Baby Talk

Thank you for  your imput

Can’t really suggest anything specific but just look at retail stores online and look for age appropriate toys on the site 

It's an interesting conversation. I'm coming at it from the perspective of a bit of an outsider, so I hope it's okay to chime in. I'm a cisgendered guy, married to a cisgendered woman, we have kids, everything is packaged very conventionally, when viewed from the outside. However, I do wear diapers fulltime, which is not particularly conventional. When it comes to clothing - my casual and business wardrobe, and even my underwear, back when I owned any that didn't fall into the category of a "diaper" of some sort, was all very standard fare for a suburban middle-aged dad type. However, when it comes to diapers, and the ABDL side of me, I've never minded the pink end of the spectrum. I like the girl's Goodnites better, although they are of no real use to me, because of capacity - but I had to try the XXL's when they came out a year or so ago, because the XL Goodnites were the first "real" commercial diaper product I tried on, when I went back to wearing diapers intermittently, after a 20+ year hiatus, carrying me from my teens, into my 30's (I was notably smaller then...). And of course, the ones I bought had the rainbows and butterflies on them. Why? I don't know. I think it might go all the way back to my being transfixed by my older sister's pink plastic pants, when I found them in a box of old baby stuff, as a little kid.  Here I am, many moons later, a guy who wears diapers fulltime, and is "out" (sort of) with my immediate family and some select friends (although they only know I wear diapers, they don't necessarily have visibility to the ABDL angle). I have some pink diapers in the mix, and my wife seems okay with it, or as okay as she is with anything I wear in that category - I'm not sure she looks much beyond "absurdly printed diaper", to discern any messages hidden in the details thereof. I have a couple of dozen pacifiers - I use them nightly, and have for years - and probably a third of them are in combinations of light or dark pink, and purples etc.  All of which is to say that perhaps the essentially "genderless" nature of the very young - society imposes, and/or confirmation bias confirms, most of the differences between boys and girls observed at early ages - creates a safer space for people to explore other points on the gender spectrum? I'm curious as to if there are any females out there, or any trans F to M folks, that have found age play, ABDL, or diapers, as a mechanism to explore their little boy sides, or if this is more often expressed in the inverse direction. 

Chapter Seven: Compliance Evaluation The hallway leading to the Compliance Suite was narrower than the others—low-lit, almost hushed. The tile gave way to soft vinyl flooring, designed to muffle footfalls. Sophie’s shoes squeaked faintly with every waddling step, but the sound was swallowed by the walls, as if even the Registry itself wanted silence here. This part of the building felt different. Less public. More controlled. More final. Mommy walked beside her without speaking. The leash hung loose between them, not taut like earlier. It didn’t need to be. Sophie wasn’t resisting anymore. Not after the Fitting. Not after the Mall. Her steps were slow, instinctive, as though her own body now understood that forward was the only direction left. A small sign appeared beside a glass door: COMPLIANCE EVALUATION — STATION 1 Behavioral Testing • Reflex Mapping • Submissive Protocol Verification A soft chime rang as they entered. The room was quiet. Not sterile, but... clinical in a different way. The walls were light blue. A padded mat covered most of the floor. A mirror stretched across the far wall. At first glance, it looked like a playroom. It wasn’t. A woman in a mauve smock stepped forward, tablet in hand. She looked to be in her forties—short hair, no nonsense in her expression. Her name tag read: Ms. Caulfield – Compliance Supervisor “Mommy,” she said with a nod. “Thank you for bringing her. You may remain silent unless prompted.” Mommy gave a respectful incline of her head. Sophie lowered hers automatically. The pacifier still filled her mouth. The leash remained clipped to her collar. Ms. Caulfield circled her slowly. “So this is our new B-F3. Hm.” She tapped her screen, then glanced at Sophie’s chest. “Registry bib. Pacifier locked. Diaper model confirmed. No outer layers. Good presentation. Very good.” She stopped in front of Sophie and held her gaze. “I want you to understand something, little one,” she said, voice smooth but utterly detached. “We’re not testing whether you’re wearing the right clothes. We’re testing whether your mind fits your body now. Do you understand?” Sophie nodded. “Do you know what happens to B-F3s who fail compliance?” Sophie hesitated—then nodded again. “Very good.” She reached forward and unclipped the leash, then gestured to the padded floor. “Lie down on your back. Arms and legs out. Eyes on the mirror.” Sophie waddled to the mat and lowered herself awkwardly. The thick diaper forced her knees apart even as she lay flat. Her arms extended outward, palms up. The pacifier bobbed with her shallow breaths. A soft beep. The mirror flickered. It wasn’t a mirror. It was a screen. A live feed of herself, from above—lying in a starfish pose, legs wide, diaper prominently on display, bib shining under the lights. Her image was being streamed and recorded. “Initiating Passive Reflex Test,” Ms. Caulfield said, tapping her tablet. “Remain still. No words. No covering.” From the ceiling, a robotic arm descended slowly. At its end: a soft-feathered touch pad. It began with her belly. The brush ran lightly down her abdomen, causing her stomach to twitch involuntarily. “Reflex registered,” said the voice overhead. Then the pad tickled the soles of her feet. Then behind her knees. Then the inner thigh, just along the diaper’s elastic edge. Sophie wriggled. “Reflex present. Compliance neutral.” The arm retracted. “Roll to all fours,” Ms. Caulfield ordered. Sophie obeyed. “Crawl once around the mat.” She began to crawl. The diaper’s bulk exaggerated her movement, forcing her rear higher than normal, her hips rolling in exaggerated babyish sways. Her romper rode up with every motion, exposing the printed tape line of her government diaper. When she completed the circle, Ms. Caulfield was smiling faintly. “You really are used to it now.” Sophie’s cheeks burned. She said nothing. “Now sit on your bottom. Legs out. Hands in lap.” Sophie sat. The pacifier muffled her breathing. A second panel opened in the wall, revealing an observation bay behind glass. Three figures stood behind it. Two were uniformed Registry officials. One wore a gray skirt suit. A badge on her chest read: Bureau of Behavioral Standards — Senior Liaison Ms. Caulfield turned to them. “We’ll begin final compliance in 30 seconds.” She turned back to Sophie. “Now then, little one. These next few tests are not just about following instructions. They’re about surrender. I’m going to ask you to humiliate yourself.” Sophie’s stomach flipped. “And you’re going to do it. Not because you’re forced to. But because it’s who you are now. Because this is your life.” She crouched in front of Sophie, her tone softening. “Say yes with your eyes.” Sophie blinked twice. Ms. Caulfield smiled. “Excellent.” She rose and addressed the observers. “Final three-part compliance test. Verbal surrender. Physical helplessness. Emotional softening.” She tapped her tablet. The pacifier unlocked with a soft click. Ms. Caulfield leaned in. “Tell me,” she said, voice low. “What kind of girl are you?” Sophie’s voice trembled. “I’m… I’m a Public Baby.” “Louder.” “I’m… a Public Baby,” Sophie said, voice cracking. “Do you wear diapers?” “Yes…” “Do you know how to use a toilet?” “No…” “Do you want to?” Sophie’s lower lip trembled. “No…” The observers were writing on clipboards. “Very good,” Ms. Caulfield said. “Now lie down. Spread your legs. Hands above your head.” Sophie obeyed. The nurse retrieved a small mobile camera and aimed it downward, recording. “This is the position you’ll use during public changes,” she said. “Hands must never interfere. Diaper must be accessible. Eyes on the ceiling.” Sophie’s heart pounded. The camera buzzed. Lights flickered. Then it stopped. “Sit up.” Sophie sat. Her face burned. “Final phase,” Ms. Caulfield said, retrieving a plush bunny from a nearby drawer. She handed it to Sophie. “Cuddle.” Sophie blinked. “Hold it. Rock gently. Suck your thumb.” Sophie did. Slowly, then naturally. Her thumb slid into her mouth. Her arms curled around the bunny. The observers stared in silence. Ms. Caulfield nodded. “She’s ready.” The overhead lights dimmed slightly. The screen went black. The observers walked away. Sophie looked up, dazed. “Pacifier,” Ms. Caulfield said. Sophie opened her mouth. The bulb slid in. The clasp clicked shut. “Put your head on Mommy’s shoulder.” Mommy stepped forward, kneeling beside her. Sophie leaned against her instinctively. Mommy rubbed her back. “She did perfectly,” Ms. Caulfield said. “She’s mine,” Mommy said softly, with pride. “No,” the nurse corrected. “She’s theirs. You’re just the handler.” Sophie didn’t hear them. Her eyes were fluttering shut. The bunny was warm. Her diaper felt thick. Her pacifier pulsed faintly in her mouth. The test was over. But her life had just begun. Chapter Eight: Nursery Transfer Sophie barely registered the click of the pacifier locking back in place. Her thumb still tingled from being inside her mouth just moments before. Her arms clutched the plush bunny loosely across her chest, and her eyes felt heavy from the emotional unraveling of the compliance test. Everything felt soft, hazy, unreal — like she’d been wrapped in cotton and carried away. But the leash tugged again. And the moment returned. She was still dressed in her Public Baby attire — pink romper, squeaky Mary Janes, thick B-F3 regulation diaper, pacifier locked in place, and now... a stuffed bunny. Her newest comfort item, handed over by a testing official, logged in her profile, and now permanently part of her daily inventory. “Time for transfer,” said a voice beside her. The Compliance Supervisor — Ms. Caulfield — handed Mommy a printed form. It had Sophie’s photo, registry barcode, and a status confirmation that read: CLASS B-F3: COMPLIANT — TRANSFER CLEARED To: Communal Care Nursery, Wing E, Room 112 Handler: Assigned Mommy (Temporary Custodial Claim) “She’s yours now, in the public record,” Ms. Caulfield said. “But she’s still government property. Remember your obligations.” Mommy smiled, slipping the form into her purse. “I wouldn’t dream of breaking protocol.” A new escort arrived to guide them — a tall woman in lavender scrubs with a Registry badge on her hip. Her tone was brisk. “This way. The nursery ward is through the east corridor.” The woman walked ahead without waiting. Mommy followed, her heels tapping. Sophie waddled after, holding her bunny tight. The hall grew warmer. The Registry offices had been sterile. Concrete. Bureaucratic. But here, the world shifted. The flooring was rubberized in pale pastels. Murals covered the walls—cartoon suns and rainbows, oversized butterflies, smiling bottles and rattles. Speakers played soft lullaby instrumentals overhead. They passed glass-walled rooms on either side. Sophie turned her head. In one room, four Littles sat in a playpen, chewing on toys and drinking from sippy cups, their diapers exposed and swollen. A caregiver in a pink apron spoon-fed one of them from a bowl of mashed carrots. In another, a row of changing tables lined the wall. One Little lay with her ankles in the air, crying softly as two nurses wiped her down. Her bib read: “NEEDS FREQUENT CHANGES.” Sophie looked down at her own bib. Hers was newer. Cleaner. But soon, it would be just another sign of belonging. They reached a pair of double doors labeled: COMMUNAL NURSERY – CLASS B DEPENDENTS ONLY A security scanner blinked red, then green as Mommy’s ID was verified. The doors opened. Inside was a massive shared nursery. The space was divided into soft play zones, nap stations, feeding corners, and bathing areas. Rows of cribs lined one wall—each adult-sized, each fitted with locking rails and soft restraints. The air smelled of powder, warm formula, and plastic. Voices echoed throughout — caregivers soothing, bottles being warmed, rubber toys squeaking. And eyes turned. Every Little in the room — dozens of them — paused to glance at Sophie as she stepped in. Some were sprawled out on the mats. Others lay in cribs. A few stood awkwardly, diapered and pacified, against the bars of supervised playpens. A tour group passed through the far corridor. Civilians. Visitors. They saw Sophie. And the clipboard-carrying tour guide gestured toward her, smiling. “This is one of our newest B-F3s,” she said to the group. “Transferred directly from Registry testing this morning.” A few people nodded. One woman took a photo. Another whispered, “She looks so little already.” Sophie’s knees wobbled. But Mommy’s hand touched her shoulder — firm and grounding. “She’s going to thrive here,” Mommy said confidently. “Aren’t you, little one?” Sophie blinked twice. The bunny in her arms shifted. The escort gestured to the left. “Crib 112. Assigned bed, bath unit, and cubby. She’ll be scheduled for first diaper check in thirty minutes, then lunch group. Nap at 1400.” They passed rows of caregivers in aprons, all bustling quietly between Littles. Some fed bottles. Some changed diapers. Some simply held their dependents and rocked them. No one seemed rushed. This wasn’t a temporary space. It was a life. Crib 112 stood at the far end — polished white bars, pink bumper pads, and a mobile spinning overhead with alphabet blocks. Inside, the mattress was thick, the sheets decorated with babyish prints. Mommy opened the rail. “In you go.” Sophie obeyed. She climbed in slowly, one foot at a time. The diaper forced her to kneel first, then sit, then roll onto her back. Her bunny lay beside her. Mommy raised the rail and clicked it shut. Then came the bracelet. A caregiver arrived and fastened a pink hospital-style band around Sophie’s wrist, then scanned her barcode. The screen above the crib lit up: SOPHIE – B-F3 – COMPLIANT Diaper Status: UNKNOWN – DUE FOR CHECK Feeding Schedule: 11:30, 16:00 Nap: 14:00 Stimulation: Passive Only Special Instructions: FULL VISIBILITY – PACIFIER LOCKED – NO OUTSIDE CLOTHING Sophie stared at the screen. It blinked gently every few seconds. Her new identity. Institutional. Controlled. Monitored. Another caregiver arrived and began laying out a new bib, wipes, and a sealed diaper bag in the cubby marked with her name. “I’ll leave her in your care,” Mommy said to the staffer. The woman nodded. “She’ll be safe here.” Mommy turned to Sophie, kneeling beside the crib. Her voice dropped into something warmer, softer — maternal. “I’m so proud of you, baby girl,” she whispered. Her fingers touched the side of Sophie’s face, brushing the edge of the pacifier guard. “You’ve let go of everything. Even the right to hide.” Sophie blinked. Her lip quivered slightly behind the pacifier bulb. Mommy leaned closer and kissed her forehead. “I’ll visit. Often. But you’re theirs now. You belong here. Under their care.” The moment lingered. Then she stood, brushed down her skirt, and turned toward the exit. Sophie reached out, instinctively — one last gesture of protest. The rail stayed up. And Mommy was already walking away. As her footsteps faded, the world around Sophie seemed to settle. The hum of bottle warmers. The shuffle of diapers. The soft music from the mobile spinning above her. Another caregiver approached with a clipboard. “Let’s do your first diaper check,” she said. The rail lowered. Sophie didn’t resist. She lifted her legs. And the check began. Chapter Nine: The First Change The crib bars clicked back into their locked position. Sophie lay still. Her legs were parted by the bulk of her government-issued diaper, the ruffles of her romper rising gently with each breath. Her pacifier clicked softly between her lips. The plush bunny rested beside her head, one fuzzy ear trapped beneath her cheek. On the screen above her crib, her status blinked: Diaper: UNKNOWN — CHECK DUE Feeding: SCHEDULED Compliance: CONFIRMED She watched the words scroll. And waited. She didn’t have to wait long. A caregiver appeared at the foot of her crib. Blonde, tall, maybe early thirties, with a badge clipped to her apron and a clipboard tucked beneath her arm. “Sophie B-F3?” she asked, even though the display already confirmed it. Sophie nodded, her pacifier bobbing gently. The woman unlatched the crib rail with a swift, practiced motion and lowered it fully. “I’m Nurse Kara,” she said. “This will be your first institutional diaper change. Do you understand what that means?” Sophie nodded again, slower this time. “It means no talking. No helping. No hiding. From now on, changes are done to you, not with you. You are not consulted. You are not in control. Is that clear?” Sophie’s heart pounded. Another nod. “Good girl.” Kara set her clipboard on the nearby table, then reached into the cubby and withdrew a fresh B-F3 diaper packet. It was thick, pastel-pink, printed with a tiny repeating Registry seal and reinforced leak guards. The package crinkled as she tore it open. She laid it out beside Sophie with ceremony. “Legs up.” Sophie’s cheeks flamed. But she obeyed. Her knees lifted shakily, diaper rustling, as she exposed her padded bottom for the first time in the nursery. Kara unsnapped the crotch of her romper and pushed the fabric upward, pinning it against Sophie’s chest. The diaper below was swollen. The moisture indicator was bold and blue. “Already wet,” Kara said matter-of-factly. “Typical for first transitions. Some Littles resist at first. Others… embrace it.” She pressed two fingers into the front of the diaper and gave it a slow, deliberate squeeze. Sophie gasped behind her pacifier. “Very wet,” Kara added. “Perfect timing for a change.” She unfastened the tapes with a rapid rip-rip-rip, folding the front panel down and exposing Sophie completely. The air rushed in — cool, clinical, and humiliating. Sophie stared at the ceiling. She didn’t dare look down. She didn’t need to. She could feel it. The wetness. The exposure. The ease with which Kara now saw every inch of her most private self. And there was nothing she could do about it. “Ankles up.” Kara lifted Sophie’s legs into the air with one hand and slid the soiled diaper out from beneath her. With the other, she reached for a wipe from the warming dispenser. Cold. Wet. Thorough. Each stroke made Sophie squirm. Kara wiped front to back, top to bottom, everywhere. No inch was spared. Her movements were efficient. Detached. Not cruel—but not tender either. She had done this a hundred times. She’d do it a hundred more. Sophie was just a task. Once wiped, Kara folded the used diaper, sealed it, and dropped it into the disposal chute. She reached for the new diaper and slid it underneath Sophie’s lifted bottom. “This brand includes tamper tape, position tracking, and chemical analysis sensors,” she said as she worked. “If you attempt to remove it, we’ll know. If someone else tries, we’ll know. If it leaks, flags are raised.” She dusted Sophie’s skin with powder, the soft puff of lavender clinging to her thighs and belly. Then came the fresh padding. Kara pulled the front up and over Sophie’s exposed skin. The tapes clicked shut. One. Two. Three. Four. The seal was unmistakable. Sophie’s legs dropped open again. The new diaper forced them apart, even thicker than the last. A bulge so prominent she could barely close her knees, even if she wanted to. And she didn’t try. The romper was resnapped at the crotch, pulled down and smoothed across her chest. Kara adjusted the frills, then pulled Sophie’s socks back into place. The pacifier never left her mouth. “You’ve been changed,” Kara said, scanning the bracelet on Sophie’s wrist. “Status updated. Next change scheduled at 2:00 PM, unless early wetting is detected.” She tapped the screen above the crib. It blinked and updated: Diaper: FRESH — MONITORING ACTIVE Next Check: 14:00 Feeding: PREPARED She looked down at Sophie again. “You did fine.” Sophie met her eyes — just for a second. Not with gratitude. But with resignation. Kara gave a short nod. Then she raised the crib rail, locked it, and moved on. Sophie rolled onto her side, bunny curled into her arms, pacifier bobbing gently with every breath. And for the first time, it didn’t feel like something was happening to her. It felt like something was normal. Her new normal. Because this wasn’t her first change. It was her routine. And it would happen again. And again. And again. Forever. Chapter Ten: Afternoon Feeding Time A soft chime echoed through the nursery, followed by a gentle voice from the intercom: “Attention caregivers: all B-class Littles assigned to Group B3, please begin preparations for afternoon feeding. Highchair stations are active. Bottles are ready for distribution. Supervised feeding begins now.” Sophie blinked awake. She hadn’t realized she’d dozed off. The post-change haze had settled over her like a blanket—warm, thick, emotional. She’d curled on her side with her plush bunny, her pacifier bobbing gently between her lips, and somewhere in that stillness, sleep had found her. But now, the world stirred again. Caregivers moved briskly around the nursery. Littles were gently lifted from cribs, guided from mats, roused from nap corners. The air filled with soft voices, plastic rustles, and the ever-present undertone of crinkling diapers. The crib rail in front of Sophie lowered with a soft hiss. “Sophie?” It was Nurse Kara again, clipboard in hand. Sophie nodded, still groggy, pacifier bobbing. “Feeding time. Let’s get you settled.” She reached out and took Sophie by the hands, lifting her into a seated position. The bunny was left behind as Sophie’s legs swung over the crib edge. Her feet touched the floor with a squeak. Her diaper was already thick and warm again. She hadn’t even noticed. Kara didn’t mention it. The leash was clipped to Sophie’s collar. With gentle tugs and encouraging coos, she was led across the nursery, her romper bouncing with each waddled step, her thick padding forcing her gait wide and unsteady. Other Littles were gathering too, all in varying stages of helplessness. Some toddled. Others crawled. One was carried, her legs splayed awkwardly over a caregiver’s hip. They arrived at the feeding zone. It looked, at first glance, like a preschool cafeteria — but scaled up. Rows of adult-sized highchairs lined the wall, each one secured to the floor. They were molded plastic, brightly colored, with five-point harnesses and tray tables that latched into place with a heavy click. Kara guided Sophie into an empty chair — pale pink, with her name and registry number printed across the back in cheery bubble font. SOPHIE – B-F3 – COMPLIANT She was lifted gently under the arms and lowered into the seat. Her diaper squished loudly as it settled into the molded base. The highchair was deep. Restrictive. The tray table came next, sliding in with a clack and locking tight. Sophie’s arms now rested on top, her legs bowed beneath the tray, completely immobilized. The harness came last. Two straps over the shoulders. One between the legs. One across the lap. All five met at a central buckle at her chest, which clicked shut with mechanical finality. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t leave. She was ready to be fed. Kara adjusted the straps, then stood back to admire the scene. “There we go. Snug as a little bug.” Sophie’s cheeks burned. Her pacifier pulsed between her lips. She didn’t dare protest. “Let’s get your lunch,” Kara said, stepping away. Sophie watched the other Littles being strapped in. Each wore something infantilizing—onesies, bonnets, bibs, training mittens. Their expressions ranged from dazed to docile to tearful. But none resisted. No one even tried. This was just… expected. Kara returned moments later with a tray: a sealed container of puréed sweet potatoes, a bottle filled with warm formula, and a divided bowl containing three soft, mushy textures that barely counted as food. She set the tray on Sophie’s table. “Let’s pop this out so you can open wide for me,” Kara said. Her fingers reached behind Sophie’s ears and undid the pacifier clasp. The bulb popped from her mouth with a wet sound. A trail of drool clung to Sophie’s chin. Kara wiped it with a napkin. Then she picked up the spoon. Sophie’s stomach clenched. The first bite was warm. Bland. Soft. The sweet potatoes tasted faintly metallic, like they’d come from a bulk government tub. “Open wide,” Kara cooed, gently tapping Sophie’s chin. Sophie obeyed. Another bite. Then another. Each time, Kara offered exaggerated praise. “Good girl! Oh, you’re such a hungry baby. Big mouth, big bite, big swallow!” She wiped Sophie’s chin frequently, even when it wasn’t messy. It was part of the show. Halfway through the tray, Sophie’s mind began to drift. She wasn’t choosing this. She wasn’t negotiating. She wasn’t eating. She was being fed. She felt the difference. A bottle followed — thick formula, sweetened just slightly, designed for heavy Littles. The nipple was long, firm. Kara pushed it between Sophie’s lips and held it in place. “Drink it all,” she said softly. “You don’t stop ‘til it’s empty.” Sophie suckled automatically. The formula flowed slowly, coating her tongue, pooling in her cheeks. Her jaw ached. Her throat worked rhythmically. She couldn’t spit it out. She couldn’t even turn her head. She was strapped in, diapered, bibbed, restrained — and hungry. So she drank. Kara rubbed her tummy gently as she suckled. “That's a good Public Baby,” she whispered. “Drinking without fuss. You’ll earn a gold star.” Sophie flushed. The words made something squirm deep inside her. Approval. Craving it. Feeding for it. The bottle emptied. Kara removed it and wiped Sophie’s lips. “Burp time.” She released the harness straps and lifted Sophie to her shoulder with practiced ease. Her hand patted gently against Sophie’s back, rhythmic and humiliating. Sophie whimpered. Then— Buurrrp. Kara giggled. “There it is!” She laid Sophie back in the chair and reclipped the harness. “Feeding complete. Diaper check in one hour. Nap soon after.” Sophie didn’t respond. She just suckled the air quietly, her lips already seeking her pacifier. Kara noticed. “Oh, someone’s eager.” She retrieved the pacifier, pushed it gently between Sophie’s lips, and locked it back in place. “There we go. All full. All cozy.” Sophie rested her head against the highchair. Her diaper was wet again. Her belly full. Her mouth silenced. And her world? Scheduled. Chapter Eleven: Nap Time and Accidents The highchair straps released with a quiet click. Sophie slumped forward slightly, still suckling the pacifier that had been reinserted moments ago. Her tummy was warm and round, full of thick formula and soft purées, and her head felt just the slightest bit foggy — from the food, from the routine, from the praise. “Let’s get you settled down, sweetheart,” Nurse Kara said, brushing a stray curl from Sophie’s forehead. Sophie didn’t respond. She simply looked up, eyes slightly glazed, her cheeks still pink from being burped in front of six other Littles. Kara helped her down from the chair, steadying her beneath the armpits as her feet touched the floor. Sophie swayed slightly, the mass of her diaper squishing loudly as she stood. “Uh-oh,” Kara cooed quietly. “Hefty already? You’ve been such a soggy little thing today.” Sophie whimpered through the pacifier. Kara reached down and gave the front of the diaper a firm squeeze. “Mmhmm,” she confirmed. “Nice and warm. We’ll handle that after nap time.” The words dropped like stones in Sophie’s stomach. No urgency. No attempt to clean her. Just noted. Like she wasn’t a person anymore — just a scheduled item. Kara turned and tugged gently on Sophie’s leash, guiding her across the nursery. Others were already being tucked in. Some were in cribs. Some were laid out in soft nap mats, spread-eagled in thick diapers, pacifiers bobbing, cuddling plush animals that looked cartoonishly small in their adult-sized arms. Sophie waddled between them, her thighs brushing with each awkward step. The room was dimmed. Lullaby music played gently over the speakers. A faint scent of chamomile drifted from a diffuser in the corner. It wasn’t just nap time. It was programmed regression. Kara led Sophie back to Crib 112 and opened the rail. “In you go,” she whispered. Sophie climbed in, clutching her plush bunny automatically. Her arms curled around its soft body as she lay down. Her diapered bottom sunk into the foam mattress with a faint crinkle. The rail came up again. Clack. “Arms around bunny. Eyes closed,” Kara murmured. “Good little girls sleep when they’re told.” Sophie obeyed. A soft blanket was draped over her body. Her pacifier bobbed slowly as she suckled. She could hear her own breathing — shallow, rhythmic — and the soft whimpers and snuffles of other Littles settling down nearby. Her eyes fluttered. Sleep didn’t come like a thief. It came like an invitation. No thoughts. No resistance. No space left to fight. She drifted. And then… Warmth. It started slow. Deep in her belly, something shifted. A pressure. A need. Somewhere in the fog of her mind, she registered it. She squirmed slightly under the blanket. The bulk of the diaper pressed against her. Her legs wouldn’t close. Her knees wouldn’t rise. There was nowhere to press, no posture of control left to take. And so— She let go. The warmth bloomed around her bottom, rushing into the soft folds of her diaper with a spreading heaviness. A faint hiss filled the space around her hips. Her thighs parted further. Her body relaxed. She didn’t fully wake. Not yet. She barely noticed it when the pressure in her tummy twisted again — deeper this time. A cramp. She groaned softly around the pacifier, one hand gripping the bunny tighter. There was no thought. No choice. Just release. The soft padding accepted it all. She made a noise — part sigh, part sob — and slipped fully into sleep. Time passed. The lights slowly brightened. A soft chime signaled the end of nap time. Caregivers stirred, checking their tablets. Some began unfastening crib rails. Others gently stroked hair and cheeks. The nursery filled with waking murmurs and rustling plastic. Nurse Kara returned to Crib 112. She checked the display above the bars. SOPHIE — B-F3 NAP COMPLETE DIAPER STATUS: FLAGGED — MULTI-ZONE SATURATION ACTION REQUIRED: CHANGE – PRIORITY She clicked her tongue. “Messy, huh?” She lowered the rail and leaned in. Sophie stirred, eyes blinking slowly. The pacifier was still in her mouth. The bunny was still clutched to her chest. But something was wrong. Her diaper was heavy. Not just wet. Full. Thick with shame. Warm against her bottom. Dense in the seat. Kara gently rolled her onto her back. Sophie whimpered. “Ohhh yes,” Kara whispered, fingers pressing firmly against the seat of the diaper. “Definitely messy. You made your first institutional poopy, didn’t you?” Sophie’s face burned. She hadn’t meant to. But now it was recorded. Flagged. Known. Kara didn’t scold her. She praised her. “That’s a good baby,” she said, smiling. “You’re already adjusting.” She turned and tapped the alert on the crib’s screen. “First mess confirmed. Initiating cleanup protocol.” A second caregiver arrived with a rolling cart. Wipes. Cream. Powder. A change mat. Two clean diapers. “Better double her up,” Kara said. “She’s a wetter and a messer now.” The rail was lowered fully. Sophie was helped onto the mat and laid flat. The caregivers chatted softly as they unfastened the bloated diaper, unfolding it slowly, like a flower. They didn’t wince. They didn’t flinch. They just wiped. And powdered. And fitted two fresh layers around her hips with mechanical precision. One tape. Two. Three. Four. Then the extras. Outer panties. Laminated “DIAPERED – CHANGING RESTRICTED” tag on her bib. All sealed. All done. Sophie lay there, red-faced, blinking slowly. Not from shame. But from the realization: No one cared that she’d messed herself. Because it was expected.  

22. No More Problems By the end of her second week in her new home, Tess was really starting to feel comfortable there. All of her initial worries seemed to have drifted away. She could tell that Gabby felt like she should still be some kind of babysitter, making all of the child’s problems go away, but it really wasn’t necessary. And she was starting to see that Tess was capable of taking care of herself. Every day now, she woke up to smile at the plant on the corner of her desk. She didn’t have green fingers, so she thought that Spike had really made the perfect choice. It was a plastic sunflower, with a big smiling face in the middle of the flower, and it danced from side to side when the solar panel on the back of the pot was lit brightly enough. It made even her personal pink hell feel like a real home. Today was Friday again, and hopefully the first time she would be able to show her parents how much she had changed. They had managed to get proper Internet access now, and had promised a video call after she finished school. It would be a little stressful, but Gabby and Ffrances had promised to help her tidy her room first; so she could be absolutely sure that there was nothing a concerned mother would yell at her for. Ffrances, it turned out, was a very responsible person and only too happy to help with Tess’s studies if there were any subjects she knew about. She was a psychiatrist, but had also done a lot of different research in a decade at different universities, and it seemed she was extremely good at finding an answer to just about anything. She’d stayed over three times in the last week, and Tess was glad that she was here today, because it meant Gabby would be putting in a lot of extra effort with breakfast. She might be a good cook in general, but when she was trying to impress her girlfriend every detail had to be perfect. A good breakfast would put her in the perfect mood for breezing through Mr Minchin’s history test. She didn’t think it was easy, or that she would do spectacularly well, but with a good meal inside her it would be so much easier not to worry, which might give her a little advantage. Tess shook her head, pulled herself out of bed, and only then realised that something was wrong. A problem that she’d put behind her long ago, making an unexpected new appearance. Her pyjamas were wet again, and there was a small puddle in the middle of the sheets. She hadn’t woken up wet since the weekend before, and had been starting to think the problem had resolved itself. She couldn’t believe that this had happened, and she almost yelled something in frustration, before remembering that there were two people in the house today and that she desperately needed to keep her secret. Gabby guessing what had happened was one thing, but she couldn’t bear the thought of her cousin’s girlfriend thinking she was anything other than a responsible adult. She took a deep breath, and tried to put all the worries out of her mind. She had laundry to deal with, followed by an exam, a mostly boring day at school, and finally let her parents see how she was living. At least the first task had become a little easier since the weekend before, thanks to her housewarming gift from Ffrances, who apparently had a very practical mind hiding behind a figure anyone would be jealous of. She reached into the corner of the room and produced a large canvas bag. The bag held exactly the same volume of clothes that the washing machine could effectively clean, which meant that Tess could check before she brought stuff downstairs whether it would be one load or two. It was already filled with just about everything she had been wearing this week, about two-thirds full. She tipped it out onto the bed, scrunched the sheets up as best she could with the wet patch on the inside, and then returned all of her laundry, including the pyjamas she was wearing now, to the bag. It took some force to get everything in, but she thought it was good. She quickly changed into her school uniform, and then walked downstairs. She wasn’t surprised to hear movement coming from the attic room, or that the kitchen was still empty. She was up a little early today, and there was no need to rush. She loaded the laundry into the machine, tipped detergent into the tray, and turned it on. She was getting used to this chore now, and thought that after another week she would no longer need to think about which program to set the machine to. She paused, sniffed the air. Was there a faint smell of pee in here? It certainly wasn’t her; but there might have been an odor left behind as she carried the sheets downstairs. After a moment deep in thought, she turned on the coffee machine. That should solve that problem; nothing could overpower the smell of the oddly-sweet Hawaiian beans that Ffrances preferred. When she was sure she wasn’t unintentionally leaving any clues behind here, Tess returned to her own room. There might be a little smell in the air, but she could cover that up by opening the windows half an inch and lighting a sandalwood incense stick in the holder on her desk. Those had been another impulse buy from last week’s shopping, just in case of a contingency she’d been sure would never happen. But she was glad that she’d thought of it. She was an adult now, able to resolve every problem by herself. She was in the bathroom five minutes later when Ffrances came downstairs with Gabby close behind, both smiling. They gave the impression that they would have been holding hands, if the attic staircase hadn’t been just a little too narrow. Gabby waved a hand in front of her face, pantomiming the dispersal of something particularly noxious. More than likely she’d caught a gust of Emeraldine, a new perfume that was supposed to be the first choice of all the celebrities right now. It wasn’t a fragrance Tess would have bought, and she certainly wouldn’t have got the matching body spray, but it had been a gift from Aunt Mary and it would have been a waste not to give it a try. “Laundry day again?” Gabby said with a raised eyebrow when they reached the kitchen. “Just like last week. Better to get into a routine, right? And it seems like weekly is about right, I had a full bag of stuff.” “So grown up,” Ffrances admitted. “I would never have been so mature at your age. Hell, I’m still not organised enough to get up and put it in the machine before work.” It’s impressive,” Gabby agreed. “But sometimes I wonder if you’re trying too hard to pass yourself off as an adult. It’s okay to take a step back sometimes, you know. Have someone else help you, so you can relax a little.” “I’m good. I’ll tell you if I need anything.” “Sure. Now, what do you need this morning? Think waffles will hit the mark?” “Yes please!” Tess and Ffrances spoke at once, and Gabby turned back to the cupboard with a smile. The kind of expression that said they were close to being the family she had dreamed of. 23. What Matters Most The history exam was tough, but Tess was confident that a couple of study sessions with Gabby through the week had really helped. As he collected up the papers Mr Minchin glanced over her answers and gave her a rare smile, so she thought that was a good sign she could soon be rising above her accustomed position at the bottom of the class now. Once she got home she called her parents, and they turned the phone around to show her a brilliant sunset, while the sky at home was only grey. Later she realised it could have been a sunrise; she still wasn’t sure which way the time difference would be. They complimented her new blinds, and the plastic plant on her desk; and promised that next time they would be able to call from somewhere other than their apartment, and show her some of the wonderful sculpture parks that San Lorenzo was famous for. It all seemed like another world to Tess. After a couple of weeks living with Gabby, it was hard to remember how things had been when it was just her and her parents. She did her best to impress them with how well she was coping, showing them that she wasn’t as young as she looked. But somehow it seemed to matter less now. Not because she was any less determined to be considered an adult, but because they were so far away, and they weren’t actively involved in her life now. She could show them how she was living through video calls, or tell them all about it when she went to visit at Christmas, and it didn’t seem like it would make much difference. Days passed. She wanted to make a point of speaking to her family once a week, but it started to seem less important. She took them for a walk around the park opposite the house, to show them the quiet beauty of leaves falling from the trees, but those little chats didn’t feel like the high point of her week anymore. Talking to her parents had become a routine; like recounting tales of school and friends to Grandma Lexi once a week when she’d been younger. It was still a good thing, but it wasn’t a big deal. That particular conversation had carried on late into the night, which explained why Tess was now forcing her eyes open and trying to focus enough to make out the numbers ‘10:07’ on the clock beside her. It had been a long time since she’d slept in so late; she had been a naturally early riser even before adapting her schedule based on the time it took to get to school from here. Still, she was sure that she had slept well. She felt completely refreshed once her eyes were open; she’d gone to bed almost as soon as she’d finished talking to Dad, and hadn’t woken once in the night. “No!” she gasped, shifting position and realising that she wasn’t quite the adult she was still  hoping. One more wet bed, just when she was starting to hope that she’d put all that behind her. She’d thought that it was just because of the stress of moving, but that didn’t seem likely anymore. She had been here almost a month now, and must have woken up like this six or seven times. There was no sign that it was getting better, and no pattern that she could recognise. She didn’t know what to do, and she still couldn’t bring herself to admit the problem to anyone else. Could she speak to a doctor? Probably not. It was just too humiliating, something she couldn’t believe herself. She pulled herself out of bed, and went straight for the shower. Normally she might have rushed to get her laundry done before Gabby woke, but she knew that was impossible today. Her only option would be to get it done if her cousin went out for something. She didn’t know what their plans were today, but there was bound to be something that would take up an hour or two of Gabby’s time. Last Saturday, they had all gone to see the new Cerberus Shark movie, and Tess had found that conveniently forgetting her coat had given her an opportunity to put the washing machine on at record speed while the adults waited in the car; and she had somehow managed to tidy everything up again before they went into the kitchen on their return. But this secret was getting even harder to keep, especially when she had to keep on doing laundry more than once each week. Would she really be able to keep it up? While she stood in the shower with hot water pouring down around her, Tess tried to think of some kind of plan. Something she could do to keep her secret, or something she could do to stop it happening at all, but on both fronts she couldn’t come up with anything that wasn’t just hoping for the best. It was a miracle she’d managed to hide it so far, so she crossed her fingers and prayed for her good luck to continue. “Tess?” she heard Gabby’s voice outside on the landing, and frantically rubbed at her hair with the towel. “Are you awake yet? It’s been–” Tess opened the bathroom door and stepped out, a towel still wrapped around her. But Gabby had gone silent a second before. She was standing there now, the door to Tess’s room pushed half open. Checking to make sure her young cousin was okay, without realising which room she was in. “I… uhh…” “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I’ve been to the shops, and when I got back I saw you didn’t have breakfast yet. I was just a bit worried.” “Yeah, I overslept. Thought I should have a shower.” “So, is there something we need to talk about?” “No,” Tess said firmly. But it seemed Gabby was still waiting for an answer: “No, I can deal with it by myself. It’s just a fluke, it could happen to anyone. I don’t need…” She took a deep breath, fighting back the urge to start crying. She’d tried so hard, done everything right, and still her cousin was there to laugh at her. In that moment it seemed that everything had gone wrong at once, like her whole life was about to fall apart. “I see. You don’t have to be the strong one all the time, you know? You’ve seen Ffrances being the supportive carer when I was feeling ill. Heck, you looked after me when I’d had too much wine the night before. People support each other. When you’ve got a problem, you can trust the people around you to help. Now, how about you get some clothes on, while I sort breakfast. Then I can sort out the laundry while you eat, and you’ll feel better after you have something hot inside you, right? And then we can talk properly, like adults.” “You’re not going to call me a baby,” she demanded, but as the words came out she heard that it sounded more like a question. “You’re going to laugh at me?” “Tess, I’ll never laugh at you. But think about it like this. When you got stuck on your history exam, what did you do? You couldn’t remember a president’s name, so you put Stalin and laughed about it with your friends afterwards. You took away your worries by making it a joke, and that cheered you up enough to carry on with the next question and not  get hung up on a little failure. That’s what you always do; you laugh at every mistake, even your own, and that gives you more strength to keep going. Maybe it would be better for you if you could allow yourself to laugh at this as well.” “But I’m not a…” She couldn’t even say the word now. “I know. But maybe if you didn’t let it bother you so much, you might find it easier. Reject stress, go back to baby. Or something like that.” This time, Tess could laugh a little. Not so much at her own misfortune, but she appreciated her cousin’s almost-successful attempts to understand the current generation’s memes. “Now, you can get dressed. Let me help once in a while. Okay?”