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Baby Talk
Let your baby side show.
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By cute little kokiri girl · Posted
Ana had slept pretty good in the guest room, she had just woken up feeling absolutely refreshed it was about to head downstairs when she heard her little girl crying. Immediately Ana went into the nursery came over to the crib and lowered the bars and picked up her special little snowflake, gently bouncing the toddler girl and rubbing her back. Soon Alice had calmed down and seeing the opportunity she checked her little girl's diaper and made a little shows of it as she walked over to the changing table, carrying Alice who was sucking her thumb having lost her pacifier. -
By Kitty Angel · Posted
Here we go… hope I've not dropped any more errors in there without realising. 120. My Confrontation There was a doorbell, but the light on it didn’t seem to be illuminated, and I didn’t hear anything when I pressed it. The house looked dilapidated in general, and I thought there was no way a kid raised here could have avoided going off the rails. I knew that expressions like “the wrong side of the tracks” were no longer considered politically correct, but this house was every inch the stereotype, and passers by must know without asking that the kids would be thugs. I could imagine people walking by on the other side of the street, unless they had to come here to complain to the man of the house about his offspring. And that must be a regular occurrence as well; Mr Torrance would be spending half his time trying to keep his kids under control. Really it would have been better to have their mother make the rules, but I knew from experience that some types of boys just would not listen to a woman. So all the pressure would fall on a man ill-equipped to teach good morals. I tried the doorbell again, but didn’t hear any sounds from inside the house. I had to guess that it wasn’t connected. So I rapped on the door, and heard a muffled yell. Someone was home. Maybe it would be the mother; they were working class, so the man of the house would probably be out at work, whatever he did. I wasn’t sure if that was helpful or not. I could tell her that her son was causing trouble, but that would be a common report. I needed to be sure that the boy’s father would take action; so I might need to exaggerate what he had done a little, just to be sure that the message was passed on. I reassured myself again that I wasn’t actually going to lie; I knew what a boy like him was likely to do, even if he hadn’t gotten that far yet. I was just trying to keep my little safe from someone who only wanted to force her to grow up too fast. I knocked again, wondering why they hadn't come to the door yet, and this time was answered by muffled cursing from the far corner of the house. I took a deep breath, and tried to line up the speech in my mind. It would probably be different depending who answered. If I got to meet Mrs Luger, I would have to make absolutely sure she knew this was a big enough deal to bring up with her husband. But if Mr Luger was at home, today was his rest day or whatever, I could be frank with him. Even if we were from different worlds, and he might have an instinctive distrust of a woman with an academic and business background, I was sure that the concern of fellow parents for their children would transcend any cultural boundaries. I glanced around the front garden while I waited. It contained too little greenery and too much broken glass for me to think of it by that name, and it was a wonder the neighbours put up with it. The house next door was the newest on the road, all fresh brick and a roofline that didn't match its neighbours, with a young tree in the front and a little plaque at its foot; I supposed they'd paid to have the place done up and now had to look out of their windows at this. Beyond that, the street was hedges and wheelie bins and cars that were neither old nor flash, exactly what you'd expect from people who couldn't afford anything better. A child's bike leaned against the wall by the door, with no chain on it and rust on the forks, and I wondered how long it had been there. I thought I might remember Tess mentioning something about Spike's little brother once, but there were no toys in evidence, nothing to hint at the type of family that lived here. Maybe he would have grown up with a little more respect for women if he'd had a sister to set him straight, but now wasn't the time to be thinking about what might have been. I was about to try knocking again when the door opened, slowly, and I was faced by a middle-aged woman with bags under her eyes. She was smaller than I'd expected, with a cardigan pulled over her hands, and she looked exhausted. I wondered what could have drained her so much. I revised my estimate, and decided that there were probably multiple kids here after all. And if the redness around her eyes meant she'd been crying, it was easy to imagine that they were all boys, and just as bad as Spike. I almost felt bad about bothering her, but this was something that needed to be dealt with. I could have let it go if this was just for my benefit, but I reminded myself that I was doing this to protect Tess. "Yeah?" she said, after a pause long enough that I'd started to wonder if she'd forgotten I was there. "Sorry to disturb you," I said, and used the name from the passport. "Mrs Luger? Spike's mother?" Something happened in her face at that, and she was quiet for a moment. "That’s… I’m not…" she started, and didn't finish. Then: "What's he done?" The tone was flat, but there was something a little off-putting. It took me a second to realise that she wasn't looking at me as she spoke; she was staring past me, as if I were made of glass, and her eyes were slow to move when they moved at all. She kept scratching at the inside of her forearm through the wool. For a second I thought I could smell booze in the noxious bouquet of odours drifting out of the house, stale smoke and something sweeter underneath it. I had to revise my opinion of this family again; if the little thug's mother was drunk in the middle of the afternoon, then it was only natural that he would have grown up without any sensible boundaries. He needed someone to set a good example, and this sure wasn't it. "I wondered if we could talk," I said, after a moment's thought didn't provide me with anything better than my original plan. "Spike's been spending a lot of time around my cousin, and I think he's bothering her. I hoped that perhaps you or his father could talk some sense into him." "He's a good boy." She said it quietly, but with more certainty than anything else she'd said. "He never hurt anybody. You can't say that about him." "He might be good at home, but he's been texting her a dozen times a day. He just won't understand that she's not interested. Maybe he just can't believe it, I don't know. But he's going to get himself in some real trouble if he doesn't–" "You can't say that." Her eyes went past me again, then back over her own shoulder into the hall, and her voice dropped even further. “You want to go. Honest. You want to go before–" I wondered if my words were getting through to the woman at all. She'd barely looked at me, and now she was trying to get rid of me without even hearing what I had to say. The more I saw, the more I was convinced that this problem was way larger than just one bad kid. The whole family needed a lesson in manners, and I couldn't understand how the father had let this happen. Was he away at work so often that he didn't even see what was happening in his home? "Look, maybe I should talk to the boy's father. When will he–" She laughed, which was the last thing I'd expected, and her eyes flickered towards one of the houses on the other side of the road. A little newer than its neighbours, maybe, an unimaginative brick box. “St James's,” Mrs Luger said eventually. “You’ll find him in St James's.” She wiped her nose on the cardigan. "Hero, everyone said. Big help that was to us." She rambled on, alternating between angry and melancholy in tone, but I could barely make out the words. It took me a few seconds to even understand what she was talking about. Then I thought about St James's church in South Raybridge, and the forest of stones all around it. “He’s dead?” I probably shouldn’t have said those words out loud. But the woman wasn’t even following. She nodded and kept on talking about what the guy had done, or hadn’t done, for her. Her train of thoughts was off the rails and going through a dozen different memories, never giving me the context necessary to understand what she was talking about, and half her words were so slurred that it was honestly difficult to work out what she was even saying. "Who is it?" A figure emerged into the hallway behind her. He wasn't quite shouting, but I got the immediate impression that this guy didn't have an indoor voice. He was dressed in a plaid shirt and cargo trousers that strained to contain middle-age spread, and he looked at me, then past me at my car, then back at me. "You buying or selling?" "No, I'm–" "You from the school?" His eyes went over my suit. "Social?" "No. I'm–" "She's looking for Spike," the woman said, without turning round. "He's not here." He came down the hall and put a hand on her shoulder, and she went back into the house like something on a track; she didn't say a word, and he didn't look at her. She stood behind him in the hallway and stared down at the frayed carpet like a kid waiting to be called on. I was a little relieved, if I was honest. For all the man’s bluntness, I was sure he was strong enough to make sure Spike got the message. "I wanted to speak to his parents," I said, trying to make a fresh start. "He's been bothering my little girl, Tess. Won't listen when she says she's not interested. Keeps on texting her." "Your little girl?” He leaned on the doorframe, and I had to fight against an urge to run. I told myself it was just the same old discomfort around men that Ffrances was always telling me I needed to get over; I could get through this if it was necessary to protect Tess. “She's my cousin,” I said, trying to fill the oppressive silence. “She lives with me. I'm responsible for her." "Right." He looked me up and down again, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that he'd decided something about me and wasn't going to share what it was. "So what?" "So I'd like him to stop." He looked at me a moment longer. Then he turned his head and shouted back into the house: "Your kid's causing trouble again. What did I say last time?" I froze then. The words weren't threats, but the sentiment behind them clearly was. And if there was any doubt, it would have been cleared up by the panicked sobbing that was the response of the woman just out of sight. I was trying to work out what was going on, and who this guy could be. Spike's father, despite his wife's assertion that he was dead? She'd seemed to have a pretty shaky grasp on the real world, but I wouldn't have thought it was that bad. But the words "your kid" seemed to point to the right answer. A stepfather, then. She'd remarried. I thought Tess might have mentioned his stepfather in the past, though I hadn't paid much attention because I hadn't realised then just what a problem the boy would become. And really, it made no difference to me who had fathered the boy. What mattered was that this man clearly ran the house, and he was clearly the sort who would act. "I'm sorry," I said, mumbling a little to buy time while I finished thinking about what I needed to say. His attitude was nothing like I had expected, and it might be harder to get him on my side. I didn't really like this guy, but I was sure that he would be able to get Spike to stop bothering my little girl if I could give him a good reason. I just had to understand him a little better, and I could start by remembering my manners; I'd been at the door for five minutes and hadn't even introduced myself properly. "We haven't been introduced. Mr Luger, is it?" He went still. It wasn't a long pause, but it was the first time since he'd appeared that he hadn't been moving or talking, and I noticed it. "What did you call me?" he said, quite quietly. "I'm sorry, I assumed–" "Who told you that name?" Then he had the front of my blouse in his fist and I was being dragged over the step towards him, and fear paralysed me. "You got some nerve saying that loser's name in my house." "Huh?" I gasped, trying to get the words out. The guy was shaking me like a doll now, and for the first time in my life I was genuinely afraid that I would be hurt. I should have known better than to trust a man, but it was too late to get away now. "He… Tess calls him that, he was… I thought it was…” I caught myself before I said anything about the boy’s passport I wasn’t sure why, but I felt it was a detail that would only lead to more trouble, and I congratulated myself later on keeping my head. "Enough," he said, and practically threw me down the path. I stumbled, and my shoulder hit the ground, barely missing one of the broken bottles in the undergrowth; the bike went over beside me with a clatter. "Fuck off, and I better not see you again. And tell that little shit he don't set foot in this house till he can explain himself." He turned back into the house, and raised his voice even more, if that were possible. "And YOU, your little–" The rest of the words were thankfully cut off as the door slammed behind him. As I got to my feet there was a small pale shape in the upstairs window that was gone by the time I looked properly; a curtain, probably. My hands were shaking as I got back to the car. I sat for a minute before I started the engine. It had not gone the way I'd planned, and an unpleasant man had put his hands on me, which was something I would have to keep from Tess, and from home, and which I would not be forgetting. But when I made myself think about it clearly, the outcome was what I had come for. That man ran his house, and he was going to deal with the boy. He hadn't needed persuading at all. Whatever Spike had been telling Tess about his family, he clearly had some explaining to do at home, and if he'd simply listened when she said no, none of this would have been necessary. I told myself that as I drove on to my appointment, struggling to ignore my bruised shoulder. I had work to get done now, and I'd done what I set out to do. -
By tomatoecheek · Posted
This brought back memories. I had a mom once. We met on line. She was barren so I filled the void as her little. Diapers and breastfeeding were common. Getting changed in front of her siblings or by them was also common. Thanks for the memories -
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A wet and messy Kiddo Fluffy Fly diaper this morning, sooooo nice!
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