2011

Cruise

Princess

Smallish Update (More 2 come) Chapter One Hundred & Eighteen: Part Two “Any-buddy dere?” The words left Paul’s mouth and seemed to float inside the nursery. Small. Sleep-soft.   Bent around the pacifier still resting between his lips. He waited. Upright on his knees now, both bandaged hands curled around the top rail of the bed, body leaning forward as though listening required all of him. His Safari pajamas had twisted slightly during sleep, one knee bunched beneath him while the blanket lay abandoned near his feet. Batman rested face down near the pillow. Long Knight had fallen sideways beside him, one bright yellow leg trapped beneath the edge of the blanket.   For one suspended moment—   Nothing answered. The room remained pale with early morning. Not fully light. Not fully dark. Then the monitor speaker crackled. Two voices reached him almost together.   “We’re coming, baby.” “We’ll be right there.”   Daddy. Mommy. Paul smiled. At least on the outside. His shoulders softened. His grip loosened against the rail. The pacifier bobbed once between his lips as a pleased little hum slipped around it. They had heard him. He wasn’t alone. That should have made everything inside him settle. Some of it did. But beneath the smile, his thoughts moved strangely.   Slow.Thick.   As if even the little part of him had woken beneath deep water and was trying to swim through syrup toward the surface. Nothing fit together properly. The room was familiar. The rail beneath his palms was familiar. But yesterday— Yesterday existed only in pieces. Not memories exactly. Flashes.   A white envelope. Words moving across paper that his mind refused to hold still long enough to read. Something crimson and gold. A velvet shape. Two letters pressed together.   B. G. Important.   He knew they were important. The velvet had looked soft. He remembered wanting to touch it. Or maybe he had touched it. Then— Pointy ouchies. A bright sound. Daddy’s voice. Mommy crying without wanting him to know she was crying. His hands hurting.   Paul looked down. The bandages wrapped around both palms were rumpled now, the edges no longer clean and perfect after a night of sleep. He turned one hand slowly, studying the white gauze as if it belonged to someone else. How had the ouchies gotten there? He couldn’t remember. Not enough. Thinking about it made something tighten behind his ribs. Not the outside pain. That hurt too. A dull, bruised pulling under his left side when he leaned too far. But deeper than that— Something else.   A hurt without a place. A hurt that did not live in his hands or ribs or stomach.   It lived somewhere words could not reach. Paul’s brow pinched. He did not like that feeling. So his mind moved away from it.   Away from the paper. Away from the velvet letters. Away from the sharp sound.   Toward Daddy. Daddy’s arms around him. Strong. Warm. Holding him tightly while the whole world shook. Rocking him forward and then back. Paul liked Daddy’s arms. Daddy’s arms meant the floor stopped moving. Daddy’s voice meant nothing could get close enough to hurt him without going through Daddy first.   Then Mommy.   Paul’s smile returned faintly. Mommy’s hair brushing against his stomach while she changed his diapee. It had tickled. He remembered squealing. Her voice had been sweet and round, telling him everything was going to be all right, even though he hadn’t understood what was wrong. That was the part his little mind trusted most. He didn’t need to understand why he was sad if Mommy knew how to make the sadness go bye-bye.   Mommy and Daddy were coming. Good. That was good. He rocked once against the rail. Then his mind found something even safer. Cake. The thought arrived suddenly. Bright. Sweet. Simple. Cake with thick white frosting. The piece Daddy gave him.   No—   The piece he had taken from Martina’s plate. Nana’s plate. His fingers had scooped through the soft icing before anyone could stop him. Everyone laughed. Nana called him a cake thief. Daddy moved him, and Paul had hated that for one whole second— Until Daddy gave him another piece. Cake. His mouth moved around the pacifier.   “Cay…”   The word came out softly. He blinked. Cake felt important now. More important than letters. More important than bandages. More important than the deep hurt he could not name. More important than big boy feelings.   “Cay…”   His voice grew. The thought became need.   “Cake…”   Paul leaned harder against the rail, excitement mixing with the uncomfortable pressure building low in his body. He did not recognize that signal clearly. His body did. His mind was still swimming too far beneath the surface to translate it. The pressure had been there when he woke.   Full. Heavy. Insistent.   But cake was easier. Cake was sweet. Cake made people laugh. He rocked again, knees tucked beneath him, body moving automatically in search of relief.   “Cake…”   His face tightened. The pressure increased. He pushed the unwanted feeling away the same way he pushed away the broken flashes of yesterday. No letter. No glass. No sad. Cake. He shifted backward slightly on his knees. His body took over. One hard strain. Then another. Paul gripped the rail, pacifier bouncing with his breath.   “CAKE!”   The third shout rang through the room just as his body finally released the discomfort it had been carrying. Paul pushed his bottom back slightly. The thick, heavily padded diaper shifted with him. He didn’t think about what he was doing. The bad thoughts were still trying to rise, and his body answered the only way it knew how right now—by letting go.   A few large, instinctive pushes.   Warmth bloomed instantly in the front, spreading wet and heavy through the boosted padding. At the same time the back grew fuller, heavier, the mess pressing warmly against him as his body finished what it had started without asking permission. The spreading heat radiated outward, front and back, the thick diaper sagging noticeably under the sudden weight and warmth. The plastic pants held everything close, the crinkle turning softer, more muffled as the padding absorbed it all. The sensation made Paul stop. His eyes widened. Not frightened. Confused. He looked down as though the answer might be visible through the fabric. Another faint warmth followed, and his expression changed into one of vague surprise.   The nursery door opened.Bryan & Lilly stood in the doorway. Paul's hair flattened on one side. Pacifier in his mouth. Bandaged hands gripping the top bar. His Safari pajamas rumpled from sleep. His face innocent and puzzled as he looked between them, apparently unaware that his body had just completed its own urgent morning routine.   “Cay…?” he asked around the pacifier, voice small and hopeful, as if maybe, just maybe, one of them had brought cake.   The smell reached them a second later—warm, unmistakable, the heavy scent of a very full diaper mixed with the lingering sweetness of baby powder and lavender lotion from his last change. For one heartbeat neither of them moved.   Then Bryan’s face softened with a complicated mix of love and sorrow so deep it looked like pain. Lilly’s eyes filled instantly, but she didn’t look away. She never looked away from him. Not when he was like this. Not when the regression swallowed him whole and left this small, trusting version of their son behind. Paul turned his head at the sound of the door, still on his knees, the heavy diaper sagging between his legs. His eyes found them—blurry at first, then lighting up with that same slow, syrupy joy.   “Cake,” he announced again, softer now. Lilly moved first. Not rushing. Just entering with a smile soft enough not to turn the moment into alarm.   “Well, good morning, Mister Cake Man.”   Paul’s face brightened.   “Mommy.”   The word came thick around the pacifier. Lilly’s heart answered before her mind could .Lilly dropped to her knees in front of him without hesitation. Her hands were gentle as they cupped his face, thumbs brushing the corners of his mouth around the pacifier.   “Good morning, sweetheart.”   Bryan stepped inside after her, closing the door partway behind him. His sports jacket and tie made him look strangely formal against the nursery’s soft colors. Bryan moved in beside her, one big hand settling carefully on Paul’s back, feeling the warmth and weight of the full diaper through the fabric. He didn’t flinch. He simply rubbed slow, soothing circles between Paul’s shoulder blades.   “Morning, buddy.”   Paul leaned toward him.   “Cake.”   Bryan nodded solemnly.   “I heard the request.”   Paul smiled. Then shifted his weight. The discomfort registered more clearly this time. His brows pinched. His body stilled. He made a small uncertain sound and looked down again. Lilly and Bryan exchanged a glance. Quick. Experienced. No embarrassment. No dramatic reaction. Only information passing between parents. He needs a change first. Lilly gently removed the pacifier so Paul could breathe and speak more easily.   “Before cake,” she said softly, “I think we need to get Mister Cake Man into a clean and dry diapee.”   Paul frowned.   “No.”   The word came immediate. Small. Certain. Bryan almost smiled despite himself. There. Resistance. A preference. Not five more minutes. But close enough to ordinary annoyance that it hurt beautifully.   “I know,” Bryan said, lowering his voice into the warm toddler cadence Paul seemed able to follow. “Not the morning plan you wanted.”   Paul considered this. Not happily. But he understood more than the softness of his voice suggested. Bryan saw it in his eyes—the brief pause, the negotiation happening somewhere beneath the fog. Paul looked at Lilly. Then Bryan.   “Cake after?”   Bryan’s throat tightened. A complete thought. Simple. But complete.   “After,” he promised.   Lilly touched his cheek. Paul narrowed his eyes. That was not the same promise. Bryan recognized the objection instantly.   “Tiny cake after breakfast,” he amended.   Paul nodded. Satisfied. Then released the rail with one hand and reached upward toward Bryan. Pick me up. Bryan slid his arms around him carefully, supporting his back and protecting the injured rib. Paul folded against him immediately, cheek settling near the knot of Bryan’s tie. The trust was instant. Total. Bryan closed his eyes for half a second as Paul’s arms circled his neck.   Too late, part of him thought again. Too late to have enough mornings before this. Too late to ask every adult question while the answers were easy.   But Paul’s weight against him answered with something else.   Here & now.   Bryan opened his eyes. Here & now would have to defeat too late. Lilly pulled back the blanket and prepared the room for the first transition of the day, movements practiced but respectful. She caught Bryan’s gaze over Paul’s shoulder. There was a sleepy young man in his father’s arms, asking for cake with a toddler’s lisp, confused by yesterday and protected from its sharpest edges for one more morning. Lilly touched Paul’s back.   “Let’s get you all nice and clean my sweet boy.”   Paul lifted his head from Bryan’s shoulder.   “Then cake?”   Bryan kissed his temple. Paul accepted that. Barely. But enough. And as Bryan carried him toward the changing area, Lilly followed close behind, both of them understanding that the next wave had not arrived as a disaster.   It had arrived hungry. Confused. Little but bigger than yesterday. And still reaching for them.   The moment Paul’s back touched the padded surface, another soft squish escaped. Paul made a tiny, unhappy sound and reached instinctively for his pacifier clip, giving it a small tug as if to comfort himself. Lilly was already moving to the head of the table, her hands gentle as they stroked Paul’s hair.   “Shhh, shhh, Mommy’s right here, sweet pea,” she cooed, voice dropping into that soft, melodic baby-talk rhythm that always seemed to anchor him. “We’re gonna get my wittle boy all clean and comfy, yes we are. Such a good boy.”   Bryan stepped back just long enough to shrug out of his suit jacket. He draped it carefully over the arm of the rocking chair near the window, he rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, the motion quiet and deliberate, then returned to Lilly’s side. Lilly’s fingers were already at the hem Paul’s safari-themed pajama top. She worked the top carefully over his chest and then slid the arms out before rolling it up & over Paul’s neck & head, speaking the whole time in that gentle, sing-song voice.   “We have to get these stinky pants washed and ready for our big Christmas trip into the snow mountains, oh yes we do,” she murmured, easing the top off Paul’s arms. “My handsome boy is going to look so cozy in the mountains with Mommy and Daddy isn’t he? Yes he is.”   Paul made a small sound around the pacifier, somewhere between agreement and distraction. His bandaged hands flexed restlessly against the changing table pad. Lilly set the top aside and moved to the pajama bottoms, sliding them down carefully over the bulky diaper and plastic pants. The moment his tummy was bare, she leaned in and gently tickled her fingertips across his chest and stomach, light and playful.   Paul’s reaction was immediate.   A bright, surprised laugh burst out around the pacifier—high and genuine, the kind of sound that still managed to crack something open in both his parents’ chests every single time. His legs kicked weakly, the heavy diaper shifting with the movement, and for a few seconds the fog seemed to lift just enough for pure, uncomplicated joy to shine through. Lilly smiled down at him, eyes soft with love even as her heart ached at how small he looked right now.   “There’s my happy boy,” she cooed. “Tickle, tickle, tickle for Mommy’s wittle love bug.”   Bryan watched them, his expression a complicated blend of tenderness and quiet sorrow. He reached for the wipes warmer on the shelf beside the table, only to find it already empty from the last change. His jaw tightened for half a second before he forced it to relax. They were going to need a lot of wipes for this one.   Lilly glanced at him, reading the look instantly. “I can do the dirty work this time,” she said softly, keeping her voice light for Paul’s sake. “Given your nice clothes, honey.”   Paul turned his head on the table, looking up at his father with a small, furrowed brow. Even through the regression, something in him still recognized Bryan’s dressed-up state and seemed to puzzle over it. Lilly caught the look and smiled, her voice warm and teasing as she continued in baby talk.   “Daddy is such a handsome man in his clothes, isn’t he, baby? Yes he is. So handsome.”   Paul’s furrowed brow smoothed. He gave a small, solemn nod around the pacifier and mumbled, the words thick and lisped, “Pwetty Daddy…”   Bryan’s eyes went shiny for a moment. He reached down and brushed his knuckles gently across Paul’s cheek. “Thank you, buddy,” he said quietly.     Lilly carefully peeled the plastic pants down and off, setting them aside. The moment she opened the tabs of the heavy diaper, both she and Bryan’s expressions shifted in the same instant. Lilly’s face remained soft, her smile never wavering even as her eyes took on that focused, gentle steadiness that said she was handling this with every ounce of love she had. There was no disgust, only quiet acceptance and the deep, aching tenderness of a mother meeting her child exactly where he was. Bryan’s expression was similar but edged with something heavier—love so fierce it looked like pain, the quiet grief of watching his son need this level of care again, mixed with the unwavering determination to be exactly what Paul needed right now.   Neither of them said a word about the state of the diaper. They simply moved.   Lilly kept up a steady stream of soft baby talk the entire time, her voice a soothing anchor. “Such a good boy for Mommy… we’re gonna get you all clean and fresh, yes we are… Mommy’s wittle prince is doing so well… look at those big eyes watching Mommy so nicely…”   Bryan reached for a fresh Safari-themed diaper from the stack and fluffed it open with practiced hands, slipping one additional booster pad inside for extra protection. He set it ready while Lilly applied a generous layer of lotion and then a thick coating of diaper rash cream, her fingers gentle as she worked it over Paul’s skin. Bryan gently took hold of Paul’s ankles, lifting them with care so Lilly could slide the clean, boosted diaper underneath. Lilly finished powdering with a soft cloud of baby powder, the familiar scent filling the space between them. Bryan brought the front of the diaper up and began taping it securely while Lilly continued her gentle cooing, one hand resting on Paul’s chest to keep him calm and focused on her face.   When the clean diaper was fastened, Lilly slipped away for a moment and returned from the closet with the clothes she had chosen. First came a simple long-sleeve black cotton shirt—soft, plain, and comfortable against his skin. She guided Paul’s arms through the sleeves and smoothed it down over his torso.   Next came the Jungle Animals Blue Gingham Zipper Sleeveless Hoodie. It was a crisp white sleeveless zip-up vest with a hood lined in cheerful blue gingham check. Bright orange trim ran along the hood edge and the bottom hem, and the same colorful jungle animal pattern from his other pieces—lions, giraffes, elephants, crocodiles, flamingos, zebras, and toucans—danced across the fabric. Two handy front pockets sat at hip level, and the BigTots logo was discreetly placed near the hem. Lilly zipped it up carefully over the black shirt, the gingham lining peeking out softly around Paul’s neck and the hood resting against the back of his head.   Last came the matching Jungle Animals Footed Pocket Pants. These were soft white pants covered in the same cheerful safari animal print as the vest/hoodie, with bright orange accents at the cuffs and waistband. The fabric had a gentle stretch, and the side pockets were lined with the same blue gingham as the hoodie. Most importantly, they had built-in footed sections that slipped over Paul’s feet like cozy little booties, keeping him warm while still allowing easy movement. Lilly guided his legs into them one at a time, pulling the soft material up over the thick, clean diaper. The pants settled comfortably, the footed ends giving him that extra layer of softness and security. When they were finished, both Lilly and Bryan stepped back for a moment to look at him.   Paul lay there in the new outfit, the black long-sleeve shirt peeking from beneath the zip hoodie, the footed pants making him look even smaller and cozier against the changing table pad. The thick diaper was completely hidden but still gave him that unmistakable padded silhouette beneath the soft fabric.   Lilly leaned down first, pressing a warm kiss to his cheek. “There’s Mommy’s handsome boy,” she whispered. “Look at you, all clean and cozy and so, so pretty for Mommy.”   Bryan followed, bending to kiss Paul’s other cheek with equal gentleness. “Daddy’s handsome guy,” he said softly, voice thick with everything he felt Bryan lowered the side of the changing table carefully. The soft mechanical click seemed louder in the nursery than it should have, a small sound marking the end of one transition and the uncertain beginning of another. Paul sat near the edge now, newly dressed, his hair still sleep-tousled and his bandaged hands resting against his thighs. Bryan reached toward him automatically. One arm prepared to slide behind Paul’s back. The other ready beneath his knees. The same careful lift they had repeated so many times over the past day that Bryan’s body had already memorized the sequence. But Paul shifted away. Just slightly. Bryan stopped. Paul looked toward the floor. Then back at him.   “Down.”   The word came muffled around the pacifier. Small. But definite. Bryan’s eyebrows lifted. Lilly paused near the foot of the table, one hand still holding the folded blanket she had meant to put away.   “What was that, sweetheart?”   Paul pulled the pacifier out just far enough to speak more clearly.   “Want down.”   Bryan and Lilly looked at each other. Surprised. The good kind of surprised—the kind neither of them trusted anymore because every hopeful moment still felt capable of disappearing if acknowledged too loudly. Bryan kept his voice even.   “You want to stand?”   Paul nodded. Confident enough to matter. Bryan stepped back half a pace. He didn’t offer his hand. Not yet. That was the hardest part. Every instinct in him wanted to catch the moment before it could become dangerous. To prevent the stumble. Prevent the pain. Prevent the possibility that Paul’s body would fail and turn confidence back into fear. But Mindy’s words came back.   Recognition. Choice. Tolerance. Let him attempt before you rescue.   Bryan lowered the side completely and watched. Lilly watched too. Neither breathed normally. Paul turned his body slowly, movements stiff with concentration. He placed one bandaged hand against the padded surface for balance and carefully swung his right leg over the edge. Then the left. His feet hovered several inches above the floor. For a second, he sat there. Looking down. Calculating. Somewhere beneath the little voice and the pacifier and the softened expression, another part of Paul seemed to understand what standing required.   Maybe muscle memory. Maybe “Big” Paul surfacing just enough to send instructions through the fog. Maybe the body remembering what the mind couldn’t fully organize.   Paul pushed his palms against the changing table and slid forward. His feet touched the floor. His knees bent. His whole body wobbled once. Bryan’s hands lifted instinctively. Then stopped in the air. Paul steadied himself. Paul looked toward the nursery door. Then took one step. Slow. His right foot landed first, heel uncertain, toes adjusting against the floor.   A second step followed.   Then a third.   His arms hovered slightly away from his sides for balance, bandaged hands open, expression serious around the pacifier. Bryan stayed directly behind him. Lilly moved parallel to them on the other side, her body tense with readiness.   Paul took a fourth step.   His posture lifted a fraction. A small spark of pride came across his face.   Then the fifth.   His left knee trembled. His hips shifted too far backward. For one suspended second, the whole room seemed to tilt with him. Bryan lunged forward— But Paul had already dropped. Not hard. Not dangerously. His legs folded beneath him and he landed backward with a soft, cushioned thump.   Paul sat motionless on the floor.   Eyes wide. Both parents waited for the cry. The panic. The betrayal of pain. Instead— Paul laughed. It began as a soft breath around the pacifier. Then a tiny, surprised giggle. As though falling had been something funny his body had done without consulting him. Bryan stared. Then relief broke across his face so quickly it almost looked younger than him.   “Well,” he said, crouching down. “That was one way to finish.”   Paul looked up at him, still smiling. Just a small recognition that he had tried something and the world had not ended when it went imperfectly. That mattered. More than the steps. Bryan held out his hand. This time, Paul accepted immediately. His bandaged fingers wrapped around Bryan’s, grip trusting and eager. Lilly stepped closer and offered her hand on the other side. Paul took that one too.   There he was. Between them. Not carried. Supported.   Bryan helped him rise, taking most of the weight only until Paul’s legs found the floor again. Lilly smiled at him.   “That was a very big try.”   Paul’s eyes brightened.   “Walked.”   Bryan had coordinated entire stunt sequences across sets where one wrong movement could cost millions or destroy lives. He had watched performers leap from buildings, roll cars, fight through fire, and walk away while crews applauded. None of it had ever felt as brave as five uneven steps across a nursery floor. Lilly squeezed Paul’s hand.   “Should we go find breakfast?”   Paul’s attention shifted immediately.   “Cake?”   Of course. Bryan laughed softly. Lilly tried to maintain authority and failed before she started.   “Maybe breakfast first.”   Paul tilted his head. The pacifier bobbed once.   “Cake breakfast.”   Bryan looked toward Lilly. There was something almost teenage in the stubborn logic. Buried. Translated through the little state. But there. Lilly’s smile widened.   “I think we can find something yummy.”   Bryan looked around the nursery. The night’s supplies still needed to be gathered. Paul’s things for Martina waited to be packed. Pain medication needed to be logged. Comfort items chosen. Clothes folded. Instructions checked. The workday waited too. His workday. Lilly’s. The world outside the nursery continued insisting that time move normally. Bryan lifted Paul’s hand slightly. Paul looked at him. Then toward Lilly. Cake lived in Lilly’s direction. The decision was immediate. Paul released Bryan’s hand. Not hesitantly. Not sadly. He turned toward Lilly with surprising confidence.   “Let’s go, Mommy.”   The words came clearer than anything else he had said that morning. Still soft. Still slightly lisped. But organized. Purposeful. Lilly’s face changed. The delight appeared first. Then something deeper beneath it. A small flash of the private tenderness she was learning to hold carefully—the joy of being chosen, followed immediately by the reminder that love meant helping him move forward, not keeping him dependent on the choosing. She chuckled and tightened her hand gently around his.   “Well, somebody knows exactly what he wants.”   “Cake.”   “Yes, I heard.”   Paul stepped forward. One foot. Then another. His balance remained uncertain, but holding Lilly’s hand gave him enough confidence to continue. He moved slowly toward the door, leading only in intention. Lilly matched every step, adjusting her pace to his without making it obvious. Bryan followed for the first two. Watching. Ready. Paul’s legs shook, but he didn’t sit. He reached the doorway. Then looked back. Bryan stood among the rumpled bedding, discarded overnight clothes, medicine wrappers, and the quiet evidence of the care that had carried them to morning. For one second, father and son looked at each other. Paul lifted his free hand. A tiny wave.   “Bye, Daddy.”   Bryan’s throat tightened.   “Not bye,” he said gently. “I’m right behind you.”   He turned back toward the hallway. Lilly glanced over her shoulder.   “I’ll get him fed,” she said. “You get him packed.”   Bryan nodded.   “Got it.”   Paul looked up at her, drawn by the sound.   Then repeated with growing urgency, “Cake, Mommy.”   “I know, Mister Cake Man.”   Together, they continued down the hall. Paul’s steps guided by Lilly’s steady hand and the powerful motivation of promised sweetness somewhere ahead. Bryan remained in the nursery doorway and watched them go. Lilly dressed beautifully for a day in front of cameras, moving at the pace of a frightened young man relearning the hallway. Paul in his fresh outfit, walking instead of crawling because he had decided he wanted down. The two of them disappearing toward the kitchen.   For a moment, Bryan forgot the bags. The calls. The trust fund. The school. All of it.   He saw only five steps. A laugh after falling. A complete sentence. Let’s go, Mommy. Not the eighteen year old Paul. Not yet. But not nothing. Never nothing. Bryan looked around the nursery, inhaled slowly, and began gathering what Paul would need for the day.   Behind him, faintly from the hallway, Paul’s voice carried through the house.   “Cake!”   Lilly’s laughter followed.   And the morning, uncertain as it was, finally began moving forward.

I always seem to have a few ounces in reserve to leak the second I change lol

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