![[DD] Boards & Chat](https://www.dailydiapers.com/board/uploads/monthly_2021_11/DDweb-02.png.0c06f38ea7c6e581d61ce22dffdea106.png)
 |
Baby Talk
Let your baby side show.
1,626 topics in this forum
-
- 0 replies
- 12.8k views
-
- 3 replies
- 67 views
-
- 48 replies
- 3.3k views
-
- 31 replies
- 4.2k views
-
- 24 replies
- 2.2k views
-
- 1 reply
- 134 views
-
- 53 replies
- 9.8k views
-
- 63 replies
- 9.3k views
-
- 6 replies
- 226 views
-
- 5 replies
- 331 views
-
- 0 replies
- 157 views
-
- 0 replies
- 127 views
-
- 298 replies
- 44k views
-
- 3 replies
- 224 views
-
- 6 replies
- 717 views
-
- 15 replies
- 1k views
-
- 41 replies
- 4.9k views
-
- 86 replies
- 15.1k views
-
- 36 replies
- 5.7k views
-
- 0 replies
- 255 views
-
- 12 replies
- 897 views
-
- 1 reply
- 297 views
-
- 4 replies
- 253 views
-
- 0 replies
- 147 views
-
- 16 replies
- 2.6k views
-
Current Donation Goals
-
General FundRaised $100
-
-
-
Posts
-
By daddy4youbaby · Posted
Wow you are 64 and play real young AP like 1 or 2.? I think that be my the hottest thing I've ever heard of experienced from someone else would you be willjng to talk about jt more at like.? I have so much i would like to chat about jt if you are open? sg ljke. -
By non-verbal_autismboy · Posted
Chris lived in a world where comfort mattered more than anything else. Some people did not understand that, but Chris did. His brain noticed everything. A shirt tag could feel like sandpaper. A bright light could feel like a shout. A sudden sound could make his whole body tense up like a startled kitten. Chris had autism level 2, sensory processing struggles, epilepsy, and incontinence, so his days worked best when they were gentle, predictable, and kind. His home was built around that idea. Not a fancy home, not a perfect home, but a safe home. And the safest place of all was his sleep safe bed. It was an enclosed bed with soft padding on the inside, like a cozy little nest. The padding made him feel protected, and the enclosure made the room feel smaller and calmer when his thoughts got loud. Inside the bed he had a dragon blanket, a big plush dinosaur, and a pillow shaped like a cloud. The dragon blanket was his favorite because it felt smooth and heavy in the right way, like a friendly hug that never asked questions. Every morning started the same way. A caregiver named Sam would walk in with a quiet smile and a calm voice. “Good morning, Chris,” Sam said gently. “Your world is safe. Your day is yours.” Chris liked that sentence. It was a reminder, like putting both feet on the ground. Sam opened the bed carefully and helped Chris sit up slowly, because fast movements could make his body feel strange. Chris blinked a few times, then reached for his pacifier from the little basket beside the bed. It was not a baby thing to Chris. It was a comfort thing. It helped his mouth feel calm. It helped his breathing slow down. It helped the buzzing in his head settle like snow drifting to the ground. Sam did not tease. Sam never acted weird about it. Sam just said, “Here you go,” the same way you would hand someone their glasses or their favorite hoodie. Then came the next part of the routine. Clean, dry, comfortable. Chris needed help with hygiene and changing. Some mornings he could not tell if he was wet, and he definitely did not want to guess. Guessing made him anxious. So Sam helped him with a gentle check, then a change, then skin protection, then clean clothes. Chris had a whole drawer of one piece outfits. Soft onesies. Cozy rompers. Shortalls with snaps. Clothes that stayed in place and did not bunch up, clothes that felt safe when he moved around. Some had fun patterns, too. Stars, dinosaurs, little clouds, friendly dragons. Chris did not want clothes that felt plain and scratchy. He wanted clothes that felt like a good mood. After dressing, Sam would say, “All set. You’re comfy and safe.” Chris’s shoulders would drop a little, like his body finally believed it. Breakfast came next. Chris liked being fed like an infant when his brain felt too fuzzy for normal grown up routines. He had trouble with coordination sometimes, and when he got overwhelmed, eating could feel like a confusing puzzle. So breakfast was simple and comforting. Sam warmed a bottle and tested it carefully. Chris watched the steam rise and felt his mind start to relax. The bottle was familiar. Predictable. No spills. No loud utensils. No sudden textures. Chris held the bottle with both hands while Sam supported his posture and helped him take breaks. Slow sips. Calm breaths. No rushing. Between sips, Chris would look around the room at his toy shelf. It was a happy shelf. Plushies lined up like friends. A sensory chew toy. A soft rattle. A squishy stress ball shaped like a strawberry. A light up toy that changed colors slowly, not flashing, just drifting from blue to green to purple like a quiet ocean. Chris had a rule for toys. If it made him feel safe, it belonged. If it made his nerves feel sharp, it stayed away. After breakfast, it was time for the wheelchair. Chris used a wheelchair for mobility, and it had a safety harness that he could not remove by himself. It was not a punishment. It was protection. Chris sometimes had elopement issues, and sometimes his body did things before his brain could catch up. The harness kept him from slipping, leaning dangerously, or trying to bolt when he was overwhelmed. It kept his center steady. It kept his day from turning into a scary emergency. Sam checked everything the same way every time. Harness secure. Straps comfortable. No pinching. No twisting. Breathing free. Chest clear. Hips supported. Feet positioned. Sam spoke the checklist softly as if the words themselves were part of the safety. “Secure and comfy. You’re in control of your day. I’m just here to keep you safe.” Chris liked the harness when it was adjusted right. It made him feel held, like a seatbelt in a car. It reminded him that he did not have to fight his own body to stay safe. Then came floor time. This was the part of the day Chris looked forward to the most. Sam rolled the wheelchair to the padded play area, then helped Chris transfer safely onto a thick, clean mat. There were pillows all around, and soft foam blocks that could not hurt him. Chris could play like an infant, moving slowly, exploring his toys, doing what his body needed to do. He stacked blocks and knocked them down. He hugged his plush dragon and pressed his cheek into the soft fabric. He rolled a sensory ball back and forth and watched the light glide inside it like a firefly. Sometimes Chris made happy little sounds without meaning to. A soft hum. A gentle squeak. A breathy giggle when a toy bounced in a silly way. Sam would smile and say, “That was a good giggle.” Chris did not always use a lot of words, but he had a lot of feelings. And on the floor, he could feel the good ones. Around midday, Sam prepared a bath. Bath time had to be done carefully because of sensory needs. Water could be too hot, too cold, too loud, too splashy. So Sam made it a calm event, almost like a ceremony. Soft light. Warm towels. No harsh smells. A gentle washcloth. A favorite bath toy, a little rubber whale. Chris sat supported, and Sam washed him with slow, predictable motions, explaining each step. “Washing arms now.” “Washing hair now.” “Rinsing now.” “All done.” Chris liked knowing what was coming. Surprises were hard. After the bath, Sam dressed him again in clean one piece clothes. Today’s outfit had tiny dragons on it. Chris tapped one dragon with his finger like he was saying hello. Then came lunch. Another bottle, plus a smooth food that did not surprise his mouth. Sam helped him eat at a pace that kept everything safe and comfortable. After lunch, Chris had quiet time in his bed. Sam helped him into the sleep safe bed and tucked the dragon blanket around him. The pacifier went back in. The room went quiet. A white noise machine made a soft sound like distant rain, steady and gentle. Chris’s eyes got heavy. Epilepsy could make his body tired, even on days without seizures. Rest was not optional. Rest was part of his care. Before leaving the room, Sam made sure everything was just right. Bed latched safely. Padding in place. Call button within reach. Water nearby. Lights dimmed. Sam said, “I’ll be right outside. You’re safe.” Chris fell asleep. In his dream, he was a tiny astronaut drifting through a warm, friendly galaxy. His plush dragon floated beside him like a guardian. Every star looked like a night light. Every planet looked like a toy ball. Nothing rushed him. Nothing startled him. When Chris woke up later, the afternoon felt lighter. Sam returned with a grin. “Guess what I found.” Sam held up a new toy, a big soft book with crinkly pages and bright pictures. Chris’s eyes widened. He reached out slowly, then pulled it close and pressed it to his chest. The crinkle sound was perfect. Not too loud. Not too sharp. Just right. He turned the pages. A smiling bear. A sleepy moon. A dragon wearing a crown. Chris pointed at the dragon. Sam said, “That’s you.” Chris’s mouth curled into a small smile around the pacifier. The rest of the day was simple in the best way. A little more floor play. A little music at a low volume. A small snack. A calm change. A gentle stretch. A stroll through the hallway in the wheelchair, with the harness secure and comfortable, while Sam described the world like a story. “The window is bright but the curtain is soft.” “The air feels cool.” “The house is quiet.” “You’re doing great.” When evening came, Sam helped Chris get ready for bed again. Clean. Dry. Comfortable. Safe. Chris climbed into the sleep safe bed, and the dragon blanket went over him like a shield made of softness. Sam placed the pacifier in the basket near his hand, even though Chris already had one, because backup comfort mattered. Then Sam did something special. Sam turned on a tiny projector that painted slow moving stars on the ceiling. Not flashing. Not fast. Just drifting, like calm thoughts. Chris watched the stars and felt his body settle. Sam said, “Your world can be gentle. You deserve gentle.” Chris did not speak much, but he reached out and tapped Sam’s hand once, a small signal that said everything. Thank you. Safe. Stay. Sam squeezed his hand softly and whispered, “Good night, Chris. The dragons are watching over you.” Chris fell asleep again, surrounded by padding, softness, familiar routines, and a life that met him where he was. Not a life trying to force him into someone else’s shape. A life built around safety. A life built around dignity. A life built around comfort. And in that calm little world, Chris was not “too much” or “not enough.” He was simply Chris. -
By rusty pins · Posted
I'm retired. Getting nothing done is one of the perks of being retired! Of course, I still get needed things done in between reading books, playing with the dog and watching TV. -
By BabyBear85 · Posted
James was stunned as he was bent over Hannah’s lap. He could hardly believe what was happening. Was he about to be… spanked??! The teasing about be a little boy and wearing bibs and diapers was cute and cheeky, but this was going to far! James wriggled and tried to get away, but it was no use as the older woman held him firmly across her knees. ”Hey! What do you think you’re doing!” He yelled out -
By rusty pins · Posted
I wear Abena L4 diapers and I have not noticed any issues with quality, either absorption or the tapes. Betterdry and Abena L4 are my go-to premium diapers for average day wear.
-