Northern DaddyDom

“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.