INGREDIENTS

So maybe this isn’t jamais vu.

Though the scene is undoubtedly unfamiliar—at least for now—I’m sure it won’t be long before it’s our new normal.

My bigger concern is getting her through today with minimal tantrums and meltdowns. Much easier said than done when it comes to changes like this.

Big changes lead to big feelings. And big feelings lead to tantrums if I’m not careful.

Not that I would blame her if she did, of course. Not today. Not when it’s the first time seeing all her old friends in her new status. I know it won’t be easy for her going from their equal to…well, their adorable little friend.

Her friends would never tease her–quite the opposite! They’ve been texting me like crazy, asking me about her, for pictures, and if they can bring her any presents. Since littles don’t need phones, it’s much harder for them to reach her. 

Needless to say, they’re excited about the picnic.

It hasn’t been easy putting this together. Until today, Jenny was the one who planned the picnics, assigned tasks, and organized the charcuterie boards. 

How were we supposed to plan our most important picnic ever when the most important person for planning was busy watching Bluey in increasingly soggy diapers?

We did manage to get some age-appropriate games and snacks for her, so she should be plenty entertained.

Though, the closer we get to the park, her fidgeting has noticeably increased…

“Are you excited to see your friends, honey? You’re looking like a squirmy squirrel back there!”

Dada’s voice floats back, warm and teasing. He calls me his squirmy squirrel again, and my cheeks flare hot right away. The kind of hot that spreads fast, like someone turned a spotlight just on my face.

I duck my head lower, trying to hide. Knees squeeze together tight. That only presses the soggy diapie harder against me. A loud crinkle-crinkle bounces around the car. 

I freeze. Did he hear? Does it sound as huge to him as it does to me?

The engine is quiet now. The car has stopped. Outside the window everything looks the same as always, big shady tree, picnic blanket already down, my friends laughing and waving like it’s just another day. But it’s not. 

My heart thumps hard and fast in my chest, so loud I’m scared Dada can hear it too. My tummy flips over and over, twisty and fluttery, like there are butterflies trying to get out.

I can’t do this. I really can’t.

“Nu-uh…nuh-uh…not ready yet, Dada…” My voice comes out so small, barely louder than a whisper. “My dress is too short…it doesn’t cover my diapie at all…and it’s all full and squishy…every time I move it makes noise…they’re gonna hear it…they’re gonna see…”

My fingers grab the hem of the dress. Twist. Pull down hard. The crinkles get louder, sharp and plasticky, like they’re laughing at how hard I’m trying to hide. 

I squeeze my legs again, harder this time. The padding squishes back, warm and heavy. I can feel how soggy it got on the drive. How it sags just a tiny bit with every shift. 

My face burns hotter. I want to curl up small and disappear under the seat.

The driver’s door opens. Gravel crunches under Dada’s shoes. My breath catches in my throat.

The back door swings wide. Sunlight rushes in, bright and warm across my face and arms. Dada crouches down right in front of me, so close I can smell his soap and feel the calm that always comes with him. 

He speaks softly, something about not needing to be nervous, about how no one will tease me, about how he’s got me no matter what. His big hand slides under my chin, gentle, tilting my face up so I have to look at him.

I do. Slowly. His eyes are steady and kind and full of pride. Like being little is the best thing in the world. Like I’m perfect exactly like this, dress too short and diapie showing and all. My eyes sting a little. The scary knot inside my chest loosens, just enough to breathe again.

“O-okay…Dada…” The words shake. Tiny. “Pwease… hold my hand super duper tight? And… don’t let go? Even if I get all fidgety and silly?”

He nods, smile soft. “Always, Bunny. I even brought Sir Hops-a-Lot along, the brave wallaby ready to protect his princess. Now, take a deep breath for me…good girl! C’mon, we don’t want to keep our friends waiting.”

Dada reaches in to unbuckle me. His fingers brush my tummy, warm, careful and then he’s helping me slide out of the car. My sneakers touch the ground. 

The diapie squishes loud and heavy right away. The dress rides up in the back. I yank it down fast with both hands, cheeks on fire again.

His hand is already waiting. Open. Big. Warm.

I slip my smaller hand into his. He squeezes once, firm and sure, like a promise I can hold onto. I reach back for the blanket, hug it tight against my front like armor. We start walking.

Squish. Crinkle. Squish. Crinkle. Every step. 

The padding shifts and presses. Sags a tiny bit more. I tug the hem down again and again. It never feels long enough.

The blanket gets closer. My friends look up. Big smiles. They pat the spot right in the middle. One of them calls my name, happy, excited, like they’ve been waiting just for me.

I glance up at Dada. Eyes wide. Pleading.

The juxtaposition between the casual, relaxed smiles of our friends and the nervous, pleading eyes of my little Bunny is jarring. As easy as it would be to dismiss it as a necessary part of her new life, I can’t.

Not when her needy gaze calls me to action, begging me for the assurance she so desperately needs right now. For a fleeting moment, I can see both worlds in her eyes, the remnants of the big girl she’s leaving behind and the innocent, neediness of the little she’s becoming.

As we reach the edge of the blanket, I pull her close to me, hoping the closeness wordlessly conveys she’s safe with Dada–as long as she has me, everything will be okay. 

Even if it’s scary.

“There she is!” Kate bubbled, waving at Jenny.

Emily shifts to make room for Jenny, patting the spot between her and Kate, beckoning their friend to sit down. “Hi sweetie! Come sit with us!”

On the other side of the blanket, Anna smiles quietly, taking in Jenny’s outfit. Caleb offers that same, laidback grin he’s known for, as he leans back on his elbows, relaxed. Toby fumbles with a bag of gummy bears before awkwardly thrusting it at Jenny.

“That outfit is so stinking cute!” Lisa beamed.

They all smile expectantly at Jenny. Not staring. Not judging. 

As if they’re seeing something brand new yet strangely familiar at the same time.

I give Jenny another squeeze. Even as a big girl Jenny rarely enjoyed being the center of attention–and today, she’s the star of the show. 

“Hey, everyone!” I add, hoping to give Jenny a moment to compose herself. Her hand still clings to mine, slick with sweat.

My hand is still tucked inside Dada’s, fingers damp and clinging. The diaper beneath the sundress feels impossibly present, warm, heavy, sagging just enough that every breath reminds me it’s there.

The hem of the dress brushes my thighs, too short, too thin, offering no real cover. A soft crinkle escapes when I shift my weight. Tiny. But in my ears it booms.

Heat rises again, slow and relentless. It starts behind my ears, creeps along my jaw, floods my cheeks until they feel like ripe summer peaches left too long in the sun. I duck my chin, trying to hide the flush, but it only makes the blush feel bigger, brighter, more impossible to conceal.

I was the one who used to double-check the weather, who made sure the charcuterie board had balance and color and texture.

I was the one they asked for advice, for plans, for the next step.

Now I’m standing here with my hand in Dada’s like a child crossing a busy street.

Now my dress is too short and my padding is too full and my legs won’t quite straighten the way they used to.

Now the clever, capable Jenny feels like a coat I’ve outgrown, still hanging in the closet, still mine, but no longer the one I reach for first.

The thought twists in my chest. Sharp. Sweet. Embarrassing.

A little thrilling.

I swallow. Clear my throat. Try to summon that old voice.

“H-hi,” I squeak, finding my voice, “We should… move the fruit to the shady side.”

The words come out softer than I mean them to, higher, almost questioning.

“And maybe start with Uno? It’s quick…and everyone likes it…”

They don’t laugh. They don’t correct me. Kate just nods slowly, smiling gently.

I do my best to stifle a laugh. Big or little, Jenny can’t resist giving advice about the optimal picnic setup.

“Hmm, that’s a good point, Jenny,” Kate answers, “But look, we’ve already got everything set up. Come sit?”

She pats the blanket again, the motion small, inviting.

I gently nudge Jenny forward. “Go sit with Kate, Bunny,” I whisper to her, “Besides, you don’t need to worry about all that boring planning anymore. Leave that to the big girls.”

Jenny shoots me a look somehow both mutinous and needy. Not that I blame her, but the point remains.

Littles don’t plan events or give orders to adults.

Emily reaches over without a word and places the box of animal crackers in front of the spot they’ve saved.

Anna shuffles the Uno cards with practiced ease. “Ready when you are,” she says softly.

It’s hard not to feel sentimental at a moment like this. Here, at the crossroads between two worlds, hearing our friends talk to her like the Little she is, supporting her choice to go back to babyhood.

From here, the gulf between the women they will become and the little Jenny is becoming will become an expanse. Unlike her friends, Jenny will never become a doctor, lawyer, or teacher. She’ll never get married, have children, or buy a house.

No, Jenny’s path is painted in pastels. 

She’ll be my Bunny, my babygirl. Her days will be spent in the crinkly embrace of diapers, nap times, and being rocked to sleep on my lap.

Yet, one thing I know for sure is they’ll be her friend throughout it all.

I glance at Dada. His eyes hold mine, steady, warm, brimming with something that looks like pride and something softer, familiar, like the first light after a long night.

His thumb traces one slow arc across my knuckles.

The touch loosens something inside me. Not all the knots. Just one. Enough to let me take a step forward.

I lower myself carefully. Knees together. Dress smoothed as best I can. The padding compresses beneath me. A muffled squish. Warm. Heavy. 

I freeze for a heartbeat, waiting for the sound to echo, for someone to notice.

No one does. Or if they do, they don’t show it.

Anna deals the first card. Caleb makes a joke about drawing four. Lisa passes me the juice box.

“Don’t drink it too fast,” Lisa suggests quietly.

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I take a sip. The sweet-tart bursts on my tongue. The cracker crunches between my teeth. The cards slide across the blanket. Laughter ripples around me.

Dada’s knee brushes my back, warm, solid, present.

The old Jenny, the one who used to direct traffic and keep score, feels thinner now. Like a shadow stretching long at dusk. Still there. Still me.

But fading softly in the golden light.

And in her place, something smaller begins to stir. Quiet. Warm. Blushy. Safe.

I match a red card. Smile shyly when Anna cheers. Tug the hem of my dress one more time, a habit, useless, sweet.

The butterflies in my tummy slow their frantic wings.

Just… resting. 

Back when I had a job.

Back when I had friends.

Back when I made my own decisions.

Back when I was allowed to use the toilet.

Back when we had sex.

But days like this? Where I am stuck sitting in a soaked diaper, ordered to play with my cars on the floor, while my wife struts around looking as delectable as ever? How am I supposed to pretend that I'm some overgrown toddler when my adult urges are thrust into overdrive?

Sheila bends over her make-up desk in front of me to apply some eyeliner, giving me the perfect view of her exquisite ass.

My cock, rock hard, throbs against the warm squishy padding taped around my waist.

What she doesn't know won't hurt her, right?

In what I hope is a discreet motion, I let my hand drift between my legs, and press my palm firmly into my groin.

"Mmm."

A wordless whimper escapes my throat as the pressure sends a wave of pleasure through my body.

I bite down hard on the nipple of the binky in my mouth and clothes my eyes, imagining my wife is bent over that desk so I could fuck her, like I used to.

In moments, I'm grinding my crotch into my hand, trying my best to hide my small grunts and crinkles as I work myself into a lather.

"Excuse me," a familiar voice coughs out from above me, disapproval thick in its tone, "What do you think you're doing, young man?"

I open my eyes to be greeted by my wife's immaculate bush right in my face, peaking out from under her incredibly sexy underwear.

I grimace at the sight, the fact she is allowed to grow her pubic hair out while I'm kept clean-shaven yet another reminder of the differences in our statuses.

"I know you weren't playing with that precious little pee-pee of yours without Mommy's permission."

She bends over as her hand slides under my chin. She tilts my head up, forcing me to make eye contact with her intense gaze.

"'Orwy, Mama," I chirp, my face burning in embarassment at being caught, "Chur jus' so pretty!"

A smirk blossoms her face at my babbled flattery.

"Oh, is that so?" She purrs, caressing my cheek with her thumb, "That may be true, but it doesn't excuse your naughty behavior. I think you owe Mommy a better apology than that."

My heart speeds up in anxiety at her words.

What could she mean by a better apology?

She lets my face go, steps back, and sits on our bed. Her legs are spread wide as her fingers dart swiftly under the fabric of her panties.

"Mmmmmmm," she moans, throwing her head back as she rubs herself, "Yeah, that's it."

If I was aroused before, I'm practically feral now.

It's taking all I have not to shove my hand down my pissy diaper and rub myself raw.

I whimper loudly as I watch.

Sheila pulls her fingers out of her panties, before sliding them to the side, revealing her immaculate slit.

"Well," she says, a little impatient, "Don't just sit there and watch, baby boy. Spit out that binky, and come apologize to your Mama properly."

Her words are all the encouragement I need.

In a moment, I've crawled across the floor, spit out the rubble bulb in my mouth, and buried my tongue deep inside my wife's pussy.

Her bush tickles my lips as I hum in moan, rythmically running the length of my tongue across every inch of her insides.

"Good boy," she purrs as her carefully manicured fingers bury themselves in my hair.

I let out a slutty moan and grind my diapered crotch into the floor as I devour my wife.

"Fuck!"

She cries out as I begin to feel her muscles tense around me. I can't help but grin, recognizing she's right on the edge, as she pulls hard on my hair.

"FUCK!"

She's screaming, pulling my head in hard, until even my nose feels nearly buried between her legs. Her body shudders as her words turn into a visceral scream, and I bring my wife to orgasm for the first time in what feels like months.

As her body relaxes, she pushes my head away first with her hand and then with her foot as she collapses back onto the bed.

I smile up at her, proud of my accomplishment as she catches her breath.

"Well, baby," she gasps out, "That was quite the apology. Good boy!"

My heart fills with pride again at her words. I almost feel like a real adult again.

Then she sits up and darts a hand between my legs, checking my soaked diaper. Heat reenters my cheeks.

"Oh, baby, you're absolutely drenched," Shelia coos, as if I hadn't just, moments before, completely rocked her world, "Why don't you crawl over to your mat, and Mommy will get you changed before she finishes getting ready."

The butterflies fluttering in my stomach start to kick up a storm. I think back to last Friday night, the last time Daddy left me home by myself, both of us trusting that I, a 35-year-old supposed adult, could take care of myself for a couple of hours, just as I had done so many times before.

We were both very wrong.

Daddy had had to call her night off early after I had called her in tears, smoke bellowing out of the oven from where I had tried, and failed, to cook myself a frozen pizza, potty dribbling down my thighs because I forgot to change my pull-up, and anxiety through the roof without my every-present caregiver to reassure me.

Daddy had returned, her friends in tow, and gently comforted me and cleaned up my various messes while her friends had snickered an jeered at just how pathetic I'd become. And the worst part was, I couldn't even blame them.

It had been a disaster.

Through months of conditioning, care, and just completely giving myself over to my little side, the adult skills I had once possessed had completely disappeared.

I was no longer the capable, mature college-graduate I had once seen myself as.

I was nothing more than Daddy's adorable little tot, unable to master something even as simple as potty training.

Daddy retakes my hand, dragging my awareness back to the moment, and my current, dreaded fate.

"I know, Daddy, but," I whimper, "But, can't I try to stay home by myself again? I promise I'll be good. You're not even gone for all that long during the day!"

She shakes her head and sighs before responding to my question.

"Oh, love, you know that's not going to work," she sighs, resigned, "That big-kid brain of yours is just too far gone. It wouldn't be safe, let alone fair to you, to leave you by yourself."

Despite her soft tone, the words hit me like I've been slapped. I know she's telling the truth though.

"But, Daddy, I…"

My words are cut off by a binky being placed adroitly between my lips.

I wordlessly whine at being silenced but know better than to talk when Daddy pops my 'Mute Button' in.

"You're going to have so much fun today, baby," she says matter-of-factly, as we reach the door I've been dreading walking through, "I'm sure you're going to make tons of new friends and love every single one of your new babysitters!"

Daddy grabs the door handle and pulls.

I'm struck by a wave of warm air, sweet scents, and happy giggles.

We step through the threshhold to be greeted by the smiling face of an attractive young man.

She was right (like she always is): I need to stop eating such heavy lunches on such god-damned boring days!

I turn back to my computer and cover another yawn.

Why did dealing with money always have to be so incredibly boring?

I continue my hypnotic scroll through the various documents I need to review.

As I do, I feel my eyelids growing heavier.

The room, always warm and cozy due to the space heater under my desk, get darker as the afternoon light streaming through the window starts to fade.

My lack of interest, my comfy confines, and the growing darkness all overwhelm my fear of embarssment at being caught sleeping on the job again by Linda.

I don't know when it happens, but it does.

In what feels like no time at all, I lean back in my chair, eyes closed, drifting quickly off to sleep.

~~

"Oh, sweet pea, did Mommy forget you in your bouncer again? I'm so sorry!"

My head slowly raises as I feel strong hands slide under my armpits and lift me from my seat. I open my eyes to see my secretary's smiling face as she uses seemingly super human strength to pull me onto her hip.

"Mommy should have known better! You're always such a sleepy little man after lunchies! I should have put you straight in your cribby."

Linda's soft, caring, and gentle tone is so different from the harsh, biting sarcasm she usually used with me, it's disconcerting.

"Linda, what the fuck is going on? Where am I? What are you doing? How are you carrying me?"

My words come out in a garble, more like baby babble than human speech, causing my secretary to grin.

She boops me on my nose with her free hand. Her other hand, to my dismay, is wrapped firmly around my ass, holding me firmly to her hip.

"Oh, does someone want to tell me about his silly little dreams? Such a chatterbox this afternoon, aren't we?"

I scrunch up my nose in disgust at the words and look around, taking the scene in for the first time.

I'm not in my office any more. I don't even seem to be in the same building.

Instead, I'm in what appears to be the living room of a large, single family home.

The room itself is tastefully decorated: hardwood floors with soft, colorful carpets, comfortable but elegant looking furniture, beautiful artwork and plants adorning the walls and shelves.

But, there are also the signs that a very young child lives there.

A playgym sits on the floor between the coffee table and television, junger animals, mirrors, and bells dangling for an infant to kick and grab.

In a corner, a playpen is set up, filled with stuffed animals, blocks, and teething rings.

On one of the end tables, a half-empty baby bottle sits next to a burp cloth, clearly abandoned at the end of a feeding.

And, hanging from a doorway to the kitchen, is a large baby bouncer, still swaying from the motion of having its occupant unceremoniously plucked from its clutches.

Panic starts to set in as I examine the room.

Something is not right.

I shouldn't be here.

I don't even know where here is.

I feel something between my legs suddenly warm and swell.

I look down at myself and suddenly start to kick and thrash in Linda's arms.

Gone is my button down shirt, belt, and pleated khakis.

Instead, I'm wearing a onesie covered in pictures of cartoon construction equipment and what could only be a large, swollen diaper dangling between my still adult legs. Otherwise, I'm completely naked.

"Put me down! Let me down! Let me out of here! I need to get out of here! I'm not some fucking adult baby! Let me go!"

I scream and snarl as I try to pry myself from Linda's grip. But, my secretary's inhuman strength remains intact. She easily holds me in her grip.

"Whoa there, sweet boy! Simmer down! Mommy's got you! Mommy's got you! There's nothing to be afraid of!"

She pulls me tightly into her chest, letting my face press against her shoulder. She bounces me in her arms, hums, and rubs my back softly, soothing me like an infant.

Fear turns to despair as I realize, whatever is going on, I'm literally not strong enough to fight it.

After a minute, I let my body go limp and cry into my secretaries shoulder as she coos at me.

I feel so lost. So powerless. So out of control. So much like an infant, I start to question if that's actually what I am.

"There we go! That's my good boy! Mommy's got you! Mommy's got you!"

Despite my fear and sadness, my secretaries words and touch feel good. I let myself be comforted by them.

Linda carries me into a new room. This one, clearly a nursery.

She lays me on a changing table, clearly designed perfectly to fit my frame.

She pulls a strap up around my waist and snaps it in place, effectively trapping me in place with my magically reduced strength.

"There we go, safe and snug while Mommy gets you into a fresh didi!"

I want to vomit at the thought of what is about to happen next. I want to thrash and scream. I want to try and escape.

But, I know, by trial and error as well as a feeling deep inside of me, that escape is futile.

Instead, all I can do is lay docilely on the changing table like the overgrown infant I am in this new, fucked up world, while the woman who makes my coffee every morning, undresses me and wipes my own piss off of my most intimate parts.

The whole situation overwhlems me.

The lack of privacy, the lack of power, the humiliation, its all too much.

By the time Linda is buttoning the snaps of my onesie closed, a dry diaper taped around my waist, I feel myself giving in to this strange new reality.

I plant my thumb firmly between my lips, and giggle and coo as Linda--no, Mommy--smiles down at me.

I don't fight at all as she pulls me to her hip again and carries me back out to the living room.

I babble and play with the toys in my playpen as she works on the couch, not caring to notice when I wet myself.

Why would I?

In this world, I'm just some overgrown baby.

I'm fed. I'm burped. I'm rocked. I'm changed.

The whole time, my mind feels fuzzy, almost too easily accepting my situation.

Linda tucks me into my crib for the night, kissing my forhead as I stare up at her lovingly, smiling from behind the shield of the pacifier tucked between my lips.

She leaves the room and turns off the lights, leaving only the orange glow of a nightlight to illuminate the room.

My adult mind, that consciouness from another dimension, reasserts itself. Humilation overwhlems me as I reflect on my evening of complete, infantile submission to a women who should be my employee.

At the same time, however, I've never felt happier.

For the first time in more than a decade, I'm not longer worried about profits, or inventory, or marketing. Hell, I'm not even worried about whether I'm wetting my pants.

This life, my life, is filled with nothing but simplicity, love, and caring.

As my eyelids grow heavy and I drift off again, I can't help but reflect that, maybe, just maybe, life wouldn't be so bad if I ended up stuck in this alternative world.

~~~~~

Sunlight streams through the blinds of my bedroom window as my alarm chimes in my room.

I stretch my arms and legs and groan at the uncomfortable pressure in my bladder.

Out of reflex more than anything, I let go, only to feel the warm, wetness spread across my who midriff, soaking the sheets and blankets I'm wrapped in.

Panic sets in as I realize that something is wrong. It's different.

I'm not in the nursery Mommy--no, Linda--laid me down in last night.

Instead, I'm back in my room, in my king-sized bed, in my own house.

I'm back in my world--the real world.

I'm back to being an adult.

You look around the room that used to be your office. Had you not known, you never would have guessed it used to be an elegant, sophisticated monument to your past success. Your sanctuary.

Every trace of its former glory now scrubbed away, replaced by…this.

A room nobody would ever consider sophisticated.

Pastel blue paint replaced the elegant wallpaper you loved so much. Stacks of books—philosophical tomes, political theories, and complex legal analyses—unceremoniously replaced with stacks of thick, colorful diapers awaiting their turn wrapped around you.

Your office chair became a rocking chair. Your antique desk swapped for a changing table. Your mahogany hardwood floors covered by foam matting.

But even closing your eyes won’t help escape the onslaught.

The tell-tale smells of babyhood permeate the room. That lingering smell of poopy diapers mixing with the infantile scent of baby powder. Your nose haunted by the ghosts of diapers past.

And, right now, the unmistakable scent of a diaper in desperate need of change.

Nor can you escape the tactile reality of your situation. You feel the rapidly cooling, increasingly uncomfortable mess in your diaper. The fuzzy, full body embrace of your footed pajamas.

Her hand squeezing your diaper.

You hear the subtle crinkles of your diaper over the nursery songs that seemingly never end.

You taste the rubber of your binkie as you suckle—not even realizing how much it soothes you.

But its not the sensory assault of babyhood that makes your last grasp of adulthood so tenuous.

It’s her.

“Look baby, Mommy has a brand new diapie right here. Soon you’ll be all clean and free of your icky yucky poopoo. Doesn’t that sound nice? Let’s get you out of these jammies and change that diapie.”

Your wife.

Not that it matters anymore. The only trace of your marriage—of your time as equal, loving spouses—is the wedding ring on her finger.

She is Mommy now. Your Mommy.

This was never the plan. The plan was always to have kids of your own. To build a loving, happy family together.

Yet here you are.

You can’t help but wonder why she still wears her wedding ring. Because one thing is abundantly clear: she does not consider you her spouse.

To her, you are nothing but an overgrown baby who depends on Mommy to fulfill their basic needs.

Her silly, babbling pamper packer.

You have absolutely no idea how long it’s been since she acknowledged your past relationship or former adulthood.

Time exists differently when you live your life in a nursery. There are no clocks. No calendars. Nothing to mark the passing of time but filling of your diaper pail.

There are no phones in the nursery. “Babies don’t need phones!”

No job to occupy your day. “Your only job is to fill your diaper and fill Mommy’s life with laughter!”

No parties and alcohol to mark milestones. “All you need is a baba of milk and your itty bitty nursery pals!”

No sporting events or movies to pass the time. “Mommy isn’t gonna raise an iPad kid. Mommy will read you a book instead.”

She leans you back, not even bothering to bring you to the changing table. Mommy has everything she needs right here.

As she rips open your diaper, she sings, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey.”

An overwhelming feeling of peace and comfort washes over you. Mommy’s beautiful voice and gentle touch working in harmony.

Happiness bubbles out of you. Filling every nook and cranny of your body.

“There’s my happy baby! Mommy missed that beautiful smile!”

You try and remember what you were just thinking about. It felt important.

But…what’s there to worry about when Mommy is here, smiling down at you?

As long as Mommy is here, you have everything you need.

“You’re Mommy’s special baby. Now and forever. Always.”

And you couldn’t be happier.

On the desk next to Willow, smiling back at Callie with face horridly similar to her own, sat a doll wearing a lab jacket and slacks. A box Callie was sure contained other clothes for the doll sat by her girlfriend's feet.

"I… It… I…"

Callie couldn't find words to talk to Willow about what had happened the last few days.

Did Willow even remember them? No one but Callie and Penny seemed to up until today.

Willow shifted from her chair and took a seat at the end of the bed, reaching over and rubbing Callie's legs supportively.

"It's okay, sweetie. I know. I remember, and I know. When your sister gave me the doll, everything seemed to come back to me in a rush."

Callie let out a breath she didn't know she was holding at the words. But, as the totality of what her girlfriend was saying sunk in, a deep blush bloomed on her face.

The wet pull-ups.

The silly games.

The diaper changes.

The feedings.

Willow remembered it all.

"Willow, I'm… I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to… It wasn't me…"

Tears started to roll down Callie's cheeks as, for a moment, she convinced herself Willow must be disgusted with her, ready to leave her for someone whose ass she hadn't wiped multiple times in the last 2 days.

Instead of pulling away, however, Willow surprised Callie. She wrapped Callie in her arms and started rubbing her back soothingly, gently shushing the crying woman.

Callie felt small again, crying in her girlfriend's arms. But, for some reason, she didn't feel ashamed. Something about this, about being held by Willow, just felt right.

"It's ok, Cal," Willow said, still holding Callie tight, "I know everything. It wasn't your fault. You said you had problems with your little sister. Cal, that was an understatement!"

Callie pushed back from the woman, untangling herself from her girlfriend's arms as she chuckled a little and wiped away her tears.

"No kidding," Callie chirped back, smiling, Willow's words reassuring her, "So, Penny actually did it though? Gave you the doll? Gave up control? The nightmare's over?"

Willow nodded her head affirmatively, her soft smile holding a note of concern for the other woman.

"It is. The doll was mine, but now it's yours. I don't want anything to do with it! I mean, taking care of you was kind of fun," she admitted with a bit of a blush, "But, I can't imagine what it was like for you! A whole year of that? Your world being changed on a dime? It must have been horrifying!"

Callie looked at the doll, relief filling her.

It was over. The doll was hers again. Her life was hers again.

But, for some reason, something still felt wrong.

She thought back to her day spent forced to play the part of a little girl being looked after by Willow.

Sure, the events had been traumatizing and embarrassing, but was that because she didn't like being treated so small or because of the fear from the lack of control?

Thoughts of Willow taking care of her, defending her, and smiling at her all danced through her head. She had felt so loved in those moments, so in love.

Was she ready to give that up when she hadn't even had the opportunity to explore it?

Callie finally turned back to Willow.

"You… you enjoyed it?"

Willow's blush deepened, the words feeling like an accusation. It was her turn to stutter out a response.

"Um, yeah. Even once I knew what was going on, I could remember what happened, and," she looked away as she trailed off before taking a deep breath to steady herself, "And, I just felt so close to you, you know?"

Callie smiled reassuringly, a bit of joy starting to wash away the shame she had felt the last few days.

"I do," she replied, taking a steadying breath of her own.

Willow looks back to Callie, shyly, but with optimism in her eyes.

"Would you," Callie started, "would you be upset if I asked you to keep the doll? The last year, well, it's been horrible. The uncertainty, the lack of control, the sense of helplessness. Its all sucked. But, Willow, with you… being like that with you… giving myself up like that to you… It felt right?"

The smile on Willow's face was absolutely radiant as Callie spoke those words. She wrapped the other woman in her arms again, squeezing her tightly.

"I'm so glad it wasn't just me," she cried into her girlfriend's arms, "Callie, I love you. I love you in all the ways you are, big and small. And if I didn't get to see you like that again? I think it would feel like I was missing out on a part of you. And a part of me, if I'm really telling the truth."

The two women sat like that for a while, holding each other as they reaffirmed their commitment to the entirety of each other.

Her bedtime was 8:00 p.m. sharp, sometimes earlier if she missed her nap. You wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between her and an actual toddler upset about going to sleep before the sun was even down. 

Eventually, she settled in with her early bedtime, finding herself getting sleepy earlier and earlier. You check your watch, ten-fifteen. You sigh, you suppose you should feel lucky, she normally never lasts this long. 

You can see her messy little bedhead peeking out from behind the wall from the corner of your eye, trying your hardest not to blow your cover and let her know you see her. 

She finally steps out from her hiding spot and into full view. You finally turn and allow yourself to take in the situation you're in. Her nini diaper is considerably soggier than when you put her down for bed, drooping low between her legs, her wetness indicator a bright blue, stars long gone. 

Clutched in her right arm was her trusty unicorn, oatmeal, and her other hand was shyly fidgeting with her duckie sleep shirt. Wet little suckles of her Binkie sound off rhythmically throughout the room, that and the low tone of the television all that could be heard in the otherwise silent room. 

“What are you doing awake little one?”

You ask, outstretching your arms to her. She toddles her way into them without hesitation. You engulf her in a hug as she settles her little bedhead on your chest. 

The smell of baby powder and tinkle fills your nose and you chuckle. 

“I can’t sleep,”

She whispers into your chest, her words lisped slightly due to her Binkie. You sigh, rolling your eyes a bit, you’re tired but you nonetheless stand up, bringing your little one up with you in your arms. Her diaper squished into your side and you cringe—no wonder she’s awake.

She’s in desperate need of a diaper change. 

You make your way to her nursery as she squirms and whines in your arms, shaking her head no. Little whines in protest fill your ears.

It’s way too late for a tantrum.

“Sh sh sh,”

You soothe. “Daddy is just bringing you to get you in a fresh diaper, doesn’t that sound nice? Being all cozy and clean?” You try to reason with your over-tired, overgrown, toddler. After a moment of thought, she gingerly nods.

Tantrum averted, thank the world.

You open the door to the nursery, the nightlight lighting up the room subtly, you flick on the overhead light and make your way to the changing table, laying your little one down. She blushed, this was another thing she wasn’t quite used to. 

You can’t help but smile as she looks anywhere but you, hugging her unicorn tightly to her chest. The telltale hissing came from her diaper as she nervously peed herself in front of you.

“Uh oh, is my little girl going potty for Daddy? I think she is! Oh yes she is!”

You can’t help but tease her as you tickle the exposed part of her tummy. She wiggles and squirms beneath you, giggling sleepily as she rubs one of her tired little eyes. 

“Dadddddy”

She whines, her Binkie falling from her mouth. You promptly back off, not wanting to rile up the little one right before you put her back down for bed. You gather the supplies from under the changing table, grabbing one of her extra thick night diapers, not wanting to do this whole diaper change thing again until morning.

You swiftly untape her well-loved diaper that’s snuggly fastened to her hips, earning a little whine from her but no further protest. After warming up the wipes in your hands you promptly wipe your little girls out of use big girl parts clean of any mess she may have made in her sleep. 

Before she knew it, you had her little legs lifted in the air as you were sliding a new, thicker diaper under her tush, praying this one would last this time. As you're taping this one up on her hips you know it’s time to tuck her back in. 

“Okay, baby, back to bed with you.” You say as you lift your little one off the table. 

She moans in protest. “But daddy! M no seepy!” She says defiantly, huffing a bit as her little feet land on the plush carpet. As tired as you are, you can’t help but entertain her. 

“Oh, you're not? Then what do you suppose we do, little one?”

Her eyes light up at your inquiry. She jumps up and down, clapping excitedly. “Oh oh oh! I know, daddy!” She shouts,

“We could build a fort, Daddy!”

How could you say no to her?

Thirty minutes later, your little one's room had basically thrown up on your bed. 

After she begged and pleaded with you, you agreed to let her sleep with you for the rest of the night after making your fort. Co-sleeping wasn’t something you typically allowed—she tended to get a little too big for her britches whenever she slept with you for too many nights in a row. 

But tonight was a rare late-night exception. 

Purple and pink blankets were draped around your bed frame, making the perfect canopy for you and your little one. Fairy lights danced through the inside, and of course, all of her stuffies were invited. 

But your personal favorite stuffie, was the one with the bed head, passed out in the middle of the bed, thumb in her mouth, with stars missing from her diaper. 

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

She can’t help it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if she had any adult clothes to choose from.

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

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

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

“Uh huh! I no nee ‘em!”

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

“W-weally, Daddy?”

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

“Ima be a big girl, yo—mmmphff.”

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

“Uh oh, is someone making stinkies?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cue the tantrum.

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

A tempest in a teacup.

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

My friends are going to melt when they see her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was hungry and needed food now!

That frustration reached it's peak when Willow wrapped Callie in her arms.

Squirming and crying in discomfort, Callie's girlfriend-turned-Nanny did her best to soothe the fussy woman.

"Shh, shhh, shhh! It's okay, baby! Nanny's got you!" Willow cooed as she rocked Callie back and forth in her lap.

Callie continued to cry, empty stomach fueling her frustration and discomfort.

"Shhhh! Shhhh! Baby, everyone is eating! It's ok, it's ok! Be quiet for Nanny Willow!"

The soothing voice, while nice, did nothing to soothe the cranky adult.

Just give me some food! Can't you tell I'm hungry? Callie thought to herself as her girlfriend bounced her and patted her soggy butt.

As if in response to her question, Willow let out a gasp of realization.

"I know what's wrong," she announced to the table, "Our little princess is hungry!"

Everyone smiled and nodded, agreeing with Willow's determination.

Callie couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at her girlfriend's ability to seemingly read her mind.

Willow was really good at this, Callie thought.

That sense of satisfaction left, however, as soon as Willow began pulling up her sweater, revealing her two, big, beautiful, leaky breasts to Callie's entire family.

"Come here, sweet pea, let Nanny fill up that empty tummy," Willow cooed as she took Callie by the back of her head and gently guided her lips towards her exposed left nipple.

Callie's body, driven by the instincts of an infant and excited by the prospect of a meal, immediately began to squirm. She kicked her legs excitedly and began shaking her head back and forth, rutting in the air at just the sight of breasts.

Callie's mind, in contrast, went completely still. The embarrassment of excitedly suckling her girlfriend's tit in front of her entire family overwhelming her.

"There you go! That's a good girl! Someone was hungry, wasn't she?" Willow chuckled as Callie latched while smiling and gurgling up at the beautiful woman.

"She certainly was," Callie could here her mother from across the table, "I'm so glad we brought you on for little Callie Bear! You've really been incredible, Willow!"

The casual approval, let alone lack of concern, at just how infantile Callie's actions were, coupled with the devastating sense of powerlessness Callie felt was so at odds with adult sense of self, she could feel that part of her brain turning off as her mother spoke.

As the conversation continued, Callie's adult thoughts, locked up but ever present in the back of her head, until this point, became quieter and quieter.

Callie couldn't live like this. She could be here, stuck in this body as nothing more than a spectator to her shame.

The woman was only half way through draining her girlfriend's breast when it happened. Her big self drifted away, giving way entirely to the infantile instincts magically in control of her.

The rest of the night proceeded like a blur.

Burping, feedings, baths, changes, cuddles, they all seemed to happen at once.

Callie's big self came awake in flashes, but never for long.

Half present memories of Willow rocking her during a feeding, or her sister teasing her while they watched a movie, or her mother showering her with kisses after a diaper change, remained crisp in her mind. But so much more passed by unrecorded by the little part of Callie in control of her body.

Night came, and Willow, ever the diligent caregiver, laid Callie down in her crib.

Penelope, a little nervous, walked into Callie's nursery, something the infantalized woman's mind couldn't quite make out clutched in her hand.

A conversation ensued, heated at times, the resigned, then hopeful, before Penny handed whatever was in her hand over to Willow.

Callie, her big self in full retreat, understood nothing of what happened.

She just smiled as, after Penny left the room, Willow walked over to her, strange object clutched to her chest, and gently caressed one of Callie's cheeks.

"My poor, sweet girl," Willow cooed, "Are you still in there? Somewhere? I can't even imagine."