bite-sized pieces and filling your cute Disney Princess plate with all your num-nums.

Mommy playfully feeds you before we eat, your face burning brighter every time she says, “here comes the choo choo train! Open up for Mommy!” When you’re finished, your face is smeared with mac and cheese, your bib dirty from all your “oopsies” as you clumsily spilled your food.

As we eat, I notice you fidgeting in your seat. I’m careful not to draw any attention to it. I know what’s about to happen. I surreptitiously prod my girlfriend, letting her in on your potty dance. You’re staring off into space, desperately—and fruitlessly—trying to avoid packing your pampers at the dinner table.

You continue to squirm, no doubt wondering why we’re still at the table long after we finished eating. I couldn’t help but laugh seeing the relief on your face as we finished eating, believing you’d be freed from your plastic prison before loading your diaper only for the relief to vanish, replaced with renewed terror, as I sat back down after cleaning the dishes, continuing my conversation.

The cutest toot, slightly—and adorably—muffled by your soggy diaper, escapes into the room. You whimper as our conversation stops, our undivided attention on your endearing display in your highchair.

“Are you making a stinky for us, baby?” Mommy asks rhetorically.

“Mmmmphfff!” you unintentionally respond, your body tightening to fill your diaper.

Your legs, once freely swaying in boredom, are now rigid and unmoving. You unconsciously grab the plastic of your highchair, fingers white, as you grip for leverage to push. Your eyes are wide, full of humiliation.

More toots escape into your diaper.

Finally, with one loud grunt, your diaper visibly expands, crinkling as it does.

“Good girl,” Mommy coos, “get all those ickies into your diaper, little one!” Your face somehow manages to grow an even darker shade of red.

You struggle for a few more minutes, your diaper occasionally expanding as you push the mess out. It’s adorable.

“All done, kiddo?” I ask, unlocking the highchair, “you did such a great job filling your diapee for us!”

“C-can I hab changies?” you whimper through your paci.

“Not yet, little one,” Mommy answers, “it’s almost your bedtime and I want to spend some time with you, baby!”

You look up at me pleadingly. I laugh. “Sorry, kiddo, I’m with Mommy on this one!”

I pick you up, carrying you over to the couch. I sit beside Mommy, gently laying you on your back across our laps.

Mommy tickles your tummy, causing you to laugh despite your embarrassment. “Such a cutie patootie we have! Daddy and I are so proud of you!” Mommy coos.

“That’s right, sweetie! I don’t know how we got so lucky! We have the cutest baby in the whole world! Even if she is stinky! Pee yew!!”

“Can you say ‘I’m the cutest, stinkiest pamper packer in the whole world!’ for us, baby?” Mommy asks.

You nervously suck on your paci. “I-I’m da cudest, stinkwiesth…p-pam-pamper packa in da ‘ho world," you stammer, faced flushed in embarrassment.

“Yes you are! Yes you are!” Mommy chirps proudly, “you’re the smartest baby in the whole world too! I don’t think there’s another baby who knows as much about animals as you!”

You stare back at Mommy, knowing the humiliating game that’s about to start.

“Yes you do, sweetie!” Mommy continues, “can our widdle scientist tell us what sound a cow makes?”

You squirm in embarrassment.

“You can do it, little one!” Mommy prods, “tell Mommy and Daddy what a cow sounds like!”

“M-moo,” you answer meekly.

“Surely you can do better than that!” I add, tickling your tummy, “try again, silly!”

“HAHAHA Daddy! It tickwes!!” you plead, squirming around, diaper crinkling wildly.

“Well, tell me what a cow says, silly!”

“MOOOOOOO!” you scream, still laughing after I stop.

“That’s right, baby!” Mommy says, “so smart! What about a pig?”

“OINK OINK OINK!” you squeal, starting to have fun despite your humiliation.

“Good job, kiddo!” I gush, “how about a frog?”

“WIBBIT! WIBBIT! WIBBIT!” you chorus, proud of yourself.

“Good girl!” Mommy sings, “what about a duck?”

“KWAK KWAK KWAK!” you lisp, violently blushing.

“So good!” I congratulate her, “but this is the hardest one yet! What does a baby say before bedtime?”

The smile fades from your face, “b-b-but I ‘on wanna go ni ni Daddy! I wan’ stay wif Mommy and Daddy!”

“No buts, silly,” Mommy says sternly, “Mommy and Daddy want to have some fun, and I gotta get you into a fresh diapee before you stink up the house!”

“Wha-no, PWEASE daddy!” you beg me, knowing I’m much more persuadable than Mommy.

Before I can answer, Mommy flashes you a dangerous look. “What did I say?”

You hiccup in fear. “T-that it’s b-bedtime, Mommy,” you answer dejectedly.

“That’s right, silly. Now say good night to Daddy, little one,” Mommy chides.

“G-goodnight, Daddy,” you whine.

“Goodnight, sweetie,” I say, kissing your forehead.

The last thing I see before you turn the corner is your pleading eyes over Mommy’s shoulder as she carries you to the changing table. I can’t help but smile at how adorable you are.

You may think you’re a big girl, but we know better. You’re right where you belong.