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Hi everyone, I'm wondering if the diaper artists have thought of selling some of their works as stickers for disposable diapers? I've bought the AB Universe stickers and think they are fantastic. ABU keeps adding to their image inventory (I really want to get the RC plane and car sticker) and hope they will continue to expand the selection. I think even the Little Pawz could benefit from some of the artistic work out there (see attachment). I particularly like the artistic style used by Tavimunk. Of course you can't use the MLP images due to copy right issues I'm sure, but original art work by artist depicting images that would interest the diaper community would make great stickers. Subject matter might be anything -

I've started a much needed diet recently, I really shouldn't be left alone when it comes too food... I end up eating way to much junk and never any meals o.0

Invision is having problems with their licensing server, our license has NOT expired, they just can't properly read it. Should be fixed shortly, but it's an issue on their end so I can't say for sure when.

I don't care for this at all. I find it insulting to my intelligence that people think they're fooling me with their fantasy stories. And degrading that there's most likely a sexual gratification component in the person telling the story. I also think it does a lot of damage to people with actual true stories. We've basically been conditioned to reject anything far-fetched as fantasy, which is probably quite upsetting to the tiny minority of people who really are telling the truth about incredulous events. And frankly, I don't really understand why there's the necessity to lie about it. It doesn't seem to me that from a sexual perspective that it'd make a difference whether the author labeled it as true or not. Neither for the writer, or someone using the story for this purpose. But hey, if that part's important to them, then more power to them, I'd just ask that they go and congregate somewhere else away from me, like [That site]'s old "true stories" section.

Context, I think. It was done for a citywide

Plans. The nursery at Pembroke was in full production once again. Gran had been asked what she wanted for her eightieth birthday, and had replied that most of all she wanted to see her new great-grandchildren. This meant a large family gathering for a long weekend, and young Hal's territory had been seriously invaded. For a two-year old, this was something of a crisis; he was used to being the youngest, the baby and the centre of attention, but now he had to make room for the two new arrivals, the daughters of Juliet and Vickie, and he didn't like it. Not only had several dozen of his favourite toys been evicted from their rightful places on the floor to make space for a very large cot, but his nursery was now full of strange women and their babies, and his changing table was being used for them when he really wanted a change himself. Eventually, after seeing poor Hal shifting his weight from leg to leg uncomfortably, I took pity on him, and finding the changing table was now free, I hoiked him up onto it and slid his trousers down. That had the advantage of restricting his legs and stopping him from running away after I removed his soaking wet nappy. I was a bit lost here - not that I am short of experience with nappies; I had, after all, worn them and wet them every night myself until I was eleven, and I had done so even more recently for pleasure - but these were of a different type and new to me. Unlike the traditional terry squares and pants, or the paper disposables, these were made of a soft cloth backed with a plastic lining with a cloth soaker inside, and fastened with poppers at each side. I knew that Claire was a fanatical environmentalist and despised disposable nappies, but I didn't realise that, when she said Hal was in cloth nappies, she meant something much more modern than I had worn as a child. I made a mental note to ask Claire about them, and got on with cleaning young Hal up and fitting a fresh nappy on to him from the stack under the table. Hal insisted on standing up through the process to accentuate the fact the he was now a big boy who could stand up while he had his nappy changed unlike the little babies who had to put up with the indignity of lying on their backs. It made it much more difficult, but then even little boys have their dignity and it should be respected. I lifted Hal down to the floor again and took stock of the situation. Juliet was nursing Sally, every move being watched carefully by her elder daughter, Holly, who at ten years old was anxious to learn about babies and how to raise them. Vicky was sitting beside them with her new daughter Caroline, both babies born during the same night in the same maternity unit, and thus subject to ceaseless comparison. I had heard the news via an SMS message as I was boarding the airliner for New York, and I nearly turned back so much did I want to be with them. My business was a cruel one; I spent the next two weeks in New York, went straight to Rome, and it was a month before I was released to dash down to Cornwall to see them. Now I was trying to make up for lost time. Hal wanted to go downstairs to see his parents, a process that required an escort through the toddler gate, so I took his hand and led him. Near the bottom of the stairs we met William and Viola, the eldest of that crop of children. William took his duties as Leading Child quite seriously, but they stopped short of nappy-changing, while Viola, only a few months away from the Tyranny of the Pin herself, and in headlong pursuit of teenager-ship, would never be seen doing anything so gross. As we approached they stood up from their seat on a middle stair, and Viola carefully avoided the suspect hand of her little brother; sticky little hands just didn't go with the latest teenage fashion. I asked them where the men were, and was directed to the library. Perhaps I should have given more warning of my entry. Peter was standing in the middle of the room dressed in just his underpants, and the other men were carefully examining his recent war-wounds, with Matt giving a commentary. Hal gazed open mouthed. "Are they changing Uncle Peter's nappy?" he managed at last, to general amusement as Peter hastily hoisted his trousers and reached for his shirt. "No, dear," I managed at last, "Uncle Peter is a bit too old for nappies." Peter looked at me and winked, and I gave him my brightest smile; we both had memories. Passing Hal over to the lap of his father, Percy, with the assurance that he was freshly changed and thus unlikely to leak, I decided to make myself useful in the kitchen where tea was being prepared. I found Claire in there with Maria, her Filipino cook and housemaid, in the throes of preparing a huge range of delicacies. My offers of help were countered by claims that it was "nearly all done", which I suspect were a tactful defence of their territory. Standing in the corner was their new au-pair girl, Elke, who looked after Hal during the day while Claire was rebuilding her legal career. I took a long look at Elke, a tall, slender, blonde Estonian girl, liberally sprinkled with flour from the baking, and wondered how Claire ever trusted her husband alone with her, and how long it would be before Elke got de-floured. Claire asked me where Hal was, as he was overdue for a change. I was able to reassure her that Hal had indeed been changed and was now on his father's lap, which duly pleased her. As we carried the tea-trays to the dining room I asked her about the new type of nappy which Hal was wearing and got the full story from her. She said all the usual things about landfill, and added the fact that washing them was no trouble really, providing one had a decent washing machine. I caught sight of Maria's face in the background, which displayed exactly what the "decent washing machine" actually thought of this. Claire went on to say that she had a huge stock of nappies and pants and would hang onto them for the time when I had children. That shut me up for a moment; it was a point of contention, one of many for which I was going to have to hack out a solution. Yes, I loved Matt and wanted to share my life with him, and yes, I would like to have children of my own, but having a baby would take me off the catwalk in my peak earning years, and that would cost - probably millions. When I had told my manager Julian about my engagement, he had nervously asked if I was already pregnant. I had assured him that I was not; I believed in taking a thoroughly professional approach to my work and falling pregnant was not a part of next year's financial plan, whereupon Julian was visibly relieved. I got him to fetch me another two packs of disposables for my own use on the strength of it; there was going to be much partying between now and the New Year, and I needed to be well stocked up for the necessary precautions I would have to take afterwards. All told, my feelings about motherhood were in oscillation; one moment I was Up, looking at those tiny hands and rosebud lips, felling that warm little body in my arms, billing and cooing like the best of them in the hope of getting a smile, the next I was Down, with a stinky nappy being changed on a screaming brat. I had always thought marriage was a culmination, a natural thing. Now I was realising that it meant the splicing of two very different lifestyles and was going to take a lot of effort to make it work; I wasn't the kind of person who could just leave it all to their glands. We took the tea things into the lounge, and then went to round up the children. We found them involved in the usual children's game at Pembroke - looking for the legendary Black Jack Sinclair's pirate treasure which was supposed to be hidden in the house somewhere, but had evaded the best efforts of generations of children to find. This time we managed to break up the party just before they broke up the floorboards, where there was an interesting creak, and herded the children back into the lounge for yet another meal. The children's day ended with the rituals of bathing and bedding, but the adults continued later into the evening, and for once both Viola and William, the oldest children, were allowed to stay up late with us. They were now visibly entering puberty, getting long in the limb, and William's voice was breaking with a series of squeaks and growls. The conversation turned to Matt and I and our wedding plans, and more important, where we were going to live. Matt was fed up with general practice in rural Devon, and was looking for bigger challenges. At one point I had, half jokingly, said that I would marry him if he joined the Navy, and he had taken me up on that. Now I was not quite so sure - we had to live somewhere, and my job was London-orientated, while the Navy could, and probably would, send Matt anywhere. I was quietly trying to back-track on the idea, but I was now heavily outnumbered by the three notoriously anchor-faced naval officers in the family, as well as Matt himself who saw the chances of doing what he called "real" medicine - mending broken bodies - in the navy, as opposed to dishing out antibiotics for sniffles in general practice. I knew I had lost that one so just for once I kept quiet. My problem was the old one. I could live almost anywhere, but I didn't want to lose my little mews house in London. Not only was it worth a fortune, but one major supporting wall was covered with a mural by Spike of me sitting on the front of the Lotus wearing a romper over a nappy, and that irremovable artwork was probably worth more than the house: not least because of its unique subject matter, but also its provenance and association. I hadn't the heart to paint over it, it was Spike's favourite, and the destruction of value would have jarred with my finely-tuned business sense. I also found it, even now, to be a bit of a turn-on. I would have to wait and see what the Navy could offer Matt. Suddenly a thought occurred to me: if he could get posted to Culdrose, with the rest of my family, now that would be ideal. It would take an awful lot of fixing, but then Granpa, retired Admiral that he was, had been notorious as a fixer and still had many contacts amongst the senior bits of the Navy. I would have to float the idea with him, and see what could be done. With that in mind, I began to feel a bit easier. Now I could see myself retaining my London pad, my secret mural, and, even more so, my secret nursery in the attic. I snuggled up closer to Matt and rested my head on his shoulder. That reminded me; those nappies that Hal was wearing. PUL all-in-ones Claire had called them. I wonder where I could get some made in my size?

I used to wear just at weekends but found during the week I was restless, so started wearing every night to bed and now sleep so much better. Waking up is no problem if needing to pee now as I just do it and then go back to sleep. a wet nappy in the morning is so comforting.

My experience resonates with many others on this thread: it