I am **NOT** a white knight in shining armor. I **AM** a brooding, road weary, cantankerous, dark knight; a jaded, busted up, dented, discarded, often dismissed, old knight that wants you off his damn lawn, to be left alone, in peace...but I’m also a dirty old man, so here we are.
Now little ones, bigs, middles, kinksters, fetishests, submissives, dominants and all else... If you are brave, if you are courageous, if you are stout of heart, and dare approach, you just may find a true and loyal friend; as knightly a knight as ever knighted in the night.
About me? Well, let’s see here. I’m about 6’5” tall, dark brown hair (Though these days it’s shaved entirely. Helm hair is a foul dragon of a beast I have yet to vanquish!) and a beard with handsome and distinguished gray streaks. I have a plushie soft dad bod, all the better to cuddle her with. So mostly, I’m a big ol’ polar bear.
You may call me, Whitefur.
Now that introductions are out of the way, how about we get down to the deeper knowing.
I am the proud owner, operator, protector, guardian, handler, trainer, possessor, most jealous keeper of the cummies of, King High Daddy Dictator Emperor in Chief extraordinaire, first of his name, supreme diapee changer of her royal highnesses hiney, the tinkle princess herself, the one, the only, baaaaaaaaaby Iscah!!! 👑
Hmmm. Career-wise, I worked with troubled tweens and teens off and on for over fifteen years. I stepped away for a short time due to burnout, came back stronger than ever and I am now working with adults. What can I say? Helping is a passion. I truly believe it’s part of my calling in this world. I have lived a hard life that has left me somewhat uniquely qualified to work with the troubled. At the end of the day though, I am but one man, trying to bring a little order to a vastness of chaos. Well... Enough of that moroseness. Let’s move on.
Some... (Clears throat harshly and looks around the room.) would say I am a bit of a nerd also. Star Wars, LotR, The Kingkiller Chronicles, Narnia, HP, (World of Warcraft retired), Rocky, Marvel, DC, The Chronicles of Gor, D&D, Critical Role, Sci-fi’s Taken, anything Zelda, old school Mario, Atari, science, nature, storms, talking to animals, fossils, cars, games, board games... The list goes on but these are just a few of my favorite things.
If you’ve made it this far, congratulations. This read has been a study in perseverance! You go you! I am proud of you! Rest here for a short moment weary traveler... There is more, but I promise, this journey is coming to a close.
If you decide to be bold and push ever on by sending me a message, please consider the following:
• Be polite
• Be respectful
• Be ready to answer 3 riddles
I’m pretty much open to any friend requests and some chatting if you’re polite. Also follow away.
Thank you for your time and dedication. I know this “About Me” has been a trial (Maybe even a trial and a half). Many blessings to you and yours! I hope you have a wonderful day/night/life/journey.
The three phases of a spanking.
First she needs the pain and humiliation of being pulled by her ear to overcome the reluctance of her ego, to accept what her soul is yearning for.
It takes some time to her to accept that the only way forward for her leads through even more pain and humiliation. But she knows her man will not stop until she is reduced to tears and sobs, so she finally submits.
In the end her ego has been thoroughly chastened by her man's beating. She is all soft and feminine, a little girl, desperate to be good and to be loved.
And just like before, her man is ready to give er exactly what she needs at the time.
An annoying habit of many girls is that they talk too much or too stupid at times.
A quick way to shut them up temporarily is to let them suck their thumb for a while.
At first it's a humbling reminder of their eternal childishness, but many girls actually find the process comfortable and soothing after a while.
Start to practice in private and train her to suck her thumb on command. Keep her sucking for a while - a couple of minutes at first and expand it to an hour later.
Establish a protocol - a command encapsulated in a sweet, caring sentence like "Why don't you suck your little thumby for a while, sweetheart?".
Use it at home to get a period of quiet and calm, to soothe her when she is anxious about something and can't stop blabbering about it, or as a punishment when she is being particularly silly.
Then, when you have trained her sufficiently you are ready to make the jump: When you're together with close friends and she falls back into prattling, suddenly use the sentence you trained her on. She will be incredulous at first, you can't be doing this to her in public! But you just look her in the eyes, with a calm, stern face and nod.
Give her a few seconds to process the situation, before you repeat the command, this time hard, and without the sugary sweetness, if necessary.
When she finally complies and puts her thumb in her mouth, you can pat her head and tell her what a good girl she is, and continue the conversation without her input.
Maybe you need to explain to the others at the table, that she's like a little child sometimes (if they don't know this already) and that she needs a little timeout to cool down her silly, little brain.
Whatever, she probably won't object and will continue to suck her thumb.
What has been a favorite public diaper wearing experience?
Daddy and I spent my Birthdayweek in New York. Of course, I wore diapers the whole time, without exception. On my birthday itself, Daddy put me in a relatively thick diaper against my will, so I had to try on several outfits first. I really wanted to wear a certain pair of shorts that fit super loose without a diaper. But with that thick diaper on, they ended up being a little tight around my bottom.
Daddy and I started the day with bagels and a treat at a café, and then we went shopping. Even while we were shopping, I realized I needed to go number two. Since we planned to be out a little longer, I tried to hold it in for a while. Daddy asked me every now and then if everything was okay because I was getting more and more restless. We then planned to go for a walk in Central Park afterward. It got harder and harder. I really wanted to get down on my knees, but if I had, Daddy would have realized what was going on with me and what I was doing. We kept walking, and the inevitable happened. I couldn't hold it in any longer and filled my diaper. So in the end, I ended up with a very full diaper. We then saw a small lake with paddleboats in the park. When Daddy suggested we could go on one, I was thrilled by the idea—it sounded so great—until it occurred to me that I’d have to sit down with my full diaper on, and then everything would spill out. When we finally got on the boat and were supposed to sit down, I hesitated. Daddy then asked if everything was okay and why I wasn’t sitting down. I sat down so he wouldn’t notice, and as I did, I felt it all spread around in my diaper. Daddy then stroked my hair, picked me up, and told me he loved me. I told him that I loved him too, and then whispered in his ear that I’d made a little mess in my Pampers. Daddy said that it wasn’t a problem at all, because I’m a baby who wears a thick diaper specifically for situations like this. I had to wear the full diaper for another whole hour on the boat, and it took us forever to get back to the hotel because Daddy suddenly decided he wanted to make a bunch of additional stops along the way.
What has been a memorable diapered experience in a public setting?
There was another experience that was also pretty special.
Daddy and I have a tradition of going to the Christmas market every year in the city where we had our first date back then. Of course, I’m always wrapped up nice and thick in a diaper for this, because a thick diaper doesn’t stand out under a thick winter coat. Last year, though, it was a little different. The diaper I got was even a little thicker than usual. Daddy got me dressed, and when I stood up, I waddled more than I walked because it was so thick. I wanted to complain, but Daddy immediately said that’s just how it has to be and that it’s okay if I waddle. Just before we left the hotel room, I took my pacifier out of my mouth. Daddy grabbed it right away and put it back in my mouth. He then grabbed a protection mask and pulled it over the pacifier, telling me that the pacifier would stay in my mouth just like at home and could only be taken out for eating and drinking at the Christmas market. Since it was the big Rearz pacifier of course, the mask barely covered it. I was about to cry because I didn’t want to wear the pacifier and didn’t know how to take it out of my mouth without anyone noticing. But Daddy wouldn’t change his mind and said the pacifier had to stay in my mouth and that no one would see it for sure. And even if they did, we don’t know that person, so it’s not that big of a deal. On our way to the Christmas market, we first strolled through town and stopped by a few stores. Things got pretty awkward when a saleswoman in one store asked if she could help me, and I couldn’t answer because no one would have understood a word with the pacifier in my mouth. I just shook my head, feeling quite embarrassed. Even on the way to the Christmas market, I noticed a slight pain in my stomach, but I didn’t think much of it. When we finally got to the Christmas market, Daddy bought me a hot cocoa, and it was quite a challenge to take out my pacifier quickly and discreetly. I’m not sure if someone noticed after all. From then on, my tummy started acting up a bit more. I realized I really had to relieve myself. But I was afraid someone would notice. I started getting a little fussy and tried desperately to hold it in. After the hot cocoa, we wanted to get something to eat. Daddy put my pacifier back in my mouth in a quiet corner, pulled the mask over it, and said it would stay in until we ate. While standing in line at a food stand, I realized that the cramps were getting worse and worse and I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Right in the middle of all the people, I completely messed myself. My diaper was already so thick, and then it got really full, too. I was sucking really hard on my pacifier while I was filling my diaper. I had tears in my eyes, and that was the only way I could calm myself down a little. Whether anyone else could see me sucking so hard didn't matter at all in that moment. Daddy looked at me and asked if everything was okay, but I just nodded and didn’t say anything. We then spent a really nice evening at the Christmas market, during which I wore the very full and thick diaper the whole time. The more tired I got, the more cranky I became, so Daddy said we should head back now and that it would be bedtime soon. When we got back to the hotel, Daddy undressed me and asked right away if I’d filled my diaper. I didn’t say anything because it was so embarrassing. Daddy then said that while we were waiting in line for the food, he’d thought I had a filled diaper because I was making exactly the same face I always make when I involuntarily fill my diaper. Changing my diaper took longer than usual because it was really full and the mess had spread everywhere. Then I got a fresh diaper and a bottle. After that, Daddy read me a bedtime story and told me that babies who filled their diapers now had to go to sleep.
Later, Daddy admitted that he had given me a laxative beforehand so that exactly that would happen at the Christmas market.
I don’t wanna pretend anymore… just ruin what’s left of me. I don’t want thoughts, I don’t want memories, I want my mind soft and empty, all grown up pieces erased. Turn me into your helpless little thing who can’t do anything without you. Make diapers feel natural… inevitable. Make my paci my lifeline. I want to giggle at nonsense, drool without noticing, and lose whole days in a fog of cartoons and cuddles. I want to forget how to function, forget how to speak, forget my own name if it’s not ‘baby.’ Rewire me. Condition me. Break me so sweetly that being a forever baby doesn’t feel like a punishment, it feels like the only thing that ever made sense 🍼
Age play for me is massively about the loss of autonomy and choice. These two are 1000000% a I don’t want to be allowed to choose such a thing!
9. Do you want everyone to know you wear diapers?
Consensually, I’m good with it 🥹
16. Do you need your diaper checked?
Always!! I get so distracted! Who knows the state of my diaper at any given time!
18. Do you like messy diapers?
So embarrassing to admit. I do 🙈 I get insanely embarrassed about this because it’s so against my natural instinct to control the situation. It’s such a removal of control for me. So humiliating!
26. Did you make pushies today?
Nuhuhhhh no pushies today!
34. What’s the longest you’re willing to go being diapered 24/7?
Ultimate goal is to literally not have a choice in this matter. Even when I’m frustrated and ‘over’ it. It continues. A signed contract, an agreement between two people. That choice entirely removed from me. I’m just a diaper dummy. I can’t be trusted to use the potty. I’ll have an accident 🤭 yeppppp having this choice removed from me AND not knowing the end point is SO embarrassing.
Ethan trailed behind Lisa, his thick diaper crinkling softly with every step. The mall was bright, bustling with shoppers, and the air smelled of pretzels and perfume. He kept his head down, trying to look casual, but the squish between his legs was impossible to ignore. His diaper was soaked, had been for a while now, and every squirm, every subtle tug at the plastic-backed padding, was a silent plea for Lisa to notice. To do something.
She didn’t.
Lisa strolled ahead, her fingers curled around the handle of a shopping bag, her other hand swinging freely. She glanced back at him, her lips curling into a smirk. "You’re fine, sweetheart," she said, her voice light, almost sing-song. "That’s what your thick diapers are for."
Ethan’s face burned. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the wetness sloshing slightly inside his diaper. He tried to make it more obvious, hitching up his shorts, adjusting the waistband of his diaper with exaggerated movements. Lisa just laughed, shaking her head. "We’ll change you when I say so."
He bit his lip, frustration bubbling under his skin. It wasn’t fair. He was wet. He was uncomfortable. And yet, here he was, following her like a well-trained pet, his diaper growing heavier with every step.
They passed a clothing store, its mannequins dressed in the latest summer styles. Lisa paused, tilting her head as she eyed a rack of sundresses. Ethan hovered near her, his fingers twitching at his sides. He risked another tug at his diaper, this time louder, the crinkle sharp in the quiet of the store. Lisa didn’t even look at him. "Go on, baby. Pick out something pretty for me," she said, nodding toward the dresses.
Ethan’s jaw tightened. He didn’t want to pick out dresses. He wanted a change. But he knew better than to say it. The rules were clear: No telling. No asking. He was supposed to signal, to make it obvious, and if she chose to ignore him... well, that was her prerogative.
A group of women passed by, their laughter ringing through the store. One of them, a tall woman with a sharp gaze, had a boy in tow—maybe mid-20s, dressed in a simple t-shirt and shorts. The boy was fidgeting, his hands clutching at his crotch. The woman stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowing. "Stand still, Mark," she said, her voice firm. Without hesitation, she pulled down his shorts, checking his pull-up. "Dry. Good. But don’t think that means you can hold it forever." The boy blushed, but the woman just patted his head and continued walking, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Ethan watched, his heart sinking. Even the boys in pull-ups got checked. And here he was, in a full, thick diaper, soaked, and Lisa hadn’t even looked.
Lisa finally moved on, her new dress draped over her arm. They wandered into a toy store next, the shelves lined with bright, colorful toys. Ethan’s eyes flicked to a display of stuffed animals, but his mind was elsewhere. His diaper was sagging now, the weight of it pulling at his shorts. He shifted again, this time pressing his thighs together, hoping the movement would catch Lisa’s eye.
It didn’t.
"Oh, look at this!" Lisa cooed, holding up a plush teddy bear. "Would you like this, baby?" She dangled it in front of him, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
Ethan’s hands clenched into fists. He didn’t want a stupid teddy bear. He wanted to be dry. But he knew better than to say no. "Y-yes, please," he muttered, his voice small.
Lisa beamed, adding the bear to her growing pile of purchases. "Good boy."
Ethan’s frustration mounted. He was almost dripping. He was helpless. And Lisa was loving every second of it.
They stopped for lunch at the food court. Lisa ordered for both of them chicken tenders and fries for her, a kids’ meal for Ethan. He sat stiffly in his seat, his diaper squelching slightly every time he moved. Lisa, of course, noticed. She always noticed. She just didn’t care.
"You’re awfully quiet, sweetheart," she said, popping a fry into her mouth. "Something on your mind?"
Ethan’s eyes flicked to her, then away. He wanted to scream. He wanted to beg. But the rules were the rules. He had to make her see. He shifted again, this time lifting his hips slightly off the seat, letting the squish of his diaper fill the air between them.
Lisa’s smirk deepened. "You’re fine," she said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "Eat your nuggets."
Ethan’s face burned. He picked at his food, his appetite long gone. Across the food court, a woman was changing a boy on a bench, his diaper laid out beneath him. The boy giggled as she powdered him, his legs kicking in the air. Ethan watched, his chest tight. That was what he wanted. To be taken care of. To be dry.
But Lisa wasn’t ready.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Lisa sighed and checked her watch. "Alright, baby. Let’s go find a changing room."
Ethan’s heart leapt. Finally. He waddled after her, his diaper sloshing with every step. The family restroom was at the far end of the mall, and every second felt like torture. But as they turned the corner, Lisa stopped abruptly.
"Oh, look," she said, nodding toward the changing room door. It was propped open, and inside, three boys—all around Ethan’s age—were laid out on the changing tables, their diapers being swapped out by their respective caregivers. One of the boys caught Ethan’s eye and grinned, his legs swinging as his mommy taped up a fresh diaper. "You must be a super soaker," the boy teased.
Lisa chuckled, her hand resting on Ethan’s shoulder. "Patience is a virtue, sweetheart," she said, her voice dripping with amusement. "But I suppose you’ve earned this."
Ethan’s relief was short-lived. As Lisa finally led him into the changing room, he couldn’t help but notice the knowing looks from the other boys. They knew. They’d all been there. And they’d all learned the same lesson: You don’t get to be dry until she says so.
No "ifs," no "ands," no "buts." This isn’t a negotiation. This isn’t a phase. This is your reality now, and the sooner you accept it, the easier it will be for both of us. You don’t get to argue, to bargain, or to pretend this is temporary. It isn’t. You’re here because you need to be here. Because you’ve proven, time and time again, that you can’t be trusted to manage even the simplest parts of your own life.
So let’s start with the basics.
You no longer wear “grown-up” underwear. Those days are over. No more briefs, no more boxers, no more pretending you’re something you’re not. From now on, your bottom is wrapped in thick, crinkly diapers, diapers that will hold everything you can’t. And you will fill them. You’ll wet them when you’re nervous, when you’re excited, when you’re just sitting there, squirming in your seat because you’ve forgotten how to do anything else. You’ll mess them when you’re overwhelmed, when you’re tired, when you’ve had too much to eat and your body decides for you. And you won’t ask. You won’t dare to ask. Because good boys don’t ask. Good boys let their caregivers handle it.
And you? You’re not a good boy yet. But you will be.
You are not trusted to manage your bathroom needs. That’s why you’re in diapers. That’s why, when you shift in your seat, when you clench your thighs together, when you whimper because you feel it coming and you know you can’t stop it, no one will rush to help you. You’ll sit there, your face burning, your diaper swelling, and you’ll learn. You’ll learn that resistance is useless. That your body doesn’t belong to you anymore. It belongs to us. To the people who know what’s best for you.
You are not trusted to regulate your emotions, either. When you pout, when you cross your arms and try to look defiant, when you stomp your foot like a child throwing a tantrum, we’ll just laugh. Because that’s what you are. A child. A little boy who doesn’t know how to behave, who needs firm hands to guide him, to remind him of his place. And when you cry? Oh, you’ll cry. You’ll cry when you’re frustrated, when you’re embarrassed, when you realize just how small you’ve become. But no one will comfort you. Not the way you want. Instead, you’ll get a pacifier pressed between your lips, a bottle shoved into your hands, a firm voice telling you to settle down. And you will. Because you have no other choice.
You function best when someone else is fully in control. That’s the truth you’ve been running from. You like it when decisions are made for you. When you don’t have to think, to worry, to try. When you can just… let go. And that’s exactly what you’re going to do here. You’ll let go of your pride, your dignity, your silly little delusions of independence. You’ll let us dress you, feed you, clean you up when you’ve made a mess of yourself. You’ll let us decide when you eat, when you nap, when you’re allowed to speak. And you’ll be better for it. Happier. Because deep down, you’ve always known this is what you needed. Someone to take the reins. Someone to remind you, every single day, that you’re not in charge anymore.
You will be changed, fed, dressed, and quieted as needed. Not as requested. Not when you beg. Not when you think you’ve earned it. When we decide it’s time. When we say you’ve been good enough, or when we simply feel like it. You’ll lie on the changing table, your legs kicking uselessly as we wipe you clean, as we powder your skin, as we slide a fresh diaper beneath you and tape it snugly around your waist. And you’ll stay still. You’ll take it. Because that’s what good boys do.
And humiliation? Oh, sweet, naive thing. Humiliation isn’t a punishment here. It’s a reminder. A reminder of who you are. Of why you’re wrapped in plastic and tape, why you’re drinking from a sippy cup, why you’re sitting in a high chair while the world moves on without you. It’s a reminder that you don’t get to be ashamed. You don’t get to be anything but what we say you are. And what we say you are is this: a baby. A little boy who needs to be taken care of. Who wants to be taken care of, even if he won’t admit it yet.
So here’s your first lesson: Stop fighting it.
The diaper between your legs isn’t going anywhere. The bottle in your hands isn’t a suggestion. The way the other boys look at you, the way the caregivers smile when you squirm, the way your own body betrays you again and again, none of it is an accident. It’s design. And you? You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.
trying to verbalize how being into diaper messing doesn’t inherently mean you have a scat kink. the same way there’s a huge variety in piss kinks where some people find the eroticism in the actual pee while others are fixated on the sensations of desperation and humiliation. when a role play element like age play combines with a bodily fluid based kink the entire context is rewritten. do i love diaper pooping and find it ridiculously hot? yes. but it’s not about the poop. i would actually prefer to interact with the poop as little as possible. it’s about the complete surrender to a bodily function, relinquishing control over something most people master very early in life, and allowing yourself to do something so incredibly taboo and liking it. it’s about admitting to yourself you want to mess yourself and you like how it makes you feel. it’s about letting another person see you vulnerable and gross and they still love you and want to care for you. it’s about the feelings of weight and warmth in your erogenous zone making it impossible to ignore what you’ve done. getting to a point where you do it unabashedly and without a second thought, despite decades of hardwiring telling you that it’s the most embarrassing and disgusting thing you could possibly do. i don’t want to interact with the poop outside of my diaper, i like it in there. im desensitized to the cleanup but that doesn’t mean i like it or look forward to the moment i have to do it. it’s so much less about the poop itself and more about the physical sensations and feelings that come with it. do my biggest sexual fantasies involve messing in one way or another? yes. would i say i have a scat kink? no.
little using their diaper mid make out session with cg…
lips locked, adrenaline rushing, completely oblivious to their potty signals until they feel warmth spreading and being sucked away from their skin
or maybe they really do know they need to go but don’t want to ruin the moment. they’ll be ok, they can hold it, just one more minute, this feels so good…all is well until cg catches them off guard with a nibble of their ear or grab of their crotch. they gasp and all off a sudden the floodgates open, or they unclench and a mound forms in the back of their padding
panting in between kisses, grinding their hips into cg’s lap, wet diaper stifling any real sensation for the little. cg on the other hand is getting a crotch full of warmth and weight and loving every minute of it.
maybe they’ll initiate more make out sessions right before changing time from now on…
This caption was written with—and of course features—the amazingly talented @prettymuchpottytrained02. Such a cutie.
A mobile slowly spins above her crib, barely visible in the soft, warm glow of the nightlight.
Dreamy, delicate melodies of long-forgotten nursery rhymes drift from the antique music box in the corner of the nursery.
None of this made any difference to the sole occupant of the nursery.
Peanut glared at the mobile, her binkie bobbing furiously in her mouth. She dramatically kicked off her blankets in a fit of frustration at the muffled cheers invading her nursery.
It wasn’t fair!
All she wanted was to stay up one night—one night!—past her bedtime to watch the big football game with Daddy and his friends!
It was her team, too! Daddy knew how excited she was about the game.
She ruminated about how she used every tool in her arsenal to soften Daddy up over the last week. How she went to bed every night without a fuss. Gave him her best puppy-dog eyes each morning when she lay in his lap, suckling her baba.
She even picked up all the toys scattered around her nursery without Daddy asking! Daddy’s perfect angel.
Just to end up in her crib at bedtime.
Another chorus of cheers interrupted the tranquility of her nursery. She kicked her legs at the injustice of it all.
The sudden movement, so similar to the bicycle kicks Daddy insists on whenever her tummy is full of bubbles, results in a stream of toots.
“Hmpff,” she pouted, even angrier that her outburst backfired.
She folded her arms, resigned to her fate, until an idea struck her. A smirk grew behind her binky.
If Daddy wouldn’t let her watch the game, then she wouldn’t let him watch, either.
Grabbing the bars of her crib, she pulled herself to her knees. Her diapered bum floating just above her toes.
The perfect position to fill her diaper.
A series of tiny grunts and ragged breaths filled the room as she pushed, determined to load her diaper.
Her only progress after a few minutes of effort was a single, terrifying toot so loud it must have been heard in the other room.
Red-faced, frustrated, and out of breath, she throws herself flat on her back. Why was it so hard? She never has to try! Most of the time, she doesn’t know she’s pooping until her diaper gets heavy!
Lost in thought, she unconsciously fiddles with her feet, pulling them close to her face.
Suddenly, everyone in the other room cheers in unison, startling her. Before Peanut can react, her diaper crinkles softly as it expands. She reflexively grunts as her body takes over, pushing more mess into her diaper.
Peanut pulls her feet closer, unaware she’s loading her diaper.
By the time she realizes she’s pooping, she’s almost done. Her diaper was already bulging to accommodate its burden. She giggles in between grunts.
Mission accomplished.
She sits up, giggling harder as the mess spreads even more. Usually, she’d avoid mushing her mess, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
As she reaches for the latch to escape her crib, she notices her favorite stuffie watching her.
Judging her.
“Don’ judth me, Dithon,” she lisps through her paci, “Dada thtarted it!”
The enormity of Peanut’s mess is immediately obvious the moment she steps out of her crib; her diaper droops dangerously as she waddles to the door. Her shirt is far too short to cover her diaper.
Had she been less stubborn she would at least have the onesie Daddy got her for the game to support and conceal—well, at least cover—her diaper.
But no, she had to be fussy and reject it.
It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the bright light, though she waddles on anyway, making her way to noise down the hall, thankful it drowned out her crinkles.
She reaches the end of the hallway, heart beating fast. Not only is she not supposed to be out of bed, she isn’t particularly keen on being seen in a diaper this messy.
No matter how many times she’s been around Daddy’s friends, how many times he’s loudly announced she needed a change, how many times he’s marched her to another room for a diaper change, she still squirms being in a full diaper around them.
She quickly peeks around the corner to find Daddy and get his attention without his friends noticing. To her horror, Daddy’s friend Bailey happened to be looking right at her. She tried to hide, hoping she wasn’t seen.
“Was that you, little one? Did I see a peeking Peanut just now?”
Peanut doesn’t move. Maybe Bailey will think she was seeing things.
“I did see a peeking Peanut!” Bailey coos, finding Peanut “Everything okay, honey? Daddy put you to bed an hour ago.”
Bailey looks down at Peanut’s droopy diaper.
Unable to meet Bailey’s eyes, Peanut stares at the hardwood floor.
“Oh, poor baby, I bet that diaper doesn’t feel very good, huh? Come on, honey, let’s go find your Daddy.”
“M…m-bu,” Peanut mumbles, eyes wide at Bailey’s suggestion.
“Hush, honey,” Bailey soothed the poor girl, wrapping her in a hug and gently patting her diaper, “We need to get you out of that diaper before we have a blowout on our hands.”
A hand guides Peanut forward, out of the safety of the hallway and into the living room. She feels the eyes of everyone in the room on her—and her diaper.
“Uh oh, looks like somebody needs a change!” Jane, another of Daddy’s friends, says.
“You can say that again, poor thing. Anyone know where her Daddy is?”
“He just went to the bathroom, I’ll go get him,” Larry says.
A silence that lasts an eternity overtakes the room. Peanut tries to avoid eye contact and pretend everyone is watching the game and not the helpless baby in a poopy diaper.
“Peanut, what are you doing out of bed, hmmm?” Daddy asks as he walks over to his little one, “I was just about to check on you.”
Peanut feels Bailey pat her diaper. “Probably has something to do with this.”
The others in the room groan at the game.
“Oh, Peanut,” Daddy says distractedly, watching the game, “I’ll change you after this drive, okay?”
“No, no, no, look at her!” Bailey chastised Daddy, “Her diaper is about to fall off!”
Jane stands up, giving Daddy the evil eye before turning to Peanut, “Don’t worry little one, we won’t make you wait. Where are your diapers, sweetie?”
Peanut’s binkie bobs a bit more. “Ummm…m’nurswy.”
“Honey, you’re lucky your diaper hasn’t fallen off already. That won’t make it down the hall,” Bailey insisted, “I’ll get you out of that icky diaper right here, okay? Doesn’t a clean diapie sound nice?”
This was not the plan.
The plan was for Daddy to change her diaper in the nursery—not getting her diaper changed by Bailey right here in front of everyone!
Bailey kneels in front of Peanut with the diaper bag, looking deep into her eyes. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about, little one. It’s just a poopy diapie. Will you let us get that tushie fresh and clean?”
“M-mhm.”
Bailey tickles her tummy. “Good girl! Your Daddy always brags about his brave little Peanut.”
Somehow, despite getting her poopy diaper changed right there in front of everyone, Peanut found herself loving the attention from Jane and Bailey.
Jane made the silliest faces playing peek-a-boo while Peanut giggled in utter delight whenever Bailey blew raspberries on her tummy.
By the time Bailey carefully rolled her messy diaper into a ball and slid a fresh diaper under her, Peanut could not care less about being changed in front of everyone.
Excited, incoherent babble serenaded the room—the sounds of a happy baby having the time of her life.
“There, all clean!” Bailey said proudly, smoothing out the diaper and admiring her handiwork, “Let’s get you back to bed, cutie.”
“Bu bu wa-wan play!”
“Sorry, kiddo,” Bailey said with a twinge of disappointment, “As much as I’d love to play, it’s well past your bedtime.”
Just as Peanut was about to give up, Daddy walked over with a warm bottle of milk filled with vanilla, honey, and a dash of cinnamon.
“How can I deny Bailey some quality time with my little Peanut after she wiped her tushie clean? Peanut, if you ask Bailey nicely, maybe she’ll let you sit on her lap and hold your baba for you while we finish the game. Would you like that?”
“Yeth pwease, Dada! May I pwease Mith Baiwey? Pwetty pwease?”
“Of course, honey! I’d love that!”
The last thing Peanut remembered was laying on Bailey’s lap suckling the warm milk from her baba, as Bailey smiled down at the baby with heavy eyes.
Her wet suckles continuing a few minutes after her eyes closed for the last time.
She didn’t even stir when Daddy’s team won on a last second field goal.
Sleeping like a baby.
The Quiet Crinkle @quietcrinkle - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
