Mummy has Training Wheels

Take away their adult privileges when they get home.

Restrict screen time

Make them ask for food, littles need help to get those things!

Make them change into a diaper, pull-ups or training pants to enforce the fact that they are little and need this just in case. You should probably help them into their little gear too tops!

Ask them if they need to go to the bathroom periodically, especially before car ride or when out in public, make them go potty even when they say they’re fine. Do they really know? Can you really trust a littles judgement? :P

Stop them when they try to do things for their selves and remind them just how small they are.

Run their bath for them, even if they don’t want to have a bath! You’re their caregiver, you take care of them and make these decisions for them!

Give a list of chores to do while you’re away, punish/ground them if they don’t follow through.

If they’ve been on the computer for too long stop them. They’re too little to spend that much time on a computer, coloring in a coloring book is more appropriate for somebody their age.

Encourage them when being little, remind them that it is okay to be little around you ♡

Be sincere in your interest when they are being little, playing, coloring etc.

Understand that your little is not a slave and isn’t going to be as easily told to do things like a slave might. Expect some resistance at times they are the child in this, they do pout and fuss.

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i hope you get everything you’ve ever dreamed of

I’m sorry to say, you’ve been diagnosed with a terminal case of being the cutest baby ever in the world disease.

There is no cure, I’m sorry.

What are some things that are square?

Write down 3 things you can see in the room that are square, 3 square things you could eat, and 3 square things you could play with.

The living room was bathed in the golden glow of late afternoon, the kind of light that made everything feel soft and warm. The couch cushions still held the faint imprint of where you’d been sitting earlier, fidgeting with the hem of your onesie, your thick diaper crinkling with every shift of your legs. You’d been restless all day, bored, maybe, or just needing something you couldn’t quite name. Mommy had watched you with that knowing look of hers, the one that said she could see right through you, even when you thought you were being subtle.

Now, she patted her lap. "Come here, baby," she said, her voice warm but firm. You hesitated for only a second before scrambling over, your short legs carrying you as fast as they could. The moment you settled onto her lap, facing her, you could feel the dampness in your diaper press against her thighs. You’d wet a little earlier, too distracted by your toys to bother telling her, and now the padding was swollen and cool against your skin.

Mommy’s hands found your hips, her fingers curling just slightly into the fabric of your onesie. "Someone’s a little wiggly today," she murmured, her breath tickling the top of your head. Before you could respond, she started bouncing you, gentle at first, just enough to make you sway in her lap. The motion sent a jolt through you, your diaper rubbing against her legs with every little lift and drop. You bit your lip, trying to ignore the way your body was reacting, but it was impossible. The pressure, the friction, it was too good.

You shifted, just a little, testing the sensation. The crinkle of your diaper was loud in the quiet room, and you could feel yourself getting harder, the padding pressing against you in all the right ways. Mommy’s smirk told you she’d noticed. "Ohhh, is my little boy enjoying this?" Her voice was light, teasing, but there was an edge to it, something that made your stomach flip.

Her hands tightened on your hips, guiding you, and suddenly you weren’t just being bounced, you were moving. Your body took over, your hips rolling forward, grinding against her lap. The diaper between you and her legs was a barrier, but it only made the friction better, the plastic backing slick against her skin. You could feel your face heating up, your breath coming faster, but you couldn’t stop. Mommy didn’t let you.

"That’s it," she cooed, her voice dropping into that low, soothing tone that always made you feel small and safe and wanted. "Mommy’s got you. Just let go." Her hands kept you moving, her thighs pressing up against you just enough to give you something to push against. The room faded away, there was only the sound of your diaper crinkling, the warmth of her body beneath you, the growing pleasure in your nappy.

Your hips started to jerk on their own, your movements losing their rhythm as the pleasure built. You pressed your face into her shoulder, your fingers clutching at her shirt, needing something to hold onto. Mommy’s laugh was soft, almost a purr. "Such a good boy," she murmured, one hand sliding up your back to hold you closer. "You can do it, baby. Mommy wants you to."

And then, you were there. The tension snapped, and with a muffled groan, your body tensed, your back arching as you pumped your load into your diaper. The warmth spread through the padding, the wetness seeping into the layers as your hips twitched, once, twice, a few more times, riding out the last waves of pleasure. A whimper escaped you, high and needy, and you collapsed against her, your chest heaving.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing and the distant crinkle of your diaper, now sticky between your legs. Mommy’s hand stroked your hair, her touch gentle. "There you go," she said, her voice full of affection. "Good boy." She shifted you slightly, and you could feel the mess you’d made, the way the diaper sagged with the weight of it.

She chuckled, the sound vibrating through her chest and into you. "Now let’s get you cleaned up." Her fingers tapped your thigh, light and playful. "Unless you want to sit in that for a while?"

Vol. 3 - Feeding Time Feelings

Thoughts during feeding are not proper thoughts.

They are little floaty bubble thoughts. Soft and shiny. They drift up from the warmth and pop before they can turn into “problems.”

The Internal Monologue of a Puddled Prince:

Mmm.

Warm.

Safe.

Talking is too heavy. Being little is light.

Mummy’s voice sounds all soft and warm.

Blankie is needed for important structural reasons.

Why are my eyelids so heavy?

Harvey Hippo is watching. He looks judgmental, but he’s just guarding the snacks. Supportive.

Need a cuddle. No, a closer cuddle. No, I need to be medically inseparable from this hug.

The Shrinking World

One of the loveliest things about feeding time is how it makes the world smaller. Not scary small. Safe small. Cosy small. Like the Kingdom of Plushveria has pulled up the drawbridge and all the sharp Outside Things have been moved very far away.

Work emails. Money worries. Scary future stuff. That annoying “be sensible” voice that wants me to make five big decisions before lunch.

Gone.

In Feeding Space, there is only:

Cosy. Sucky. Sleepy. Held.

The Great Browser Shutdown

My brain usually behaves like a laptop with 97 tabs open and a mystery song playing from somewhere. But as I settle, the tabs start clicking shut:

Tab 1: Money panic. Closed.

Tab 2: Am I being annoying? Closed.

Tab 3: The thought that everyone secretly hates me. Closed.

Tab 4: What if I am doing life wrong? Force Quit.

Tab 5: Dinosaurs. Kept open. Core system file. Obviously.

The Permission of the Soft Start

I think I crave the permission inside feeding more than anything. Permission to be quiet. Permission to be helped. Permission to be smaller than my problems for once.

Grown up Oli is clever. He can analyse and worry until his brain is just mashed potato with anxiety sprinkles.

But Little Oli doesn’t want to analyse.

He wants to be tucked in.

He wants to blink slowly and hold a plushie.

He wants every complicated adult thought to fall down a well.

A very padded well.

With glow stars on the walls.

The Close Close Bit

And then there is the deepest softness. The one I get shy about because it feels so big and scary soft.

Nursing. Breastfeeding. The close close.

Whatever words people use, for me it sits in that same soft place as bottles, nappies and blankies. It’s the thing I think about when my brain has gone all buzzy and too big.

It isn’t just about milk.

It’s about the heartbeat like a lullaby.

The rhythm.

The warmth.

The little feeling of:

Oh. I’m safe now.

It scares me to ask for it, because it feels like asking someone to love the most fragile, babyish bit of me. The bit that doesn’t want to pretend it’s okay. The bit that just wants to be cradled, chosen, and wanted.

Healing the Heart-Ache

I think part of why nursing means so much is because I didn’t get that soft start. Being taken away from my birth mummy right at the beginning left a tiny quiet ache for the kind of warm close close love I never had. That first “you belong here.”

So when I think about bottles, or nursing, or being held tight, it isn’t just a kink thing.

It’s a heart thing.

It’s some tiny part of me finally whispering:

I didn’t just want to be fed.

I wanted to be someone’s baby.

I wanted to be held like I mattered.

The Secret Language

Feeding isn’t just a moment. It’s a language.

The bottle says: “You can be little now.”

The nursing says: “You can be close now.”

Both say: “You don’t have to hold the world up by yourself anymore.”

And honestly? That is dangerous information for my brain.

Because the second I feel that, I click into Tiny Mode.

There is a secret language in the settling. The little hand squeezes. The soft crinkle of being padded and safe. The way the praise lands somewhere much smaller than my grown up ears.

“Good boy.”

System Error.

Tiny Prince has stopped working.

Please reboot with cuddles.

I might pretend I am a dignified, independent prince.

Very capable.

Very normal.

Absolutely not one soft voice away from becoming a puddle.

But if someone strokes my hair while I’m fed?

If they let me nurse and tell me I’m safe?

I am legally no longer responsible for having bones.

I become pudding.

Royal, moon charged, protected by decree pudding.

> Harvey Hippo’s Official Decree:

Bottle / nursing status: Required immediately.

Prince status: Very blushy and melty.

Mummy status: Heart full of softness.

Softness levels: Dangerously high.

(Dinosaur tab remains open in background.)

Sometimes it’s just being so exhausted from carrying adulthood on your shoulders that hearing an older woman say “come here, sweetie” almost makes you cry.

Because for one second, you don’t have to be the strong one.

You don’t have to lead.

You don’t have to perform.

You don’t have to hold everything together.

You can just melt into softness and feel safe.

And honestly?