![[DD] Boards & Chat](https://www.dailydiapers.com/board/uploads/monthly_2021_11/DDweb-02.png.0c06f38ea7c6e581d61ce22dffdea106.png)
 |
Cloth Diapers & Panties
For the Cloth Diaper Lovers and their Panties of choice.
488 topics in this forum
-
- 0 replies
- 10.7k views
-
- 16 replies
- 659 views
-
- 86 replies
- 12.5k views
-
- 4 replies
- 214 views
-
- 0 replies
- 150 views
-
- 1 reply
- 197 views
-
- 2 replies
- 165 views
-
- 4 replies
- 899 views
-
- 25 replies
- 3.4k views
-
- 15 replies
- 642 views
-
- 12 replies
- 1k views
-
- 7 replies
- 478 views
-
- 5 replies
- 261 views
-
- 30 replies
- 7.4k views
-
- 23 replies
- 2.7k views
-
- 12 replies
- 2.1k views
-
- 15 replies
- 783 views
-
- 6 replies
- 1.4k views
-
- 4 replies
- 1.2k views
-
- 0 replies
- 311 views
-
- Guest
-
- 20 replies
- 5.1k views
-
- 1 reply
- 297 views
-
- 12 replies
- 1.4k views
-
- 27 replies
- 2.7k views
-
- 8 replies
- 917 views
-
Current Donation Goals
-
-
-
Posts
-
I have a large collection of diapers mainly tykables but sometimes I try a different diaper and I always feel disappointed that it is cut different and dont get the bulky waddle that I am used to. -
By Wolfie thy wolf · Posted
A few weeks ago I bought some LNGU Honeytails. Talk about the softest most comfortable diaper I have ever worn. Does anyone know any cloth like diapers that are white and as soft as LNGU? I couldn’t imagine being caught at work wearing printed diapers. Currently I wear Attends premium to work. -
While she ran there was audible crinkle underneath her Jammie’s and when she got to mirror the girl same size as Rei was no doubt Hannah herself. Moments later a knock on a door “Hannah dear is everything alright I heard you screaming next door.” Akiza called out -
Part 20 Our parents were determined to tackle a long hike today, so by six o’clock sharp, we were all up and moving. After a quick breakfast and some last-minute packing, we hit the road. By seven, our boots met the trail, spirits high and legs fresh—ready to embrace whatever the day had in store. And what a day it turned out to be. As we made our way along the trail, Betsy's dad told us we'd be hiking a total of eleven miles today. Along the route, we'd pass five shimmering lakes, each more beautiful than the last. Our turnaround point would be the fire lookout tower, perched high above the forest with sweeping views of the landscape. The one crucial detail he conveniently left out? Just how punishingly steep the climb would be—and believe me, it was anything but a gentle ascent. Every step tested our resolve. But the reward? Absolutely worth it. When we reached the first lake, its crystal-clear waters and serene surroundings stopped me in my tracks. And somehow, with each lake we discovered, the landscape became even more spectacular—like nature was unveiling its masterpieces one by one. By the time we reached the third lake, we had climbed beyond the tree line. The dense forest fell away, revealing a wide-open sky and a sweeping view of the green canopy below. Standing there, gazing out over the vast wilderness, it felt as though we’d stepped into another world—quiet, surreal, and untouched. At the final lake—a glassy, turquoise pool nestled in a bowl of granite—the trail leveled out briefly, giving us a moment to catch our breath. My dad pointed toward the summit, where the fire lookout tower stood like a lone sentinel, its silhouette etched against the sky. Perched high above the ridgeline, it looked impossibly distant, almost mythic. I gasped, stunned by how far it still seemed. “We’ve got about one more mile to go,” he said, his voice calm but resolute. I nodded, feeling the weight of the climb ahead settle into my legs. I tightened the straps on my backpack and steeled myself for the final push. Just as we were about to set off again, Betsy tugged at her backpack strap and leaned in close. “I really need to pee,” she whispered, eyes darting around the open terrain. “Where can I go?” My mom, ever the seasoned hiker, chuckled and said, “Me too. Come on, I’ll show you how it’s done in the woods.” They wandered off toward a small, scraggly pine that stood alone near the lake’s edge, hoping for a sliver of privacy. The tree, however, offered little in the way of cover—its sparse branches barely wide enough to conceal a squirrel. From where we stood, we could see them crouched awkwardly behind it, shorts and underwear hastily lowered, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity in the open alpine air. The moment was unintentionally hilarious. Two pale bottoms peeked out from behind the sapling like moons rising over a ridge When Mom came back, Dad chuckled and said, I don’t think we’ll be seeing a full moon out at this lake. Mom playfully swatted him, clearly unimpressed with the joke. Besty looked puzzled. What are you talking about? she asked, eyebrows raised. Her mom explained, A ‘full moon’ is what you call it when someone’s bare bottom is showing. Besty’s eyes lit up with realization. She turned to us and said, Well then, you’ve all seen plenty of my full moons—with all the diaper changes I’ve had from you guys! Everyone burst out laughing. Her dad nodded and added, Yep, we’ve seen more full moons from you than we can count! With that being said, we were off to finish the hike. What a climb it was. I honestly didn’t think Besty or I would make it—but somehow, we did. That last quarter mile nearly finished me off. My legs were burning, my lungs burning, but the moment we reached the summit, it all melted away. We felt like we were standing on top of the world. The view stretched endlessly in every direction, layer upon layer of mountains and sky, like something out of a dream. We had barely caught our breath when a voice called down from the tower above, asking if we wanted to climb up and see the lookout cabin. I couldn’t help but laugh—was that even a question? Of course we did. When we reached the top of the lookout, we were greeted by the ranger who staffs the tower during the summer fire season. She told us the structure stands 175 feet above the ground—and after peering over the railings and seeing the dizzying drop below, I didn’t doubt it for a second. She went on to explain that the tower sits at an elevation of 10,742 feet, making it the second highest in the nation. You could feel it in the air and see it in the sweeping, panoramic views that stretched for miles in every direction. A narrow catwalk wrapped around the cabin, offering a full-circle vantage point of the breathtaking landscape. She led us into the cabin to take a look around. It measured just 16 by 16 feet—compact, yet functional. She explained that her schedule was grueling: 14 consecutive days on duty, followed by only two days off. Inside, a narrow bed and a modest stove occupied one corner, essentials for surviving long shifts in isolation. At the center of the room stood what I called the fire finder—a crucial tool that helped her pinpoint the exact location of wildfires. With its readings, she could relay precise coordinates to the dispatch center, ensuring a swift and accurate response. As we were getting ready to leave, we thanked the ranger for the tour. On our way out, Betsy turned to her and asked, Where do you go to the bathroom? The ranger smiled and pointed to a small building nearby. The outhouse is right over there, she said. When we reached the bottom of the stairs, Betsy looked up at her dad, puzzled. What’s an outhouse? she asked. Her dad chuckled and explained, It’s basically an open pit with a wooden bench built over it. The bench has a hole cut out so you can sit down and do your business. Betsy strolled over and swung open the outhouse door. She took one glance inside, recoiled, and promptly shut it again. Turning to face us, she raised an eyebrow and declared, I’d rather moon the world than use that thing. We burst out laughing. My dad called out, Let’s get going. When we reach the first lake, we’ll stop for lunch. When we arrived, the lake shimmered under the midday sun, surrounded by tall pines and quiet serenity. As we sat down to eat, I remember thinking it was the most beautiful place I’d ever had lunch. We lingered for about half an hour, savoring the moment and our sandwiches, before packing up and continuing the hike. We made it back to camp around 6:30, just as the sky began to soften into evening. Dinner was light—soup and crackers, mostly—and the adults were already talking about how exhausted they felt. They planned to turn in early. That’s when Betsy looked up at her dad and said, But Dad, you promised we’d go out and look at the stars tonight. You said there’d be shooting stars. Her father sighed gently. Honey, we’ll have to do it another night. That moment stuck with me. I didn’t realize it then, but something shifted in me—something about promises, about tenderness, about how women express disappointment and how men respond. It was the beginning of a change in how I saw things. Even with how I saw Besty in her diapers, oddly enough, would come to mean something different to me later. I just didn’t know it yet. -
-