Alex’s Nursery

A rare emotion bubbles within you: defiance.

“N-no!! Don’twanna nap!”

You wield it clumsily, like a technical skill you haven’t used in years.

Because you haven’t.

Turning away from Mommy, you see the room that you once believed was the culmination of every fantasy you ever had.

Now it mocks you as a monument to the monotony of your life as her baby.

Dreadful silence blankets the room. Every second weakening your resolve as you wonder what she will do. Mommy never tolerates disobedience.

Will she spank you? Will she tell Daddy?  Will you spend the next 20 minutes in the corner with a bar of soap in your mouth?

You take a deep, steadying breath. It doesn’t matter what the punishment is. You’re sick of being a baby.

“I…I won’t!”

Mommy sighs.

“Jason, look at me.”

Whatever reaction you expected, this was not it. She hasn’t used your name or addressed you like an adult in well over a year.

Maybe she understands!

You stare into your eyes, searching for some hope.

“What’s gotten into you?”

Her question seems genuine. Inviting. This is your chance to tell her everything.

That you’re tired of living life as her baby, without any say in what happens in your life. Tired of the mind numbing baby shows and Fischer Price toys that turn your brain to mush.

That you’re tired of everyone in your life dismissing you like you’re some silly toddler, unworthy of respect or dignity. Tired of early bedtimes, daily naps, and boring, unspiced food.

That you’re tired of wearing diapers and having them changed whenever and wherever she decides. Tired of Winnie the Pooh overalls with snaps at the crotch, Bluey diaper shirts, and pastel onesies.

That you’re tired of diapers being the only place you’re allowed to cum—if Mommy gives you permission. Tired of listening to your best friend fuck your wife while you sleep in a crib.

It’s not cute anymore. You want to be an adult again.

“I want my old life back. No more baby stuff. I’m an adult—time you remember that.”

Mommy laughs.

“Oh, honey…no.”

The simple denial, unburdened by any explanation, feels like a slap in the face.

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, no. Nothing will change for you.”

“Yes, it will! You can’t force me to be your baby!”

“You’re right.”

“So, you’ll stop treating me like a baby?”

“No.”

“Then…then I’ll leave!”

“The doors right there, baby.”

For a split second, you think about your freedom—until the reality hits.

Mommy smiles knowingly as you work through the situation.

You have no adult clothes. No cell phone. No money. No car. No driver’s license. Nothing but a stack of diapers and a closet full of onesies.

“Need help packing a bag?”

Her voice oozes with the same infantile cadence you hate. No different from how a parent would entertain a toddler threatening to run away.

“Mommy gave you everything you wanted, hun. You wanted ‘the real thing,’ remember? Not role-play, not a dynamic—no, you wanted authenticity.”

She pokes your diaper.

“Well, you got it! Why do you think I insisted that you give up your law license? Or close your bank accounts and credit cards? Let your driver’s license expire? Hmm?”

She tickles your tummy.

“See, being a baby isn’t just about poofy diapies, colorful pacifiers, and adorable onesies, kiddo. Nope! Real babyhood requires utter dependence on Mommy for your every need! Babies can’t survive without their mommies—and neither can you!”

The full weight of her words crashes down on you.

“You have no money, no job, no place to go. But, sure, if you want to leave, Mommy will put you in a fresh diaper and new onesie, pack you a diaper bag, and wish you luck.”

Her smile throws you off balance.

“I’ll…I’ll call m-my…my friends…”

More laughter.

“Sweetie, everyone knows you’re a baby. Who is going to volunteer to babysit you? You can’t pay rent, can’t help with groceries, and need someone to change your diapers. Nobody is letting you stay with them.”

“I don’t need diapers!”

“You’re incorrigible, kiddo. Your diaper is leaking, by the way. Did you know?”

“I…”

“Face it, sweetheart. There is no going back. Mommy made sure of that. You’re so far from adulthood that I claim you as a dependent on my taxes. Besides, what law firm is desperate enough to hire someone with a 3-year gap in employment? Your resume will be written in crayon…”

She giggles at the ridiculousness.

“Even if you did leave, you’re not leaving behind diapers. You understand you’re not potty trained, right? And, honey, do you remember your last stiffie?”

Her silence demands an answer.

“I-I-I-I…dunno…”

She pinches your cheek.

“Aww! That’s because I took them just like your potty training! Even if I played with it, begging you to get hard for Mommy…nothing would happen. No more stiffies…ever!”

Your heart sinks into your stomach.

“Last question, baby boy. What woman wants an unemployed, impotent man-child who isn’t even potty trained?”

You shrug, defeated.

“Oh, sweetie, don’t be sad! Mommy wants that, silly! Me! I worked hard to make all your dreams come true! And mine.”

“B-but you said you w-weren’t into being a…a mommy…”

“I wasn’t…at first. But now? Fuck it turned me on stripping you of every shred of masculinity and adulthood. Breaking you down into my helpless, docile plaything. You’re my itty bitty Play-Doh, waiting to be molded by my hands.”

“Th-that’s…y-you’re lying!”

“No, baby. You’re going to spend the rest of your life as my baby—all because it turns me on. You could never dream of doing that as my husband. Ugh, I’m dripping just thinking about it.”

She bites her lip, sensing your surrender.

“Now. Tell me you’re Mommy’s baby. My good boy…”

Your cheeks burn with humiliation of the truth.

“I…m’your…Mommy’s b-baby…and…and good b-boy.”

Mommy winces in pleasure.

“That’s right! Are you a big boy?”

“N-no, Mommy.”

“Mmmm,” she moans, “Tell Mommy why...”

“C-cause…I-I…’mnot potty trained a-and c-can’t g-get a…a…umm…”

“Say it, little one.”

“Getta…s-stiffie, Mommy.”

“Ahh! Will you ever, ever have sex again?”

You shudder in shame. “N-no, Mommy..”

“Mhm! You’re Mommy’s perpetually pampered, eternally mushy baby boy!”

You nod, defeated and broken.

“Now, naptime. Mommy needs to play with Daddy…”

You start grabbing your blocks.

“No. Crib. You can clean after.”

Mommy’s cheeks are flushed with anticipation as she hastily tucks you in.

“Be a good boy and listen to how happy your rightful place makes Mommy.”

You barely have time to register what the rest of your life was going to be before Mommy is screaming Daddy’s name. Your useless nub twitches but remains as steadfastly squishy as your diaper.

This is how you’ll spend the rest of your life.

Utterly and completely dependent on the woman who stole your adulthood, emasculated you, and relegated you to a lifetime of pampers.

She shifted a little, but her eyes never left the screen.

Elmo was laughing now, and Abby was flying around with sparkles. It made her giggle behind her paci.

But that familiar pressure only stayed there in her tummy, threatening to interrupt her Sunday morning cartoons.

Nooo… not now, she thought, cheeks already tingling with a faint blush. I don’t wanna stop watching…I can just stay right here.

She ignored it, bouncing gently on her knees as Elmo and Abby sang. The pressure grew stronger, but she was too deep in her floaty headspace to care.

A tiny toot slipped out. Then another. She barely noticed, content in her carefree bubble.

Daddy walked in from the kitchen, drying his hands on a dish towel. He slipped on his glasses, sat down on the couch with his tablet, and smiled softly when he saw his baby girl.

Just the sight of her paci bobbing steadily, blankie clutched tight, and being completely mesmerised by the bright noisy characters made his heart melt.

“Is your tummy all full now from breakfast and your baba, princess?” he asked warmly, his voice full of gentle affection.

“Uh huh, Dada…” she mumbled around her paci, eyes still glued to the screen, not even turning her head.

Daddy opened his tablet and started reading the morning news, but he kept glancing over at her with that knowing little smile.

He already knew exactly what was coming. His baby always made her morning stinkies after breakfast.

It was her body’s sweet, predictable routine, and he loved every part of taking care of it.

She kept bouncing happily on her knees as the characters sang even louder and more joyfully. The pressure in her tummy grew stronger and more urgent, but it still felt distant and unimportant, like background noise in her perfect little headspace.

Another toot escaped and this one was louder but surprisingly she didn’t even register it.

Then, without any conscious thought, her body took over completely.

She subconsciously shifted forward onto her knees in that classic toddler pose, bottom slightly raised, back arched just a little, legs spread for balance.

She didn’t even realise she was doing it.

Her eyes stayed locked on the bright, colourful screen as Elmo and his friends started a lively new dance song about friendship.

She suckled harder on her paci, clutched her blankie a little tighter against her chest, and pushed ever so slightly.

A warm, mushy fullness slowly began to fill the back of her diaper. The soft, heavy load came out with almost no effort at all, it was warm and thick and smooth, spreading gently and steadily against her skin in that unmistakable squishy way.

It kept coming, filling the seat of her diaper more and more until the padding felt noticeably heavier and warmer, the mess pressing softly in all the squishiest, most intimate places.

Her tummy finally felt so much lighter and better, but her diaper felt so much fuller now, the warm mush cradling her in a way that was both embarrassing and strangely comforting.

Still facing the TV and deep in her happy little world, she relaxed completely and sat back down cross-legged without thinking. The mess squished noticeably underneath her, warm and mushy, spreading even more as she settled into her soaked nightime diaper.

She let out a tiny, contented sigh around her paci and kept watching, completely unbothered, her eyes sparkling with delight as Elmo and friends danced across the screen.

Feels better now, she thought feeling relieved and still in a daze.

Daddy watched the whole thing unfold from the couch. He saw the bouncing, heard the little toots, and noticed the exact moment she filled her diaper. He cringed slightly at the thought of the cleanup, but his smile stayed soft and loving. His baby looked so peaceful sitting there in her messy diaper, completely lost in her cartoons, paci bobbing happily.

He set his tablet down and approached quietly, crouching down behind her.

“Hey baby girl,” he said casually. “Do you smell something funny?”

She didn’t answer, still staring at the screen.

He tried again, gently tugging the back of her Sesame Street pj bottoms. “Princess, I asked if you can smell anything funny… because I certainly can.”

She finally turned around, paci still in her mouth, and gave him a sweet, innocent smile. “I can smell something funny, Dada. Did you toot?”

Daddy’s eyebrows rose in amusement as he let out a low chuckle and shook his head in disbelief. “No little one, that wasn’t me”.

Deciding not to humour her today and risk his princess getting a diaper rash, he wasted no time revealing exactly where the funny smell was coming from.

He gently lifted her to her feet and spun her around, pulling back the waistband of her pj bottoms and diaper to check the mess.

“Oh honey,” he said, voice warm with loving tease. “That’s one very messy didi. You sure did make a big stinky for Daddy, didn’t you? Look at all that mushy surprise you left for me in your cute little Sesame Street pants.”

She froze. The realisation hit her like a tidal wave. The warm mush, the heavy weight, the fact that she had just happily sat in it while watching cartoons.

Her cheeks burned bright red. She covered her face with both hands, mortified, squirming in place as the mess shifted again.

Daddy gently pulled her hands away and looked her right in the eyes, determined to make her cheeks turn that pretty shade of pink.

“Baby girl, when Daddy asks you a question, I expect an answer. Now… are you Dada’s little stinker? Hmm?”

She squirmed harder, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. Her voice came out tiny and shy.

“Y-yes…”

Daddy chuckled softly and tilted her chin up.

“Yes what, princess?”

She pouted, cheeks flaming hotter than ever.

“Yes… I’m Dada’s little stinker.”

“That’s right,” he praised warmly, pulling her into a big hug and rocking her gently. “You’re Dada’s sweet little stinker who made a big messy stinky in her diaper. I’m so proud of you for telling me like a good girl.”

She hid her burning face in his chest, but a tiny, shy smile appeared anyway. Daddy’s praise always made the embarrassment feel a little warmer, even as the heavy, squishy mess reminded her exactly what she’d done.

He scooped her up effortlessly into his arms, cooing softly as he carried her upstairs. “Now that you’ve told Daddy about your dirty diaper like a good girl, how about we go get that messy butt all clean and into a fresh diapie, princess?”

Sweat trickled down my face as I finished setting up the green-and-white-striped Cool Cabana and placed a large beach blanket in the shade it provided.

“Alright, honey, let’s get some sunscreen on you so you can play. Those cheeks already look like they’re burning.”

It takes you a second to answer. “Wha--? Oh, yeah, okay..”

Your focus isn’t on me—you’re scanning the beach full of beautiful bikini-clad women tanning in the sun and the handsome, muscular men hoping to get with them.

The men notice you, too. Men have always noticed you. Not that I blame them.

With the breeze rippling through your hair, revealing the yellow floral tankini that accentuates your figure and complements the linen pants beneath it, you’re as beautiful and elegant as ever.

Your linen pants aren’t the only thing your tankini complements, though.

From a distance, your linen pants are opaque enough to render the patterns beneath them indistinct and unrecognizable.

Up close, I can easily spot Griffin the lion, Zack the zebra, Lily the hippo, Alex the monkey, and Johnny the parrot on your Rearz Safari diaper.

“Arms up, eyes closed, princess.”

You whimper when you notice the pink bottle of Banana Boat Baby sunscreen in my hand, but let me rub the sunscreen into your arms, shoulders, back, and face without any fuss.

The moment I stop, you open your eyes. “Can I have a soda, please?”

“Sure, let me just finish with the sunscreen. Thank you for asking, honey.”

“Do you need me to help you with your sunscreen?” you suggested, a bit too eagerly to hide your attempt at distraction.

“You’re a silly girl. What about your little leggies, hmm?”

Blushing wildly, you bite your lip, desperately trying to come up with a way out. “Umm, I..I already did it! Yeah, at home. I just forgot to tell you! So, all good, Daddy!”

By now, your cheeks were blushing shades of red I didn’t have names for. You looked around to make sure nobody heard you say Daddy after practically shouting it.

“Hmmm,” I say sniffing the air, “You’re hiding something. Did you make a boomboom? Is that why you’re acting so silly?”

“N-no!”

“I'd better check. A stinky diapie in this heat is a recipe for rashies.”

I could practically hear the gears turning in your head, knowing that if you argued, it would draw attention, but not wanting to be checked so openly.

“Let's see,” I teased, using your hesitation to spin you around and pull back your diaper, “No poopies! But then why are you being so silly?”

We both knew the reason, but this game was far too fun.

“Oh no, did Daddy forget to shave your legs? Are you a hairy baby?”

“N-no!”

Your eyes meet mine, an unusual mix of neediness and daring. Not that it matters—there’s no going back to the way things were before.

This is what you begged for.

And where better to learn your rightful place in the world than here, surrounded by all these beautiful people?

Miami is where people go to see and be seen. To touch and be touched. A place that celebrates and perpetuates all the adult things that you gave up.

The people on the beach are no longer your equals.

No man will ever look at you in your thick, soggy diapers with the same lust as the women sunbathing on the beach.

Women will no longer be jealous of your beauty—the girl getting her diaper changed is adorable, not a threat.

All anyone will see is a silly girl.

“No? Hmm, this is quite the conundrum. Surely the baby isn’t scared of everyone seeing her friends?!”

I kneel in front of you and poke each character as I name them. “I thought you loved Lily..and Zack…and don’t forget Griffin!”

“D-Daddyyyy.”

“Princess…you’re not a big girl anymore. You’ll never be a big girl again. Look around, do you see anyone in diapers? No. They’re the adults—not you. This is your life now.”

“B-but…Daddy…”

Poor baby.

“No buts, sweetie. It’s time to let go of who you were, she’s not coming back. You’re never getting out of diapers or getting a second chance at adulthood. It’s time to show everyone the real you.”

You struggle to reply, surveying the crowd knowing every one of them is about to see your diaper.

“Now, are you ready to let Daddy put on your sunscreen?”

“Y-yeah, Daddy…”

“Do you want your binky?”

Your eyes flitter trying to decide. A binky will only draw attention to your infantile state—but you crave its calming power.

I smile at your teeny head nod.

“Good girl!” Inside your favorite binky in your mouth. “Daddy is proud of you, Princess.”

A weak, nervous smile creeps behind your pacifier.

I tickle your tummy before grabbing the sides of your linen pants, the last vestige of your adulthood, and slide them down, exposing your soggy Safari diaper.

“There’s my friends! Hi Lily!” I coo playfully, acting as if this is the most normal thing in the world. I grab the sunscreen and rub them into your legs, not even glancing at the reactions around me.

Because it doesn’t matter what they think. All that matters is ensuring my princess is properly protected from the sun.

Especially when the UV is at 11!

Her leg muscles are tight. I can feel her nerves the way she’s swaying, looking around.

I ignore it.

She’s not the woman I met two years ago. Not the woman one could shame a bartender with her dirty martinis. Or the woman who dominated every interaction at work.

That woman—whatever remains of her—is the one that’s nervous being seen in the diaper by all these hot twenty-something’s.

She’ll fade away into oblivion as the sweet, needy babygirl that I love gains more confidence. The one that belongs in diapers. The one that isn’t worried about things like sex, success, and fashion.

All I care about is the adorable little thing that years for the tender, intimate moments laying in Daddy’s lap, suckling on a baba, lost in my eyes. Hearing her silly giggles when Daddy makes funny faces during diaper changes.

And most of all, the way she blames her stuffy for her poopy diapers with such conviction.

“All done! Ready for that soda, princess?”

Her binky bobs a few times before she nods.

She has no idea how adorable she is right now. I almost feel bad that she’s struggling when I’m barely able to contain myself.

Here we are in the middle of South Beach—and she’s standing under a cabana in a floral print ranking and a soggy Rearz diaper, suckling on a pacifier.

Every bit the baby she’ll be for the rest of her life.

From the cooler I grab her a soda and myself a Pacifico, opening both and handing it to her.

“Whoops, Daddy forgot to clip your binky to your shirt!”

Her cheeks are the most adorable shade of red as she stands there letting me clip her pacifier to her top.

“Do you want to play in the sand for a bit before we go in the water?” I ask, knowing she’s not ready to venture beyond the relative safety of our cabana.

She nods.

I kiss her forehead before guiding her down to the sand. “I’ll grab your toys sweetie.”

I’ll never forget this moment as long as I live. The way her diaper poofs out as she’s sitting criss cross applesauce looking up at me, waiting to play in the sand.

Luckily I couldn’t help myself at the store, buying every adorable shovel, bucket, and sandcastle mold in sight.

I place them all in front of her.

In an hour she’s no longer glancing around at the curious beachgoers, consumed in her play. As I work on another beer, she looks up at me and smiles.

“Having fun, baby?”

“Mhm!”

“Wanna go in the water?”

“Ummm…” you stares out at the water, debating. As she does, her face suddenly focuses on something.

“What ya looking at princess?”

No response.

“Princess?”

Your hands ball into fists as she leans forward, still starting at nothing in particular.

“Mmmghhp.”

“Are you making a boomboom for Daddy?”

“Mmmpgghhh.”

Three college girls in University of Miami sorority shirts walking by hear her little grunts, stopping to watch a girl their age mess her diaper.

A loud, bubbly toot erupts into your diaper, which they take as their cue to move on. But not before giving me sympathetic smiles—especially after you grunt again.

Before you come out of your pushie stupor, I snap a few pictures of the moment.

A small, needy voice breaks the silence.

“D-Dada….”

Your voice cracks, small and needy barely louder than the distant crash of the waves. Your cheeks are the deepest shade of crimson I’ve ever seen, eyes wide and glistening as you glance towards the sorority girls still lingering a few steps away.

They’re pretending they aren’t watching your babyish display but their knowing smiles and whispered giggles tell a different story.

I lean in closer, my voice low and velvet-soft against your ear.

“What’s wrong, Princess? Use your words. Tell Daddy what you need.”

“I…I…”

“Did my princess make a boomboom?”

“M-mhm…”

“You silly baby, c’mon, let’s get Daddy’s lil’ stinker changed!”

I don’t even bother finding anywhere secluded to change her. This is her life now—and mine.

All around us the hot and sweaty dance of Miami Beach continues on as if we were never there. As it will for every summer after.

But not for you.

“Ahhh, she's so stinking cute in her widdle diapers!” Mary squealed in delight, watching the diaper-clad girl on Daddy's phone, “She’s like a real baby with her pacifier!”

“Just wait,” Daddy said behind a smirk, knowing what's about to happen. “It gets better. But try not to wake her up. It was hard enough putting her down for her nap and she’s just as fussy as a toddler if it gets interrupted.”

Daddy’s friends nod conspiratorially as they go back to watching the recording on his phone while you nap down the hall, blissfully unaware that your antics are the star of the show.

Had you known the baby monitor had a camera, you might have resisted your urges.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t resist the siren song of pleasure. Between Mommy’s moans and Daddy’s decisive grunts—and your throbbing princess parts—you were utterly helpless to control yourself.

There you were, kneeling in your crib and diaper, listening to the unmistakable sounds of pure, erotic bliss, forced to accept the truth of your new place in life.

Nobody considered you an adult anymore.

Your nursery was no longer ornamental; it was a functional room designed to handle the needs of a diaper-dependent little one.

Your diapers were no longer accessories; they were necessary. It had been so long since you used the potty that the only time you spent out of them was for baths and the few minutes a day Daddy let your skin air out.

Your clothes no longer serve to highlight your feminine curves; they were designed to make diaper changes easier for Daddy.

Your binky was no longer a “mute button;” it was a necessary tool to calm the nerves of someone too emotionally immature to be expected to self-soothe.

Naptime is no longer an occasional event; it is now a daily requirement to avoid tantrums. One missed nap meant hours of fussiness.

Daddy didn’t strip away your decision-making and autonomy because he made you squirm; he did it because he no longer believes you are capable of managing yourself without a caregiver.

He sees you for who you are.

You aren’t his strong, independent wife anymore; you’re his poopy pamper princess. He knows you don’t need him to be a husband—you need Daddy. Someone to wipe the tears off your cheeks when you’re overwhelmed, to change your icky diapies, and to slide your favorite stuffy into your arms before bed.

Which is why Mommy is the one moaning in pleasure—not you.

You didn't get demoted to the nursery because you're just some silly cuckquean, getting off on being relegated to humping stuffies in a soggy diaper. He's not doing it to tease, humiliate, or titillate you.

He’s doing it because he can no longer imagine the sweet, innocent babygirl who squeals in delight when he blows raspberries on her tummy during poopy diaper changes as a sexual being.

You’re his baby.

His love for you is as strong as the day he married you—but the nature of your intimate moments together has irreconcilably changed.

For him, nothing beats the slow, tender evenings with you wrapped up in his arms, staring up at him with sleepy eyes full of love, your binky bobbing slower and slower until you drift off.

Or the rainy weekends when he raids the linen closet so he can build a fort with his little one, making room for every stuffy. Or the binky kisses.

How could he possibly imagine you as an adult with sexual desires?

“Wait…she’s not gonna use that stuffy to do that, right?” James gasped, watching you lay your favorite stuffy on his back.

Mommy and Daddy look at each other, trying not to laugh.

“She does have one naughty big girl habit,” Mommy chuckled as you positioned yourself with the stuffy, “But it’s just so stinking cute. Best part is she thinks she’s sneaky, too.”

They watch your adorably clumsy thrusts into your favorite stuffy. Slowly at first, glancing at the door periodically. Then faster. Greedier.

Mary sighed, “I can't believe I took sex advice from her.”

“Maybe you should take a leaf from her book,” James quipped, “You've been single for so long, maybe a stuffy would be the perfect boyfriend. Besides, you'd look so cute in one of those diapers! Wait, her little diaper crinkles as she humps are adorable!”

Daddy immediately rushed to pause the video.

“Why'd you pause it?”

“Because the video doesn't have sound...”

“Wha-whacha wachin', Daddy?” you mumbled. You were too groggy from your nap to be embarrassed about your friends seeing your adorably frizzy hair, diaper, and binky.

“Oh, just some boring video, nothing you'd enjoy, kiddo.”

Daddy slid the phone into his pocket before lifting you up and resting you on his hip.

“Oh my gosh, do the stars on her diaper fade away when she's wet?” Mary asks, “See, those stars are normal, and those ones are gone.”

Daddy crinkles your diaper playfully. “They do! We thought they might help her with some potty training. Seeing her stars go 'bye-bye' might inspire her to stay dry, but...Well, let's just say I expect diapers to be part of her life for a long, long time.”

Knowing your diaper is on full display—and hearing everyone casually talk about your potty training struggles—you hide your face in Daddy's neck, holding onto him like a koala in a hurricane.

“What are you doing out of bed, hmm?” Daddy cooed, bouncing you slightly to distract you from noticing his hand pulling back your diaper.

“D-Dada!” you whine at the indignity of this public diaper check.

Daddy rubs your back. “Uh oh...are you Dada's little stinkerpants? Poor baby, trying to sleep in that icky yucky didi...”

You peel yourself from Dada's neck to give him your devastating puppy-dog eyes.

“C'mon, baby, let's get you out of that poopy diapie,” Daddy says, heading towards your nursery.

As you're carried off you catch something about a stuffy and laughter.

“Wuh funny bou' sthuffie, Dada?” you ask as you're gently deposited onto the changing table.

Daddy tickles your tummy. “Oh, they can't get over how much you love your stuffies, that's all.”

For a split-second, a horrible dread crept into your mind—do they know? Why did Daddy say "love" like that? Did Daddy hear when you...played with Dijon?

But the thought is forgotten the moment cold air rushes into your princess parts as Daddy peels back your diaper.