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Baby Talk

Let your baby side show.


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  1. Site Rules

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  2. Post When Wet 1 2 3 4 12

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  3. 8 year memory

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  4. Crinkly

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  5. Strange First

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  6. Age Dysphoria?

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  7. Baby Cot

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  • Posts

    • Gwen Bernardino stood at the front of her classroom, pen tapping a steady rhythm against the desk as the last few students shuffled in. The bell had already rung, its sharp tone still lingering in the air, but she waited for those final stragglers who insisted on cutting it close. She’d grown used to the ebb and flow of teenage energy, the half‑awake chatter, the rustling backpacks. What she hadn’t grown used to was him. Ten minutes late, probably deliberately, James finally pushed open the door. The star of the football team, adored by half the school and indulged by the other half, strolled inside with the casual arrogance of someone who’d never been told “no.” He didn’t bother with an apology. Instead, he dropped into his seat with a loud scrape of the chair, immediately whispering to the nearest classmate and drawing snickers from across the room.   Gwen felt her jaw tighten. This wasn’t a one‑time slip or a rough morning. This was a pattern ic immature and arrogant behaviour, tardiness, constant disruption, a blatant disregard for the space she worked hard to maintain. She watched him lean back, tapping his pen against the desk in a way that set her nerves on edge. She refused to let immaturity or entitlement dictate the tone of her classroom. He was going to face consequences. "James, enough! Now do you have an answer to the question? Or did you not do the assignment?"
    • I continued to yell for her return for a few more minutes, but eventually I gave up. I sunk back into the crib reluctantly, huffing angrily as I tried to find some sort of comfort with the cold diaper around my waist. I turned, sleeping on my side and bringing my knees closer to my chest, trying to stay still as not to jostle the wet diaper against me.  "I-I'll get out of here... I'll get out of here," I repeated in my head, trying to calm my breathing as I closed my eyes, and after awhile finally falling back into a, thankfully, dreamless sleep. Hoping I'd be out of this damn diaper soon...
    • Anya easily ignored the boy's pleas. He hadn't even called out for 'mama', so there was no incentive for her to go help him! She climbed back into bed, turned down the volume of the baby monitor, and closed her eyes. She wasn't worried about him- it was only a few more hours until when she normally got up, he would survive! It was sort of cute to hear him beg through the monitor... If only he would use the more appropriate baby talk, maybe she even would have considered going back to comfort him! But unfortunately, he spoke to her with disrespect, so she ignored him and left him to suffer. Soon, Anya was back asleep, and the poor little guy was stuck there in a soggy padded prison!
    • Jace nodded slowly and began to ear the vegetables from the plate in front of him. He scooted right up to the edge of the playpen, so he could be as close to Anya as possible. He giggled at the shows, blushing when Anya asked him a question about the one and he replied with a veritable avalanche of information. It was clear that he'd been a fan of the show even before he'd come to stay with her. The issue came when he had almost finished his snack, there was one food left. Jace put down the plastic plafe and nearly shoved it away. "No more snack... cucumbers are blegh!" He whined, making an exaggerated noise of disgust.
    • As she stood I assumed she was taking me to the changing table but to my shock she simply deposited me back into the crib!  "Wh-what?!" I questioned as she settle me back beneath the blankets, the cold diaper now impossible to ignore, "Y-you can't be serious!" But it was no use as she sauntered out! "No! No come back!" i demanded, raising my voice now so she could hear me through the locked door, "you can't leave me in a wet diaper all night! Come back here!"  And as I called out for her I realized... she had given me her name... Anya... or as she'd seemingly prefer me to call her "Mama Anya." But at the very least.... it was new information.  "Anya!" I yelled once again, "Get back here!" 
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