Cloth Diapers & Panties

I wear nightly on holiday, 14 Betterdry's or Crinklz and a couple of pairs of plastic pants into the suitcase but not during the day when I want to be round the pool. I've travelled by air in pullups, but it's too much trouble for long haul flights. Travelling by car, I like to wear Betterdry/Crinklz or my new daytime goto,  Sunkiss Masterpiece.  I bag up the used item in the morning in a black bag and leave them in (or on the small) bathroom bins in the hotel room or cruise cabin. I used to  try to find an outside bin, but eventually thought why, if it was a physical medical need no one would do that so I switched.

TBH once it got to the ABDL stuff I totally forgot about the sick Mom. I got caught up with all of Ryder’s padded adventures that it slipped my mind. That thread will be mentioned and explained very soon.   Chapter 25 : The sky was just beginning to pale when Ryder stirred. It wasn’t a full waking—more a restless shift, a soft whimper caught in sleep. His body felt too warm, too heavy, and his throat scratched with the remnants of coughing. He burrowed instinctively toward the nearest warmth. Daddy woke first. Years of attunement had tuned him to the smallest change in Ryder’s breathing. He opened his eyes to the dim blue of dawn and felt the heat of the small body tucked against his chest. “Hey… hey, buddy,” he whispered. “You with me?” Ryder made a faint sound and turned his face inward, pacifier still in place, plush dog clutched tight beneath his chin. Papa stirred next, immediately reaching across Ryder’s back. “He’s hot,” he murmured softly. Daddy nodded. “Yeah. Let’s check.” They moved with slow, practiced care so they wouldn’t startle him. Papa slipped from the bed and returned moments later with a thermometer and a soft cloth dampened in cool water. Ryder fussed weakly as Daddy eased the pacifier from his lips. “Shhh,” Daddy soothed. “Just a second, kiddo.” The thermometer beeped quietly in the hush of morning. Papa glanced at it. “Low fever,” he whispered. “Nothing scary.” Daddy exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders. “Okay.” He kissed Ryder’s hairline. “You’re okay, little guy. Just a bit sick.” Papa folded the cool cloth and laid it gently across Ryder’s forehead. Ryder flinched at the temperature change, then sighed, melting into the relief. His grip tightened briefly on the plush dog’s ribbon. “There we go,” Papa murmured. “Feels better, hmm?” Ryder’s eyelids fluttered open halfway. The world was blurry—light, shadow, the familiar shapes of Daddy and Papa framing him. He made a soft, miserable sound and reached weakly. Daddy gathered him closer instantly. “I’ve got you.” “Papa too,” Papa said, stroking his back. Ryder tucked his face into Daddy’s chest again, pacifier returned to his mouth, plush dog wedged securely between them. The cloth remained cool on his forehead, Papa refreshing it whenever it warmed. They stayed like that a long while—no hurry, no noise, just breathing and quiet murmurs. “Poor baby,” Papa whispered once. Daddy nodded against Ryder’s hair. “We’ll take it easy today. Lots of cuddles.” At the word cuddles, Ryder made a tiny hum, as if agreeing even through fever haze. The first true light of morning filtered through the curtains, soft gold spreading across the bed. The ocean’s hush carried faintly through the open balcony doors. Between them, Ryder drifted again—not the deep sleep of night, but the fragile doze of someone being watched over. Each time he stirred, a hand was there. Each cough was answered with a rub of his back. Comfort surrounded him in layers: Daddy’s steady chest beneath his cheek, Papa’s hand cooling his forehead, the plush dog tucked safe under his chin, the pacifier’s quiet rhythm anchoring him. Sick but secure, Ryder settled into the slow morning light—held, tended, and loved without question. Morning came slowly to the island that day. The sun rose warm and bright beyond the palms, but inside the mansion everything remained hushed and soft, as if the whole house understood Ryder needed quiet. By late morning, he was awake for good—flushed cheeks, heavy eyelids, and that lingering weakness that follows a feverish night. He lay limp against Daddy’s shoulder as they carried him into the kitchen, plush dog tucked under one arm, pacifier bobbing faintly. “Let’s try a little something in your tummy,” Papa murmured. “Just a few bites.” Ryder didn’t protest when they settled him into his cushioned high chair this time. Illness had taken the fight out of him; he simply leaned into the tray, clutching the plush dog against his chest while Papa brought over a small bowl of warm soup. Steam curled gently upward, carrying the mild scent of broth and soft vegetables. Papa tested a spoonful, then offered it carefully. “Just a taste, sweetheart.” Ryder hesitated, then parted his lips. The warm liquid slid in, and he swallowed slowly. His brow knit at the unfamiliar sensation, but he didn’t refuse. “Good job,” Papa praised softly. Another spoonful. Then another. Ryder ate in small, patient sips, pausing often to breathe around his pacifier when Papa let him rest. His free hand stayed wrapped in the plush dog’s ribbon, thumb rubbing the fabric for reassurance. Daddy stood nearby, one hand resting on Ryder’s hair, steady and present. “That’s enough,” Papa decided after a few minutes. “We don’t want to overdo it.” Ryder slumped forward slightly, tired again but calmer now that his stomach held something warm. “Come here, buddy,” Daddy said. He lifted Ryder from the chair and carried him into the living room, where the couch had been prepared with blankets and pillows. Sunlight pooled across the cushions, and the ocean’s distant hush drifted through open doors. Daddy settled back and cradled Ryder sideways in his lap, blanket tucked around him. Papa handed over a small bottle filled with diluted juice. “Slow sips,” Papa said. Daddy guided the bottle gently to Ryder’s lips. “Here you go.” Ryder latched onto it instinctively, suckling in the same quiet rhythm he used with his pacifier. The cool sweetness seemed to soothe his throat; his shoulders loosened, and he drank in slow pulls while resting fully against Daddy’s chest. “There we are,” Daddy murmured. The plush dog lay tucked between Ryder’s arm and ribs, its soft fur pressed under his cheek whenever he turned inward. Between swallows, his fingers found the ribbon again, twisting it lightly. Papa sat close, one hand occasionally brushing Ryder’s hair back or checking his warmth. “He’s perking up a little,” Papa whispered. Daddy nodded. “Yeah. Just needs rest.” Ryder finished only part of the bottle before his mouth slackened and the nipple slipped free. His eyes had closed without anyone noticing. Daddy eased the bottle away and shifted him slightly higher against his chest. Ryder sighed in his sleep, cheek settling into cotton and plush fur together. They stayed there—Daddy reclined with Ryder asleep on him, Papa curled beside them under the same blanket. Outside, waves whispered along the shore; inside, the couch held a small, warm bundle of child and comfort objects and love. Sick day or not, Ryder rested exactly where he needed to be: full enough, held close, plush dog under his arm, juice sweetness lingering, family surrounding him. And the quiet island morning carried on, gentle and unhurried, while he slept and healed. Chapter 26 :   Ryder woke in the same warm cradle of arms and blankets, the fever haze thinner now. Sunlight had shifted across the room, turning the ocean beyond the terrace doors into a bright sheet of blue. He blinked slowly, lashes sticky from sleep, and made a small sound. “Ohhh, look who’s awake,” Daddy murmured at once, voice dropping into that soft, sing-song tone reserved only for him. “Hi there, sleepy baby.” Papa leaned in from the side of the couch, smiling. “There he is. Our brave little munchkin.” Ryder’s pacifier bobbed as he looked between them, then down at the plush dog still tucked under his arm. His fingers curled into its ribbon automatically. “Did you have a good nap-nap?” Papa asked gently. Ryder gave the tiniest nod. Daddy brushed his hair back. “Feeling a little better in that tummy?” Another faint nod. “Well,” Papa said lightly, “I think someone might be ready for the teeniest bit of playtime.” Ryder’s eyes lifted with cautious interest. Daddy shifted him upright on his lap so he faced outward but still leaned back against his chest. The blanket stayed wrapped around his legs; the plush dog remained firmly clutched. “Okay,” Daddy whispered conspiratorially. “You ready?” He lifted his hands slowly… covering his own face. “Where’s Daddy?” he asked softly. Ryder watched, eyes heavy but curious. A beat. Then Daddy dropped his hands. “Peek-a-boo!” Ryder startled slightly—then a small, surprised puff of air escaped around his pacifier. Almost a laugh. “There he is!” Papa exclaimed softly. “You found him!” Ryder’s eyes brightened a fraction. “Again?” Daddy asked. This time Ryder’s fingers twitched against the plush ribbon—his silent signal of anticipation. Hands up. “Where’s Daddy?” Hands down. “Peek-a-boo!” A tiny giggle slipped out, weak but real. “Ohhh, there’s that smile,” Papa cooed. “That’s the one we love.” They kept it slow—no loudness, no sudden movement—just gentle rhythm. Peek-a-boo, soft voices, warm arms steady around him. After a few rounds, Papa leaned in with exaggerated seriousness. “Wait… where’s Papa?” He hid behind the couch pillow. Ryder stared, puzzled. The pillow dropped. “Peek-a-boo!” This time the giggle was clearer, and Ryder lifted the plush dog slightly, as if showing it too. “Does puppy want to play?” Daddy asked. “Where’s puppy?” Ryder, with effort, pressed the plush against his own face—copying the game. “Ohhh!” Papa gasped softly. “Where did Ryder go?” Ryder lowered the toy. “There he is!” both men said together. A small burst of laughter escaped him, followed by a sleepy cough. Daddy immediately rubbed his back. “Easy, baby. Gentle giggles.” But Ryder’s eyes were brighter now. He nuzzled the plush dog, then leaned fully back into Daddy again, content. “That’s enough games,” Papa murmured. “Our patient is still recovering.” Daddy kissed Ryder’s temple. “You did so good, buddy. Best peek-a-boo player.” Ryder’s pacifier moved in slow, satisfied pulls. His fingers stroked the plush ribbon, and he rested between them—warmed by play, soothed by closeness. Outside, waves shimmered in the sun. Inside, on the couch, quiet baby talk and gentle laughter marked the moment Ryder’s sick day began to turn toward comfort and healing. By early afternoon, Ryder had been moved from the couch to the wide window seat overlooking the sea. Pillows and blankets were tucked around him, making a soft nest where he could recline against Daddy while Papa sat close at his side. The plush dog rested in Ryder’s lap, one floppy ear draped over his arm. His pacifier moved slowly, contentedly, as he gazed out through the tall glass panes. The ocean stretched endless and bright, sunlight scattering across its surface like spilled glitter. Waves rolled in gentle lines toward the pale shore below the bluff, their hush reaching even here. “Pretty view, huh?” Daddy murmured, pressing a kiss into Ryder’s hair. Ryder nodded faintly, eyes fixed on the water. Papa reached for a book from the small stack beside them. “I think it’s time for a story,” he said softly. “Just a quiet one.” Ryder’s fingers tightened on the plush ribbon in approval. Papa opened the book and began reading in a low, rhythmic voice, the kind that rose and fell like the tide outside. Daddy rocked slightly as he listened, Ryder nestled against his chest, warmth and voice and view blending into one gentle sensory cocoon. Every few lines, Ryder glanced from the page back to the sea, as if both stories were equally important. Then—movement. A flash of curved gray broke the surface beyond the reef. Ryder’s pacifier stilled. His eyes widened. He lifted one small hand, pointing weakly toward the water. “Mm!” Daddy followed his gaze. “Oh… look at that.” Another arc. Then two. Sleek shapes surfacing and diving in smooth rhythm. “Dolphins,” Papa whispered, smiling. “You see them, sweetheart?” Ryder nodded quickly, breath catching in a soft, awed sound. The plush dog was pulled tight to his chest as he watched the animals leap and glide through the sunlit waves. “They’re playing,” Daddy said quietly. “Just like you did earlier.” For a long moment, no one spoke. They simply watched together as the dolphins surfaced a few more times, then slipped back into the deeper blue beyond sight. Ryder sagged back against Daddy once they were gone, expression dreamy and calm. “Good spotting,” Papa murmured, kissing his temple before returning to the story. The book’s soft cadence resumed. Outside, the sea continued its endless motion. Inside, Ryder rested warm and safe, plush dog under his chin, pacifier steady, Daddy’s chest beneath his cheek and Papa’s voice wrapping around them both. Story and ocean, family and comfort—all flowing together in the slow healing quiet of the afternoon. Evening came softly to the island, the sunlight turning honey-gold as it slanted across the water. From the window seat, Ryder watched the sea grow calmer and darker, eyelids drooping again with that deep, post-illness tiredness that seemed to pull him inward. Daddy felt the weight of him sag further. “I think someone’s running out of battery,” he murmured. Papa smiled. “Early bedtime tonight.” Ryder didn’t protest when Daddy lifted him; he simply curled into the familiar hold, plush dog tucked under his chin. His pacifier bobbed in slow, sleepy pulls as they carried him down the hall. The bathroom glowed warm and gentle. Papa filled the tub with shallow, lukewarm water—just enough for a soothing rinse. Steam curled faintly upward, carrying the clean scent of soap. “Quick splash, sweetheart,” Papa said softly. Daddy undressed him and lowered him carefully into the water. Ryder gave a small, tired whine at first, then relaxed when Daddy’s hands supported his back and shoulders. Papa used a soft cloth to wash him slowly—arms, tummy, legs—movements unhurried and calm. “All clean,” Papa whispered. Daddy lifted him out and wrapped him in a thick towel, pressing a kiss into damp hair. Ryder leaned heavily into his chest, eyes half-closed, clutching the plush dog as soon as Papa placed it back into his arms. Soon he was dressed in a fresh diaper and the softest pajamas—light cotton patterned with tiny clouds. His pacifier returned, and he sucked once or twice before settling into quiet drowsiness again. They carried him to the nursery just as the last band of sunset glowed through the windows. The room felt hushed and golden, curtains lifting gently in the evening breeze. Daddy lowered into the rocking chair with Ryder against him while Papa drew the blanket over them both. The chair began its slow, familiar sway. “Long day, little guy,” Daddy murmured. Ryder made a faint hum, cheek pressed into plush fur and cotton shirt together. Papa stroked his hair. “You did very well being sick. So brave.” The sky outside deepened from gold to lavender to blue. The ocean’s hush grew softer with night. Ryder’s fingers tightened once around the plush ribbon, then loosened as sleep pulled him under. His pacifier slowed, breaths lengthening against Daddy’s chest. “Out already,” Daddy whispered. Papa nodded, smiling softly. “He needed it.” They sat a while longer, letting the rocking and the fading light carry him fully into sleep. Then Daddy rose carefully and laid Ryder into his crib. The plush dog stayed tucked beneath his arm; the pacifier rested secure between his lips. Papa adjusted the blanket. Daddy brushed a final kiss across his forehead. “Sleep, sweetheart,” Papa murmured. The nursery lamp dimmed. Outside, the island settled into night, waves whispering along the shore. In his crib, Ryder slept deeply at last—clean, warm, and wrapped in quiet: plush dog under his cheek, pacifier steady, parents close by, the long sick day finally closed in peace.

Western New York!

With mild dissapointment I was unsure if Miland's statement reframing my words was intended as a grammatical correction or of it was a response? Whatever the case I returned his smile as I recieved the colour of counters I had requested. "Mais c'est comme ça" I shrugged after it was explained to me that there were no little horses. I took one of my counters and pranced it around the board, one space at a time before returning it to the green area. I looked from the board directly at Milan, my green eyes expectantly wearimg sn expression which asked, was that correct?  

I've spotted something close. They seem to be adult diapers with decorative tape. I won't lie, some of the designs certainly got my attention. But at nearly $40 a piece, definitely out of my range. I'm kind of curious if I were to shoot them a design idea, if they'd do it. Check out Thelittlediaper on ebay.