Mommies and Daddies

Chapter 139 The next morning unfolded in a blur of sunlight, splashing water, and that soft, early‑day quiet that always feels a little magical. I glanced over at Betsy and saw her still curled under the blankets, breathing slowly and deep. She looked so peaceful that I hesitated, wishing I didn’t have to disturb her. But if we were going to make it back to the cabin by ten, we needed to get moving. I gently woke her, brushing a hand over her shoulder. Hey, kiddo… time to get up. We’ve got to get a fresh diaper on you and get you dressed so we can head into town. She blinked up at me, bleary‑eyed and thoroughly unimpressed. A tiny groan escaped her as she burrowed deeper into the blankets, making it very clear she was not a fan of being woken up this early. I had just gotten Betsy’s plastic pants on when Terry came walking in. Good—you two are up and moving, she said, sounding relieved. We need to leave soon. We’ll be ready in less than ten minutes, I told her. I just need to finish getting Betsy dressed. Then I added, could you make a bottle of milk for her? Something she can drink on the way into town. Yeah, I can do that, Terry said, already turning toward the kitchen. Then she paused, gave me a quick once‑over, and smirked. By the way—you should get dressed too. I just smiled at Terry as she headed out the door. When she was gone, Betsy looked up at me with that mischievous little grin she gets when she’s feeling bold. You sure do like showing that thing off, she teased. I raised an eyebrow at her. Oh really? It’s your fault? She folded her arms, trying to look serious but failing miserably. How is it my fault when you’re showing it off. I laughed. Uh‑huh. Didn’t you say you enjoy seeing it too? She hesitated for half a second, then shrugged with a tiny smile. Okay… that part’s true. After I finished getting both of us dressed, we headed out to the kitchen. Terry was standing at the stove, warming Betsy’s bottle. As soon as it was ready, she turned and said, “Alright, let’s go. She grabbed Betsy’s diaper bag on her way out and headed toward the car. Betsy followed her, rubbing her eyes, and held out her hands. Can I have my bottle now? Terry shook her head gently. You’ll get it once you’re in your car seat. Let’s get you buckled first. Betsy let out a frustrated little huff, clearly not thrilled with the arrangement, but she didn’t argue. There wasn’t much she could do except shuffle along toward the car. When we reached the car, Terry set the diaper bag on the back seat and then crouched down beside Betsy’s car seat. She guided Betsy into it with practiced ease, tightening the straps and giving them a quick tug to make sure everything was secure. Betsy watched her with sleepy impatience, her foot tapping lightly against the seat. Once the buckles clicked into place, Terry handed her the warm bottle. Betsy grabbed it with both hands, and before Terry even had the door halfway closed, the bottle was already in her mouth. The sudden quiet that followed — the soft, rhythmic sound of her drinking — filled the car with a kind of early‑morning calm. We pulled onto the road, the trees blurring past in streaks of green and gold as the sun climbed higher. About halfway to town, I glanced over my shoulder. The bottle lay empty beside her, and Betsy had slipped into that dreamy, half-awake state where she absentmindedly sucked her thumb, her head resting against the side of the seat. I looked down at her shorts and saw a problem. Her shorts had ridden up a little as she shifted in her seat, and her diaper was showing though the leg opening of the shorts. Not much I could do about it now, though — we were already well on our way. When we pulled into town, the first stop was an easy choice: Betsy’s favorite café. The moment she recognized the street, her eyes lit up. Are we going to the café? she asked, already perking up. Yes, I said. If I didn’t stop and get you a blueberry muffin, I’d never have heard the end of it. That earned a sleepy but satisfied grin. Terry opened the back door and helped Betsy out of her car seat. As she lifted her down to the pavement, she did a quick, practiced diaper check — subtle, almost automatic. She’s a bit wet, Terry said quietly, but she doesn’t need a change yet. I nodded, appreciating the heads‑up. With that settled, we headed inside. The café door chimed softly as we stepped in, and the familiar smell of warm pastries and fresh coffee wrapped around us. Betsy perked up even more, her earlier grogginess melting away as she spotted the display case full of muffins. We took our time picking out muffins—well, Terry and I did. Betsy made a beeline for the display case, pointed straight at the blueberry muffins, and had hers halfway eaten before we even sat down. Crumbs were already scattered across the table, and she looked perfectly content with herself. After a few quiet minutes, Terry brushed her hands off and stood. Alright, she said, let’s go see what kind of swimsuits they’ve got at the clothing store. Sure, I said, gathering our things. And off we went. Betsy walked a few steps ahead of us, swinging her arms and humming to herself. Even from behind, I could tell she’d used her diaper again—the way her shorts sagged just a little and with a bit of her diaper showing gave it away. I leaned closer to Terry and kept my voice low. I’ll change her before we head back to the cabin. Terry nodded, not missing a beat. Good idea. Let’s get our shopping done first. I don’t know what it is about women and buying swimsuits, but it took Terry a solid twenty‑five minutes to make up her mind—and the funny part was, she ended up choosing the very first one she’d picked up. She held it against herself and gave me a look. I’m not going to look like an old woman now. I studied it for a moment and nodded. No, you won’t. It was the same style of string bikini our moms wear when they keep them on, and the realization made her grin even wider. There was something almost nostalgic about it, and she seemed pleased with her choice in a way she didn’t even try to hide. After we paid, we stepped back out into the sunlight and started toward the car. Terry swung the bag with the swimsuit lightly at her side. We need to make a run to the grocery store, she said. My mom gave me a list of supplies we’ve got to pick up. Alright, I said. Let’s get it done. When we stepped into the grocery store, Terry pulled out the list her mom had given her, already scanning it like she was on a mission. We moved through the aisles quickly, grabbing everything we needed—snacks, drinks, a few basics for the cabin. Betsy trailed along beside us, occasionally pointing at something colorful on a shelf but mostly just taking in the bustle of the store. It didn’t take long before Terry folded the list and tucked it back into her pocket. Alright, she said, sounding satisfied, we’ve got everything. Let’s check out. Not quite, I said. She paused mid‑step and looked at me. What else do we need? I said, ‘Follow me and I’ll show you.’ Terry raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, falling into step beside me as we headed down the aisle. Betsy trailed behind us, distracted by the bright packaging on the shelves. We turned into the aisle where the razors were stocked—rows of brightly colored handles, refill packs, and shaving cream lined up neatly. Terry glanced around, then back at me with a curious look. Razors? she asked. Okay… what exactly are we getting? I called Betsy over to us. Hey, why don’t you go down to the end of the aisle and pick out a new pacifier for yourself? I said, keeping my voice light and cheerful. Terry and I need to pick out some razors she’s going to need. Betsy’s eyes lit up instantly. For her, that was practically the equivalent of being told it was Christmas morning. She gave a little gasp of excitement and took off—well, tried to take off. Her steps were more of a determined waddle than a run with as soggy as her diaper was that she had on. I just hoped that it wouldn’t leak before I had a chance to get her in a fresh one. I’d get her into a fresh diaper as soon as we were done here. Let’s grab what you need, I said to Terry, turning back to the shelves. I’ll take care of her before we head back to the cabin. Terry nodded, already scanning the options. Good plan. She’ll be happier once she’s is in a fresh diaper. We both glanced down the aisle where Betsy was carefully examining the pacifiers like she was choosing a priceless treasure. The sight made both of us smile. Terry was still scanning the shelves when she finally asked, Okay… why are we even looking at razors? I tried not to laugh. Because with that new swimsuit you bought, you’re going to need to shave your pubic hair. Remember? I don’t think you want to walk around with your hair showing out of the sides of your swimsuit, do you? Plus, out of all the women that are at the cabin you are the only one that has any pubic hair left. She blinked, then let out a small groan. Oh right. I completely forgot about that. She looked back at the wall of options. There are so many to choose from. I pointed to a set on the middle shelf. These are the kind your mom likes to use. Terry picked up the package, turning it over in her hands. Well, if they’re good enough for my mom, they’re good enough for me. She tossed them into the cart with a little shrug, like the decision had suddenly become obvious. Alright, I said, now you need to pick out a can of shaving cream you want to use. Terry let out a small sigh as she stared at the shelves. Why are there so many kinds? How does anyone choose? She looked genuinely overwhelmed, scanning rows of bright cans promising everything from ultra‑smooth to silky glide. It was almost funny watching her try to decode the differences. I reached for a familiar can and held it out to her. This is the one I use when I shave Betsy’s pubic hair. She likes it, and it’s got a nice smell. Terry took the can from me, turning it over like she was inspecting a rare artifact. Well, if it’s good enough for Betsy, it’s good enough for me. She lifted it to her nose and gave a quick sniff. And smelling nice is definitely a bonus. She dropped it into the cart with a soft clatter, looking relieved to have one more decision made. Honestly, she said, shaking her head, I didn’t realize swimsuit shopping came with homework. I laughed. Welcome to the club. Down the aisle, Betsy was still carefully comparing pacifiers like she was choosing the crown jewel of a treasure chest. The contrast between her intense focus and Terry’s razor‑aisle meltdown made the whole moment feel strangely charming. As we watched Betsy comparing pacifiers with intense concentration, Terry leaned closer to me. Is she… doing what I think she’s doing? I took one look at Betsy’s face — that distant, focused expression she always got when she was busy — and nodded. Yep. She’s making us a present in her diaper. Now watch what she does next. She does it every time that she poops. Betsy did her usual routine—pressing her hand against the back of her diaper to gauge how full it was. Terry blinked, then gave a small, resigned Ahh… okay. It’s fine, I said quietly. We’ll take care of it out in the car. She nodded, relieved to have a plan, and I could see her shoulders relax a little. Then she asks me if she does that very often and I told her that if there was nobody around, she does poop in her diaper. Your mom has changed many of her stinky diapers. Terry just said I didn’t know that my mom did that. I walked over to Betsy, who was proudly holding up a pacifier like she’d discovered buried treasure. Hey, kiddo, I said gently. You all done picking out your new pacifier? Yes!” she said, beaming. This one! I smiled at her enthusiasm. That looks really nice. Hand it to me so I can pay for it. Oh! She passed it over immediately, like she’d forgotten that part of the process even existed. "‘Good job,’ I said warmly, giving her a reassuring nod. ‘Now let me just check to see exactly how that diaper of yours is holding up right now.’  With that said, I turned her around right in the store aisle, reached down, and firmly pulled back both her shorts and the thick waistband of her diaper to inspect the damage. I looked straight over at Terry with a knowing, mischievous grin. 'Well, Terry, we definitely have someone with a seriously stinky diaper right here,' I announced plainly, as I let go of both the shorts and the elastic waistband, letting them snap back into place before giving her padded bottom a playful, affectionate pat. I looked down at Betsy and gave her a gentle nudge toward the front doors. 'Now, why don’t you go ahead and walk right out with Terry to the car? The second I finish paying for this and get out there, I will change that stinky diaper and put you right into a fresh diaper Okay! she chirped, already turning to trot toward Terry. Terry gave me a quick nod as she took Betsy’s hand, guiding her toward the exit. Betsy chattered the whole way, completely unbothered by anything. "I watched them go for a moment through the store windows—Terry steady and patient, Betsy bouncing along excitedly beside her.   "I just honestly hoped that they didn’t run into too many people along the sidewalk on the way to the parking lot, because as incredibly full and heavy as her diaper was right now, you had absolutely no problem telling from twenty feet away that she had a very full diaper. The heavy sag of the wet cloth was completely unmistakable. Plus, it didn’t help at all with being able to clearly see the thick white padding of the diaper visibly coming right out of the bottom of her short summer shorts. It was a completely obvious display of her nursery layout, but Betsy didn't have a single care in the world as she waddled along, entirely secure and happy." Turning back toward the checkout line with our cart, I took a steadying breath. Time to get everything paid for and catch up with them. As I pushed the cart forward, I passed the baby aisle and slowed almost automatically. The shelves were lined with powders, lotions, wipes, and all the familiar supplies we always seemed to go through faster than expected. I stopped in front of the baby powder, eyeing the rows of bottles stacked neatly in their pastel packaging. With Terry’s twin girls using it every day — and Betsy needing her fair share too — we’d been burning through the stuff at the cabin. The last thing I wanted was to run out with Terry and her two kids still here and need to run back into town just to pick up some powder. I reached out and picked up two bottles, weighing them in my hands for a moment before setting them gently into the cart. Better safe than sorry, I murmured to myself. It wasn’t on the list, but it was one of those things you only forgot once. I gave the cart a small push, feeling more prepared now that I’d grabbed them. With everything finally squared away, I turned toward the checkout lanes. The store was busy enough that the hum of conversations and beeping scanners blended into a steady background noise, but it felt oddly calming after the chaos of swimsuit shopping and pacifier hunting. Now I was finally ready to head to the checkout line and meet back up with Terry and Betsy. As I inched forward, my thoughts drifted to what was waiting for me out in the car. Betsy’s diaper had looked alarmingly full the last time I saw her, and the mental image of Besty and a messy diaper that needs to be changed, in the cramped back seat wasn’t exactly motivating. I could practically feel the warm, humid air inside the car already, the kind that makes everything just a little harder. But that’s what you get when you have a 20-year-old still in diapers. You take the bad with the good. Even the messy parts felt like part of the privilege of loving her. The line crawled. The store was far busier than I’d expected for that time of day—families with overflowing carts, kids begging for candy, someone arguing with a cashier about a coupon that definitely expired last year. The hum of chatter and beeping scanners blended into a kind of low-grade chaos. By the time I finally paid, bagged everything, and steered the cart back to the corral outside, I felt like I’d completed a small marathon. My arms were tired, my patience was thin, and all I wanted was a breath of fresh air before dealing with whatever diaper disaster awaited me. I headed toward the car, shifting the bags in my hands as I crossed the parking lot. The morning sun reflected off the windshields, making everything shimmer a little. I spotted our car a few rows over and started toward it. But as I got closer, I slowed. Something wasn’t right. At first, I thought I was seeing it wrong — maybe the angle, maybe the glare — but no. The closer I got, the clearer it became. I actually stopped walking for a second. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

Ah, this allows my iPad to control Live Listen stuff, what ever that is, on my iPhone….  Ok…..  

They're very comfy and swell up good. I do like them

How did it go?

Yeah what does it look like?