The nursery was still dim, soft golden light just starting to sneak through the blinds. The big clock on the wall ticked past 6:03 a.m., but time didn't matter much in here. Not when the crib rails were up and the thick padding underneath made every shift feel like floating on a cloud.
Alex lay sprawled on his tummy, one leg kicked out, the other tucked under like he was still half-dreaming of running through endless playgrounds. His blonde hair stuck up in sleepy tufts. The overnight diaper — a premium one with the cute little cartoon animals that faded when wet — had done its job overnight and then some. It sagged heavily between his thighs, warm and swollen, the telltale bulk pressing against the crib mattress every time he breathed.
He didn't stir when the door clicked open. He didn't even twitch when bare feet padded across the soft rug.
But when a warm hand settled gently but firmly on the back of his head, fingers threading through that messy blond hair, his eyes fluttered.
"Time to wake up, baby," came the low, amused voice above him.
Alex blinked blearily. The room swam into focus: the familiar red shirt, the strong arms, the knowing smile. His cheeks instantly heated. He tried to roll over — instinct — but the hand on his head guided him back down, cheek pressed to the cool sheet.
"Nuh-uh. Not yet." Another hand slid down his spine, patting the enormously puffy seat of his diaper with a deliberate crinkle-crinkle. "Someone had a very big accident last night, didn't he?"
Alex's face burned hotter. He buried it in the pillow and made a small, embarrassed noise.
The caregiver chuckled softly. "That's what I thought."
In one smooth motion the crib side dropped. Strong hands slipped under Alex's armpits and lifted. Suddenly he was airborne for a heartbeat — legs dangling, heavy diaper swinging — then cradled against a warm chest. The thick padding squished audibly against the red shirt.
"Easy, easy," the voice murmured, one arm supporting under his padded bottom while the other tucked him close. "Big babies need their morning bottle before anything else."
Alex squirmed, half protest, half needy little wiggle. The caregiver carried him over to the oversized rocking chair, settling down with Alex straddling one thigh, back to chest. A warm bib was snapped around his neck — the blue one with the sailboats — and then the bottle appeared.
The nipple was already warm from the formula waiting on the side table. It smelled faintly sweet, comforting.
Alex hesitated one second too long. A firm hand cupped the back of his head again, tilting it just enough. The nipple pressed past his lips. Instinct took over. He latched.
The first rush hit his tongue and he sighed around the nipple, eyes drifting half-closed. The caregiver's free hand rubbed slow, possessive circles over the front of the sodden diaper, pressing just enough to make Alex whimper softly into the bottle.
"There we go," came the murmur against his ear. "That's my good boy. Drinking up like a proper little one."
Droplets escaped the corners of his mouth, sliding down his chin and soaking into the bib. The caregiver didn't mind. Just wiped them away with a thumb, then went right back to patting the heavy, sagging padding.
When the bottle finally emptied with a soft pop, Alex was boneless, head lolling back against the caregiver's shoulder. His breathing had gone slow and deep, little contented suckling motions still happening even though the bottle was gone.
"Such a sleepy baby," the voice teased. "But we're not done yet."
Alex was lifted again — this time carried straight to the changing table. The padded top was cool against his back as he was laid down. The caregiver tugged the tapes open with practiced ease. Cool air hit soaked skin and Alex shivered, instinctively trying to close his legs.
"None of that." Gentle but unyielding hands parted his thighs. "Let me see how soggy my boy got."
The diaper was peeled away slowly, the wet inner lining making little peeling sounds. Alex stared at the ceiling, cheeks flaming, while the caregiver wiped him down with warm wipes, powdered him generously (the cloud of baby powder scent filling the air), and slid a fresh diaper underneath.
This one was even thicker — the kind with extra stuffers already tucked inside. The tapes pulled snug with satisfying rrrrrip-rrrrrip sounds.
"All clean," the caregiver announced, giving the fresh front a proud pat. "For now."
Alex was scooped up once more, carried back to the crib, and laid down on his back. The mobile above spun lazily. A pacifier was pressed between his lips before he could say anything.
"Shhh. Nap time isn't over yet, little one. You still have a couple more hours before breakfast."
The caregiver leaned down, kissed his forehead, then pulled the crib side up with a soft click.
"Sleep tight, baby. I'll be right here when you really wake up."
Alex suckled the paci slowly, the fresh diaper crinkling with every tiny shift. His eyelids grew heavy again. The last thing he felt was the caregiver's hand resting lightly on the front of his new padding — warm, protective, possessive.
And then he drifted, safe and small, back into little dreams.
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