![[DD] Boards & Chat](https://www.dailydiapers.com/board/uploads/monthly_2021_11/DDweb-02.png.0c06f38ea7c6e581d61ce22dffdea106.png)
Mommies and Daddies
For the grown-ups to discuss ABDL topics. No babies unless you're looking for a 'pankin!
318 topics in this forum
-
- 2 replies
- 7.3k views
-
- Guest
-
- 0 replies
- 10k views
-
- 17 replies
- 2.6k views
-
- 7 replies
- 1.7k views
-
- 3 replies
- 288 views
-
- 1 reply
- 368 views
-
- 0 replies
- 286 views
-
- 1 reply
- 432 views
-
- 4 replies
- 2.1k views
-
- 6 replies
- 1.8k views
-
- 2 replies
- 827 views
-
- 23 replies
- 5.4k views
-
- 3 replies
- 664 views
-
- 22 replies
- 39k views
-
- 5 replies
- 568 views
-
- 4 replies
- 972 views
-
- 3 replies
- 625 views
-
- 4 replies
- 1.7k views
-
- 5 replies
- 1.6k views
-
- 9 replies
- 2.8k views
-
- 42 replies
- 25.1k views
-
- 1 reply
- 923 views
-
- 5 replies
- 1.5k views
-
- 4 replies
- 1.2k views
-
- 5 replies
- 4.5k views
-
Current Donation Goals
-
June BillsRaised $215 of $400 target
-
General FundRaised $0
-
-
-
-
Posts
-
My very first memory was getting up from watching cartoons and going into the bedroom I shared with my younger brother. I put on one of his diapers and went back tocwatch more cartoons. As soonnas I sat down my older sister tattled onnme. She said, mom Slomo is wear a diaper again. In other words, I've been wanting to wear a diaper for longer than I can remember. Personally, I believe it's genetic and we're born with a provlivity to need diapers. Much like how gambling and drug addiction are passed down by genetics. But just as similar to an addict, it takes an activation event to really get us started as ab or dl. Exactly like how an addict can never be one by abstaining and never starting in the first place. Also, we know that abdl and the Autism Spectrum Disorder have a high correlation between the two. And ASD is genetics with all kinds of sensory triggers. Just like how we get triggered by specific diapers. To be clear, I'm not saying abdl is the same as an addiction or ASD. Bkt even close. Just that there are a few similarities, and this is just a theory I have. Serious and controlled testing needs to be done, but we all know how far behind abdl is when it comes to understanding it all. -
-
When buying anything from Amazon, ALWAYS sort your search by customer reviews. And make sure you NEVER buy anything with more than 10% 1-star reviews, or with less than 100 reviews. That's literally an unknown item or a 1 in 5 chance the item sold is a complete failure. And who wants to take a 20% chance on what they buy won't work?
-
Chapter 78 I asked, what are you doing?” as she stopped in front of me. She smiled and said, well, you made me happy this morning… now it’s my turn to make you happy tonight. With that, she stepped closer, her touch gentle and affectionate was started stoking my dick and it went to fully stand tall. The next thing I knew she had both of her hands on it and oh was she doing a great job with it. After a period of time, I started to tell her that she might not want to stand there. She asked me why and about 15 seconds later she found out why. I went off and my cum landing on her face, her boobs and dripping down onto her plastic pants. I just smile at her and say that’s why. The look of shock on her face was priceless—it took everything in me not to burst out laughing. Instead, I bit back a grin and knelt beside her, keeping my voice gentle. Hold on, I’ll get you cleaned up. As I warmed a washcloth under the tap, the soft hiss of water filling the silence, I heard her murmur behind me, wide-eyed and awestruck, Wow… that was a lot. I chuckled, glancing over my shoulder. Yes, it was, I said, shaking my head with a smile. It took a little time to get her cleaned up—carefully, patiently, making sure she was comfortable and reassured. She stayed quiet, watching me with sleepy trust, her small hands resting in her lap. When I was done, I gave her a warm smile and brushed a hand over her hair. Thank you, I said softly. Now let’s get to bed. She nodded, already halfway to dreamland, and I tucked her in gently, pulling the blanket up to her chin. Her breathing slowed, steady and peaceful, and I stood for a moment, just watching her drift off to sleep before I climb in bed with her. The next morning, I was up a little early. The cabin was still and hushed, the world outside just beginning to stir. Pale sunlight filtered through the window, casting soft golden stripes across the floor. I moved quietly, wiping down the changing table, resetting the space for the day ahead. I hadn’t bothered to get dressed yet—just moving through the rhythm of the morning in the calm stillness, letting the quiet wrap around me like a familiar song. Betsy’s mom stepped into the room, pausing briefly when she saw me nude. But there was no surprise in her expression—just quiet familiarity. This summer had been full of shared moments, easy rhythms, and a kind of comfort that made everything feel natural. She’d seen me like this before, and it no longer raised eyebrows. Her gaze shifted to Betsy, who was curled up nearby, her thumb nestled in her mouth. She was still wrapped in sleep’s soft haze, eyes half-lidded and distant, lost in whatever dreams lingered from the night. Her mom smiled gently, then turned to me and asked in a low voice, How often does she do that? I glanced at Betsy, peaceful and content, then back at her. Pretty often, I said. Especially when she’s tired or feeling cozy. It seems to comfort her. Her mom nodded thoughtfully, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She used to do that all the time when she was little, she said, watching Betsy’s thumb rest gently in her mouth. I guess some things never really go away. I looked up from the changing table and asked, do you need anything? She shook her head, stepping closer with a calm ease. No, I just came in to change my daughter’s diaper. I haven’t done it since you shaved off all her body hair, and I wanted to see how much easier it is to clean her—especially with the ointment and powder. I nodded, understanding her curiosity. It definitely helps. Everything goes on smoother, and it’s easier to make sure her skin’s protected. Less irritation, and it’s quicker too. She leaned in slightly, observing with quiet interest as I finished tidying up the area. Betsy remained relaxed, her eyes still dreamy, thumb nestled in place. The morning light spilled across the room, soft and golden, casting a peaceful glow over the scene. She looked over, curiosity in her voice. So how does the morning routine work? I paused, wiping down the last corner of the changing table. What do you mean? Well, she said, stepping closer, do you take her diaper off and let her pee in the bathroom first, then clean her up? Or do you clean her up and she goes to pee afterward? I shook my head gently. Actually, we wait until she does her morning pee in the diaper. Then I cleaned her up. She nodded thoughtfully, absorbing the rhythm of it. How long does it usually take for her to go? About five minutes after she wakes up, I replied. It’s pretty consistent. Okay, she said with a smile. Sounds good to me. She stepped over to Betsy, who was still curled up in the soft morning light. With a gentle touch, she began to wake her. Betsy stirred slowly, her thumb still nestled in her mouth, eyes fluttering open. She turned over, her gaze landing on her mom—but in her sleepy haze, she clearly thought it was me. Her mom smiled softly, brushing her hand over Betsy’s hair. Good morning, sweetheart. Betsy blinked, then gave a drowsy smile, thumb still in place. The morning was quiet, tender, and full of the kind of warmth that only comes from shared care and familiar love. When Betsy’s eyes fluttered open and landed on her mom instead of me, she quickly pulled her thumb from her mouth, her cheeks blooming with color. Her expression flickered through surprise, embarrassment, and something like self-consciousness, as if she’d been caught in a moment meant to stay private. Her mom, ever gentle, smiled and brushed a strand of hair from Betsy’s face. Honey, she said softly, it’s okay if you need to suck your thumb. There’s no reason to be embarrassed about it. Betsy looked away, shy but listening. Her shoulders, which had tensed at first, slowly eased. The warmth in her mom’s voice had softened the moment, turning it from awkward to something safe and accepting. Helping her daughter sit up, Betsy’s mom paused, her brow lifting in surprise. Wow, she murmured, pressing her hand lightly to the front of the diaper. Are you always this wet in the morning? Betsy nodded, still blinking the sleep from her eyes. Yeah… pretty much. Her mom turned to me, thoughtful. We might want to start adding a stuffer to her diaper at night—just in case. I nodded in agreement. That’s probably a good idea. She sleeps so deeply, and it’ll give her a little extra protection. The morning light continued to spill across the room, soft and golden, as the day began with quiet care and shared understanding. She glanced at me and said, I can make a few stuffers today. Great, I replied. That sounds good—I’ll try one tonight and see how it goes. She turned back toward Betsy. Have you done your morning pee yet? she asked. Betsy shook her head. No. Well, go ahead, her mom said gently. Then I can get you cleaned up. Betsy blinked in surprise, her sleepy eyes widening just a little. Wait… you’re doing it this morning? Her mom smiled warmly, brushing a hand over Betsy’s hair. Yep. Got a problem with that? she teased gently. Remember, I used to do it all the time. Betsy hesitated, then gave a small nod, her thumb drifting back toward her mouth before she caught herself. She shifted slightly under the blanket, still waking up, still processing the change in routine. A few quiet moments passed, filled only by the soft rustle of the morning breeze through the window and the distant chirp of birds outside. Then her mom leaned in again, her voice low and kind. Well, I don’t hear anything anymore, so I’m guessing you’re done. Are you? Betsy nodded softly. Yes. Alright then, her mom said with a smile. Hop up on the table so I can get you cleaned up and we can start our day. Betsy sat up slowly, stretching her arms with a yawn, and made her way to the changing table. The morning light spilled across the room, casting a warm glow over everything—the kind of light that made even the simplest routines feel like rituals of care. The moment held a gentle stillness, wrapped in the soft glow of morning light. Betsy lay quietly on the changing table, her thumb nestled in her mouth, eyes half-lidded with sleep. It was a gesture so familiar, so instinctive, that it felt like part of the rhythm of the day. Her mom watched with a tender smile, her voice barely above a whisper. She looks so cute when she does that, she said, the affection in her tone unmistakable. I nodded, sharing the quiet warmth of the moment. It’s like her way of holding onto the dream a little longer. Her mom reached over and gently brushed a strand of hair from Betsy’s forehead. She used to do that every morning when she was little. Some things just stay with you I can tell you—Betsy’s mom had changed her more than a few times. She moved with practiced ease: legs lifted gently, plastic pants off in a swift motion, then the diaper unpinned and whisked away with quiet efficiency. It was smooth, almost rhythmic—like second nature born from years of care. Watching her, I couldn’t help but smile. Wow, that was fast, I said, genuinely impressed. She glanced over with a knowing grin. It should be. I’ve been changing her for 18 years. You learn how to speed things up after that long. I nodded, still marveling at the ease of it. It takes me about two minutes just to get to that point. She chuckled, her voice light. Don’t worry. You’ll get there. With the diaper removed, Betsy’s mom gently laid her daughter back on the changing mat, her movements calm and practiced from years of routine. She reached for the wipes and began cleaning Betsy’s skin with deliberate care, starting at her bottom and working her way up. As she continued, her hand paused mid-motion, her brows lifting in mild surprise. Oh, she murmured, almost to herself. You even shaved her butt. It’s so smooth—I wouldn’t have thought of that. She glanced up, a mix of curiosity and admiration in her expression, then resumed her task with quiet efficiency, her touch tender and reassuring. I nodded, keeping my tone light and reassuring. It makes cleanup quicker and keeps her more comfortable—especially with the ointment and powder. No more tugging or missed spots. She smiled, her expression softening as she continued the routine with quiet concentration. Her hands moved with practiced ease, each motion deliberate and gentle. Makes sense, she murmured. It really does make things easier. She shifted slightly, now cleaning between Betsy’s legs with the same careful attention. As she wiped, she paused for a moment, nodding to herself with quiet approval. It’s definitely easier to get all the ointment off now, she said thoughtfully. Before, when she had hair, I was never quite sure I got everything. This is much faster—and she seems more at ease too. I nodded in agreement, keeping my voice light. That’s what I noticed too. It makes the whole routine smoother—less fuss, less mess. Betsy’s mom glanced over as she finished wiping her down, her brow lifting with casual curiosity. How often do you have to shave her? Every three days, I replied, watching as she folded the used wipe and set it aside. She nodded thoughtfully. Well, that’s not too bad. I can see how it helps. I ask her how often do you and my mom shave their public hair and she said every three to four days. I just wish somebody would do it for me as she smile at me. With the cleanup done, she reached for a fresh diaper, her movements fluid and practiced. Then, with a playful lilt in her voice and a teasing smile, she turned her attention to Betsy. So, Betsy—would you like to wear a diaper during the day too? she asked, her tone half-joking, half-affectionate. Betsy blinked up at her, wide-eyed and quiet, her little hands resting on her belly. The moment hung gently in the air, filled with the soft rustle of wipes and the quiet rhythm of care. Both Betsy and I froze for a moment, exchanging wide-eyed glances. Her mom’s playful question hung in the air, lighthearted on the surface—but it struck a little deeper for us. Did she know? Could she tell that Betsy actually liked wearing diapers all the time? But then her mom chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. Just kidding, she said with a grin, already reaching for the door. Now, both of you—get some clothes on and come out for breakfast. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving a quiet stillness in the room. Betsy shifted slightly, her cheeks still tinged with pink. She looked at me, her voice barely above a whisper. I think she knows, she said. That I like wearing diapers. I turned to her, surprised by how open she was being. There was no hesitation in her eyes—just a quiet vulnerability. You think so? I asked gently, trying to match her tone. She nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She didn’t sound weirded out. Just... like she already understood. The way she joked about me wearing one during the day… Betsy’s voice trailed off, thoughtful. It felt like she was testing the waters. I gave a small smile, trying to ease the moment. Well, she didn’t seem upset. Just… curious. Betsy let out a soft sigh, the sound carrying a mix of relief and lingering nerves. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket as she spoke again. I guess it’s not the worst thing if she does know. I looked at her, sensing the vulnerability behind her words. No, I said gently. Not at all. -
-
-
