Critiques and Writer's Discussion

Chapter 5 The past few weeks had been a goddamned whirlwind. Not the kind where you get swept up in something new and exciting. More like being caught in a dust devil, spun in circles, and left with your mouth full of dirt. Every day blurred into the next: diapers, tea, piano practice, forced smiles, Bible verses. Her smile was the same every time. Soothing. So smug. I hadn’t figured out if she knew what she was doing or if she was just too holy to realize how twisted it all was. I shifted in the pew and winced. The padding crinkled under me, thick between my thighs, warm with fresh wetness. The smell wasn’t obvious, not yet, but I couldn’t shake the idea that everyone could tell. That they were whispering behind those folded hands, pretending to pray while secretly giggling. I hadn’t just decided to use the stupid things after that first piano lesson. But I saw so much of her these days. She ‘gently encouraged’ me to be at everything Antioch-related: two Sunday services. Wednesday men’s Bible Study, which was held in the church basement--and wouldn’t you know it, Hope always had something to do at the church that night. This last Wednesday, she was dropping off a casserole for a sick member. And piano continued, of course. Two sessions a week, though she pressed for three.  But it wasn’t just the Church-o-sphere. I’d bump into Hope at the weirdest times. Rather, she’d bump into me. Yeah, we lived in a small town, but still. This week it was the grocery store, when I was buying chicken fingers from the deli on my lunch break. Two days before that, she actually came into Larette Lumber to get a small pack of Philips head screws that she could’ve bought at Walmart or a half-dozen other places closer to her apartment.   So, I kept wearing the diapers, like she’d asked. Well, ‘demanded,’ really. Hope didn’t exactly ‘ask’ for anything: she just wrapped demands in a pretty smile and honey-sweet tone.  Once I started wearing the diapers more, I had to use them. I couldn’t go all day in one of the damn things and hold it. I tried, and got so dehydrated it felt like I was pissing lava for a couple of days. Changing them didn’t work, either. Definitely not at work, at least. I tried to rush through it in the bathroom and ended up shredding the stupid thing and spewing fluff and powder and these little clear gel pebbles everywhere. At least they held a lot. Like, more than I could’ve guessed looking at them. They were like that phone booth from the weird British SciFi show Colin liked: bigger on the inside than the outside. Not that they weren’t HUGE on the outside. They were. Like someone crammed an entire Sequoia worth of fluff in plastic.  Which was how I found myself sitting in church in a wet diaper. And not for the first time. Not even the first time this week. “Sit up straight,” my mom whispered beside me. “You’re slouching.” I didn’t answer. Didn’t nod. Just leaned forward enough that she’d think I was listening to the sermon, which was currently about the dangers of temptation and impurity. Because of course it was. Antioch Independent Baptist hadn’t changed since the day I was born. The green carpet, the shiny oak pews, the brass light fixtures that buzzed if you sat too close. The whole place smelled like old hymnals and lemon-scented cleaner. Even the congregation looked the same: grey-haired deacons, sharp-chinned mothers, wide-eyed kids in stiff Sunday dresses and clip-on ties. I couldn’t believe anyone actually enjoyed this. It was like a shared delusion they all agreed to pretend they liked.  And at the center of it all, like some kind of sacred statue, sat Hope. First pew, of course. White blouse buttoned to her throat. Skirt just below the knees. Hands folded in her lap like she was sculpted from virtue itself. She didn’t look back. She never did. She didn’t have to. She made me think of everything I hated about this place—every rule, every fake smile, every suffocating demand for purity. But that wasn’t the whole story, was it? Because even now, knowing better, knowing everything she’d said and done, I still found myself staring. She was attractive, yeah. The light from the stained-glass window caught the edges of her blonde hair, casting a soft glow around her like some kind of biblical illustration. But it was how she made me feel as much as how she looked.  I looked down at my lap. At the subtle curve beneath my pants. She was going to want me to change after this. She always did. Not right away, of course. Not here, in front of people. When we were out in public, she just told me to handle it myself. Quietly. Discreetly. The way a good boy should. I hated how those words made me feel. Hated how quickly I obeyed. I remembered the first time she changed me. Really changed me. Not just shoved a diaper in my hands and turned around. That first time in her bedroom, when she dusted me with powder, and smiled like she was doing something holy. My dick had twitched the moment her fingers grazed it, and I’d been chasing that feeling ever since. No one else could’ve gotten away with it. Not like her. If I were caught sneaking around with diapers in my bag, there’d be a full-blown intervention. Youth pastor, parents, probably a prayer circle. But her? She had a whole stash at her apartment. And another in the church nursery. Nobody blinked. Nobody questioned why I was going over to her house so often. Because she was Hope. Still, she insisted I carry my own. “Take responsibility,” she always said. So I did. My bag rustled with the sound of crinkly plastic wherever I went. The pressure in my bladder had started building halfway through the sermon. I didn’t even fight it. I just let go. Warmth spread between my legs, a lazy flood soaking the already-thick padding. She was going to check. After the last hymn, she’d pull me aside. Pretend to ask about something innocent. Piano scheduling, maybe. Then she’d cock her head, give me that knowing look. That we had a shared ‘look’ for diaper checks that didn’t even require words made me feel like I was having an out-of-body experience. Looking down on my own life in third-person, like a video game.  Part of me hoped she'd send me off to take care of it. Alone. But the other part of me… the sick, messed-up part? I hoped she’d do it herself.  My eyes found Amanda like they always did when I wasn’t trying to be obvious about it. She sat a few pews up, laughing at something Dan said, and tugging absently at the sleeve of her cardigan. Soft brown waves framed her face, catching light from the sanctuary windows and giving her skin a faint, golden warmth. Her lips—full, slightly glossed—pulled into a smile that was real, not the practiced kind people wore around here.  I’d expected things to get weirder between us once the diaper stuff started. But Amanda hadn’t pulled away. If anything, she’d gotten warmer. More talkative. She laughed at my jokes more often, even the dumb ones. Touched my shoulder once after church and left her hand there for half a second longer than she had to. The final prayer was long, as always. Pastor Jenkins thanked God for the fellowship, the lesson, the sunshine, the safe travels, the choir, the armed forces, and at least three missionaries whose names I didn’t recognize. I bowed my head, eyes half-shut, pretending to pray. Really, I was planning. Mapping the fastest route to Amanda. I had to get to her before Hope got to me. “Amen,” Jenkins boomed. People stood, murmuring greetings, grasping hands, smoothing skirts.  I moved fast, weaving between pews. I could feel the diaper shifting with every step, the wet padding squishing. I held my bag a little lower, hoping to block any visible bulge, and did not stop moving. Amanda turned just as I reached her. “Hey,” she said, eyes bright. “I was wondering where you were sitting.” Her hand brushed my arm. Light. Casual. But it lingered. My skin buzzed where her fingers had been. “Wound up near the back,” I said. “Mom wanted to be by the exits in case her blood sugar tanked. Again.” She smiled. “Classic.” I couldn’t stop smiling back. Couldn’t stop watching the curve of her mouth, the way she tilted her head just a little when she looked at me. My heart thudded. My palms felt clammy. But I wasn’t backing out. “Hey,” I said. “You want to grab a burger and fries or something? Just us? I was thinking…” I trailed off, trying to sound casual. “Felt like we haven’t hung out in a while.” Her eyes lit up. “That sounds amazing, actually. I’m starving.” I grinned. “Awesome. Let’s get out of here then—” “I just need to check in on something real quick,” she said, reaching into her purse. “Ten minutes, tops.” Ten minutes. Ten minutes could be the difference between a quick exit and getting cornered. My eyes scanned the crowd. And there she was. Hope. Making her way across the room. Like a lioness in Sunday heels, smiling at everyone, gliding with purpose. Her gaze swept the room, and then found me. Shit. Amanda didn’t move. “I just need to talk to Mrs. Nichols really quick about choir practice. I think she’s changing the rehearsal time next week.” My stomach dropped a little. “Can’t you text her later? We could beat the after-church rush if we go now.” She laughed softly. “It’ll only take a minute, I promise.” I swallowed, the warm squish of my diaper making itself known again. “It’s just—kind of important we get out of here fast.” I tried to play it off with a grin. “I’ve got a craving like you wouldn’t believe.” “You’ll survive a few more minutes.” She bumped my arm with hers, her smile easy, unaware. Unworried. “It’s just a quick question.” I hesitated. “Lunch is on me. Fries, milkshake, whatever you want.” “That’s sweet of you.” She gave me a look I wanted to believe meant something more than just friendly appreciation. “What’s sweet of him?” Dan’s voice came from behind me. His stupid hunting-lodge cologne hit my nose before he did. “What are you guys up to?” Amanda turned toward him. “We were just talking about grabbing lunch.” She stood on her toes and scanned the room again, eyes darting between cardigans and greying heads. “I still don’t see Mrs. Nichols…” “Lunch?” Dan grinned. “Oh, heck yeah. Where we going?” I felt my smile stiffen. “Hadn’t decided yet.” Amanda dropped back down on her heels. “That’d be great, Dan. You should come.” She turned toward me, her expression open, almost asking permission. “That okay?” “Yeah,” I said, my voice just a little too tight. I cleared my throat and forced a shrug. “Totally.” It wasn’t okay. It wasn’t remotely okay. But I didn’t have time to explain why I didn’t want the human embodiment of a truck-bed toolbox third-wheeling our lowkey date. “Awesome,” Dan said. “I could eat a horse. Not literally, of course. I don’t think those are USDA approved.” Amanda laughed and turned back to the crowd. “I’ll just be a sec. I think she might be in the lobby.” I stepped closer to Amanda, lowered my voice. “Seriously, though…are you sure it can’t wait? I’ll even play DJ. Pick whatever cursed radio station you want.” She shook her head. “It won’t take long. Promise.” Behind us, Dan pulled out his phone and started googling nearby burger places. “Y’all like Smashburger?” I didn’t answer. I just watched Amanda thread her way through the crowd, still on her toes, still scanning for Mrs. Nichols, while Hope moved steadily closer from the opposite direction—like two storm fronts about to meet, and I was the idiot stuck in the middle. Amanda returned, her brow creased. “She’s not here. Someone said she went home sick after Sunday School.” Relief hit me like cold water on a sunburn. “So, uh…burger time?” “Burger time,” she said, flashing that warm smile again.  I turned toward the exit, my bag bouncing lightly against my hip. The wet diaper sagged heavier now. I didn’t care. I was so close. Dan was already talking about which place had the best fries. Amanda laughed at something he said.  “Thomas!” Her voice hit me like a piano dropped from the ceiling. I turned. Hope was three steps away, her white blouse immaculate, her smile composed. Too composed. Like a mother about to scold you in front of your friends but smiling through it for the sake of appearances. “Hey, Hope.” I tried to sound casual. Cool. Normal. Like I wasn’t on the verge of bolting. Her eyes slid past me, straight to Amanda. “Oh, hi there. Am I…interrupting?” Amanda smiled. “We’re just grabbing lunch.” Hope’s smile didn’t flicker. “How nice.” That one word made my skin crawl. Hope didn’t like Amanda. I saw it now. Not loud or obvious—just a glint of judgment behind the pearly whites. Then she looked at me again. Her eyes dipped ever so slightly, just enough to remind me what I was wearing. “Could I borrow you for a moment, Thomas? Just a quick check-in.” My gut twisted. “Can it wait? We were just heading out for a bite.” “It’ll only take a minute,” she said. I could practically hear the unspoken you know why. “I’m actually kind of in a rush. You know how Dan gets when he’s hungry. Like, savage.” “I’ll be very quick.” She cocked her head, and her smile took on a knowing edge. “It’s… important.” Amanda’s brow creased. “Everything okay?” “Yeah!” I said too fast, too loud. “Yeah, it’s just—Hope’s been helping me with some music stuff. Theory stuff. Nerd stuff.” Dan snorted. “You? Doing extra work?” “Ha! Right?”  “Come with me, please,” Hope said. Still smiling. Still gentle. But it was no longer a request. “I’ll meet you guys in the parking lot,” I said. “Two minutes. Tops.” Amanda and Dan exchanged a look. Hope turned, her hand grazing my sleeve, and I followed. What else could I do? I couldn’t start a scene. Not here. Not with this many eyes and ears. Not with the swamp of heat and piss wrapped around my hips. I glanced back. Amanda looked confused. Dan just looked hungry. Hope didn’t speak as she led me down the back stairs, the ones with the creaky wooden railing and the carpet that always smelled like mildew. The sounds of the congregation filtered down behind us: murmured conversations, laughter, the sharp tap of heels on tile. She opened the nursery door. I stepped inside. She closed it behind us with a soft, click. We were alone. Mostly. But I could still hear people upstairs. Hope squeezed the front of my pants.  I gasped. She’d never done that before. It felt weirdly familiar, even for someone who was changing my fucking diapers.  She clucked her tongue. “As I suspected.” “They’re meant to be used,” I said lamely.  Hope didn’t respond. She moved across the nursery like she was on rails, too smooth, too steady, like every step had already been rehearsed. She didn’t look at me. Didn’t explain why we were here. Just knelt and opened one of the lower cabinets. “How can a young man keep his way pure? By guarding it according to Your word.” Her voice was calm. Sunday-school calm. “Psalm 119:9.” I braced myself. She stood and turned, folding her hands in front of her like I was a preschooler being called to the carpet. “We live in a fallen world, Thomas. One that’s constantly trying to pull us away from His path. And some temptations…” Her eyes flicked toward the door. “Some temptations come dressed as friendliness. Or affection.” My chest tightened. “But we don’t have to give in,” she went on. “We don’t have to surrender our integrity. That’s why God gives us tools. Scripture. Fellowship. Accountability.” Her voice dipped slightly on that last word. “Uh-huh,” I said cautiously. “So, like… what tools are we talking about here?” “Let me see what you brought with you today.” “What?” “Your supplies. In your bag.” Her tone was gentle, but the command beneath it was unmistakable. My mouth went dry. “Hope, I don’t think this is really the—” “Now, please.” I sighed and unzipped the bag, carefully parting the notebook and hoodie I’d layered over the single diaper inside. I tugged it out just enough to show her the plastic edge. “Just one?” she asked. “Yeah. I didn’t think I’d need more. It’s just church.” “Where are your wipes?”  On my nightstand. Where I left them after jerking off in my soaked overnight diaper. “I dunno.” “Powder? Disposal bag?” Her voice didn’t rise, but each missing item landed like a drumbeat. “Thomas, what if I hadn’t been here today? What would you have done?” “Managed. Like I always do.” My voice sounded thinner than I meant it to. “The Bible says, ‘Let all things be done decently and in order.’ First Corinthians 14:40.” She began moving around the nursery, pulling open drawers and containers. “That includes taking care of your body. And honoring it.” She grabbed a soft blue mat from under the crib, a pack of wipes from the diaper drawer, powder, cream, a small trash bag. I barely heard her as she talked. My eyes were on the door. Voices echoed above us—someone laughing, the metallic clink of folding chairs being stacked. People were still here. Lots of people. And the nursery door, though closed, had no lock. She kept talking, her voice sweet and full of concern, like this was just another tutoring session. “I know this isn’t easy. But keeping your body clean and pure is just as important as keeping your mind that way. We take small steps every day, Thomas. That’s how we walk the path.” She laid the changing mat on the carpet with a soft fwhump, then arranged the supplies around it with meticulous precision. Her hands moved gently, but her face was tight. Controlled. This wasn’t just about helping me. She wasn’t going to let me say no. She never did. Not that you’ve tried all that hard. My mind flashed back to sophomore year, when she caught me slipping out of Wednesday night service to sneak to the gas station. I’d claimed I was getting snacks for the youth group. She’d followed me, confronted me, and then calmly explained to Pastor Mark that she thought I needed to serve double time helping with Sunday School “until the spirit of obedience took root.” Or the time she found out I’d forged my mom’s signature on a retreat permission slip. She didn’t tattle right away. She made me sit through an entire accountability meeting first—her leading it—before she “graciously encouraged me to confess.” She didn’t back down. Not then. Not now. She unscrewed the baby powder cap and shook a small puff onto the folded diaper. “You’ve been doing better,” she said, not looking up. “But we both know you’re not ready to handle this on your own.” Not ready. That was the way she said it. Like I’d never be. Then she added, casually, “I think it’s a good idea if we keep extra diapers here, just in case. And a few in my car, too. That way, even if you forget your bag…” She trailed off, like it was the most natural thing in the world. The words struck harder than they should have. Just in case. A few in my car. She was planning for the long haul. I imagined myself a month from now. Still sneaking into this nursery after every service. Still sitting at her piano in a fresh diaper while she corrected my fingering. Six months from now. Her texting to remind me to bring my bag. Her giving me a plastic Kroger sack for my used ones before Bible study. I stood there, frozen, the nursery warm and silent around me, the soft scent of baby powder hanging in the air like fog. I could tell her no. I could push back. Say I’d take care of it myself. That I didn’t need her help—that I didn’t need this. It was a diaper, not brain surgery. And I was a grown man. And--though I couldn’t say this to her--I didn’t even need the fucking things! Not really. She’d be pissed. Maybe disappointed. Probably both. She’d close that sweet smile like a bear trap and say something scripture-laced about rebellion. There’d be fallout. Maybe she’d tell my mom. Or worse—Amanda. Or I could lie down. Let her tape me up like she had before. Pretend it didn’t mean anything. That it was just easier this way. But it did mean something. If I let her do it, again, I was giving her permission, wasn’t I? I wasn’t just agreeing to this one diaper. I was agreeing to the whole setup. The control. The rules. The nursery stocked with my diapers. The changes.  And yet… My gaze dropped to the mat, perfectly laid out. To the fresh diaper, open and waiting. Her hands hovered near it, palms down, as if in offering. “Go ahead,” she said softly. “I know it’s hard. But you’re doing the right thing.” Her voice was gentle and patient, but there was no question in it. She expected me to obey. Like she always did. And the worst part? A small, sick part of me wanted to. Wanted her to take over, tell me what to do, wrap me up tight and make me feel… safe. Even if it came with strings. Even if it came with a leash. If I let her do this, maybe I could still get back upstairs fast enough to catch Amanda. Say I got pulled into a long talk. Something about piano, or helping with the nursery. Future me could figure out the lie. Over burgers. As far from Hope as possible.  I exhaled and lowered myself to the mat. The plastic crinkled beneath me. My heart pounded. Hope smiled. “Good boy.” Heat rushed to my face, but I didn’t say anything. Just stared at the ceiling, arms flat at my sides. She moved carefully. Gently. Not rushed, not fumbling. She unsnapped my pants, folded them down, and tugged them off. She popped the tapes on the diaper and peeled it down. She wiped me slowly. Thoroughly. Her fingers moved with practiced ease. I was hard. I clenched my fists. Tried to think of anything else. But the warm wipes. Her soft humming. The way she touched me, moved me—none of it helped. Shame flooded me. Not just for the reaction, but for how much I wanted to react. For how safe it felt to lie here. For how much I hated that it felt safe. She sprinkled powder onto her hand and rubbed it gently across my hips, my thighs, my groin. Her fingers lingered. Not indecent. But not clinical, either. She drew the thick, soft front of the diaper up between my legs. My cock twitched again at the contact, sliding against the inside. My breath hitched. She fastened the tapes snugly—one, two, three, four—each press of her fingers firm and gentle at the same time. When she finished, she smoothed the front and smiled down at me. “All clean. Doesn’t that feel better?” I sat up fast, pants in my hand, desperate to pull them on and escape the moment. “Thanks,” I mumbled. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?” I forced a smile. “I told Amanda I’d meet her. Lunch thing.” Hope tilted her head. “Oh.” She stood, brushing off her skirt. “Actually, we have plans. You and me.” I blinked. “What?” “It’ll only take a little while.” She reached over and handed me my backpack. “You’ll still have plenty of time afterward.” Her smile was soft. Reassuring. And absolute.  

Chapter 20 :  Ryder’s hands hovered over a pile of soft blocks, unsure which one to pick up first. His chest still felt tight, and every sound— the tapping of little sneakers, the gentle laugh of Skye—made him flinch slightly. But he forced himself to take a slow breath. “Um… maybe this one?” he said, picking up a green block and holding it out uncertainly. Skye grinned and took another block from the pile. “Great choice! Let’s build a tower together!” she said, bouncing lightly on her toes. Zuma clapped her hands, excitement bright in her eyes. “Yeah! I’ll help too!” She grabbed a yellow block and gently stacked it on top. Ryder hesitated for a moment, then carefully set his block atop Zuma’s. The tower wobbled slightly, and his heart leapt—but no one laughed. Rocky steadied it with a patient hand. “See? Perfect,” Rocky said calmly. “You did it.” Ryder felt a small bubble of pride, followed quickly by another nervous wave as he realized all eyes were on him. But instead of mockery, he saw encouragement, smiles, and patience. “Your turn again,” Skye encouraged, holding a blue block out. “We’re building the tallest tower ever!” Ryder took it, fingers brushing hers briefly, and placed it carefully. It teetered for a moment, then held. A giggle escaped him, quiet but real. “It… it stayed!” he whispered. “Yes!” Zuma cheered, bouncing in place. “You’re awesome!” Encouraged, Ryder grabbed another block and another, slowly letting himself get carried into the rhythm of the game. The nervous knot in his chest loosened with each small success, each smile, each gentle word from his friends. After the tower was tall enough to wobble dangerously, they all collapsed onto the soft mats, laughing as it toppled. Ryder’s own laugh—tentative at first—joined theirs, shaky but genuine. He glanced around the nursery and playroom—the soft mats, the bright toys, the colorful walls—and felt a strange mix of relief and pride. This space, which had felt so babyish and scary, was suddenly full of possibility. He wasn’t just showing it off; he was sharing it with friends who cared. Skye leaned closer. “You know, Ryder… this is really fun. Thanks for letting us play here.” Ryder’s shoulders lifted a little. “Thanks for… not laughing at me,” he said quietly. “No way,” Rocky said firmly. “This is your place. You should feel safe and happy here. That’s what matters.” Daddy and Papa watched from the doorway, smiles soft and proud. Ryder glanced at them, warmth spreading in his chest. He wasn’t alone, not here, not ever. By the time the first game of stacking blocks had ended, Ryder was moving freely among the toys, picking out items for his friends to try, showing little corners of the nursery he loved most. Laughter echoed softly, mingling with the gentle hum of the island beyond the windows, and for the first time since arriving, Ryder felt a small but solid sense of belonging. Once the block tower had collapsed, Ryder took a deep breath and glanced around the nursery, then the adjoining playroom. He spotted the little treasure hunt setup Daddy and Papa had prepared: a series of clues tucked into soft baskets and under plush animals, with small trinkets and treats waiting at each stop. His chest fluttered nervously for a moment, but Skye, Zuma, and Rocky were right beside him, grinning and ready. “Treasure hunt!” Zuma shouted, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I love treasure hunts!” Ryder hesitated, unsure if he should lead or just follow. “I… I think… I’m the guide?” he said tentatively. “I made the clues…” “Perfect!” Skye said, her eyes sparkling. “You know the way. We’ll follow you!” Rocky nodded, patting Ryder gently on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ve got you. We’re a team.” The first clue led them to a basket of soft blocks near the reading nook. Ryder’s hands shook slightly as he pointed it out, but when Skye and Zuma cheered and picked up the next toy, his nervousness eased. Each step through the nursery was met with laughter, gentle encouragement, and tiny gasps of delight as the friends discovered the hidden treasures Ryder had placed. By the time they reached the playroom’s final stop—a sandbox filled with tiny figurines and shells—Ryder’s confidence had grown. He dug carefully, showing Zuma and Rocky where the last treasure lay, his smile broadening with each cheer. “You did this all yourself?” Skye asked, kneeling to sift through the sand. “This is amazing, Ryder!” “I… I guess so,” Ryder murmured, cheeks pink. “I was worried… you’d think it was… babyish.” Zuma shook his head vigorously. “Babyish? No way! It’s awesome. So fun!” Rocky added, “Everything here is yours. That makes it perfect. We think it’s really cool.” Ryder’s chest swelled with relief. The fear he had carried since arriving—the worry that his friends might laugh at him, that this space would feel too strange or too small—was melting away. Laughter, shared discovery, and genuine excitement filled the air, and he let himself sink into it fully. Daddy and Papa watched from the doorway, their smiles wide but quiet. Ryder glanced over, catching their eyes. A soft warmth spread in his chest: he wasn’t just safe, he was seen, and he was appreciated. Finally, Ryder plopped down on the playroom mat, laughing as Skye and Zuma collapsed beside him, shells and little treasures scattered around them. “This… this is fun,” he said, voice bright, unburdened. Skye grinned. “Told you! We’re going to have so much fun this weekend at the party, too!” Ryder nodded, hugging a small plush toy close to his chest. For the first time since arriving, he felt completely at home, surrounded by friends who cared, laughter ringing through the nursery, and the gentle assurance of Daddy and Papa watching over him. The nursery and playroom that had once felt so intimidating, so overwhelmingly babyish, now felt like a world he could share, a space where he could be himself—and where joy wasn’t just possible, it was inevitable.

You lost!  I win

Pollen

Allergic