Dynamic Switch

“Kyyyyyyyle!” Mommy called from across the playground. “Come heeeere.” She sounded happy. Whimsical even. This made Kyle feel the opposite. He’d just started getting into a rhythm, climbing up the low winding stairs of the jungle gym and then sliding down safely into the rubber mulch.

“Damphiff” He mumbled behind his pacifier. He was just getting brave enough to consider going down the slide a different way besides butt seated and feet splayed out. The slide ramp went straight to the ground so no freefall, and it was wide enough that two littles could go down at the same time…or one Little to roll sideways down it. Such as his life was, things like which way to go down a slide was one of the few actual choices Kyle got to make.

“Kyyyyyyle!”

Kyle hiked up his green shorts and pulled down his green shirt so that the minimum amount of his diaper would show, even though he knew that the shirt would ride up and the shorts would inch down as soon as he started walking. He spared a glance at the cartoon dog on his shirt. Mint’s Hints. Weird that a show from his childhood-his first childhood- was still on the air. He wanted to think that it was weird that he was still watching it, but for a Little, it really wasn’t.

“Kyle!”

Mommy was losing patience. The sandy blonde Little boy waddled and shuffled through the park’s playground. Other Littles in their twenties, thirties, and forties played games meant for children aged two, three and four, all under the watchful eyes of their giant adoptive parents. Not thirty feet from the bench where Mommy and some other Amazons were sitting a really intense game of duck-duck-goose was under way.

“Yesh, Mommy?”

Mommy had the exact same color hair as him. It’s probably why she adopted him in the first place. Next to Mommy another giant woman was breastfeeding a Little girl in a pink jumper dresser. Kyle gulped. He hoped Mommy wasn’t about to the same same. “Kyle, there you are! Could you not hear Mommy?”

“Shorry Mommy…” He looked down at his light up sneakers and crinkled lightly in place. It was hard enunciating around the pacifier, but Kyle had gotten good at it over the years.

“It’s okay baby,” Mommy said. She grabbed him by the shoulders and maneuvered him closer. “Let’s check your diaper.”

A weary sigh made its way out over the pacifier bulb. Kyle readied himself.

Mommy squeezed at his crotch and snaked two fingers up his shorts and inside the leg gathers of his diaper.

“Kyle! Is your diaper wet?” Mommy asked.

“Yesh, Mommy…”

“Do big boys go pee-pee in their pants?”

“No Mommy…”

“Did you know you went pee-pee in your pants?”

“Yesh, Mommy…”

“Why didn’t you come tell Mommy that you had an accident?”

“I wush pwayin’…”

“That doesn’t sound very mature, does it?”

“No Mommy.”

All of this was just a script that played out time and time again, especially when Mommy thought he was acting a little too big for his britches. Kyle knew his diaper was wet. He couldn’t help it. Conditioning-hypnotic and otherwise-had made him functionally incontinent. The second his bladder was full enough to register to his conscious mind, it emptied itself right into his pants. Trying to hold it in only gave him anxiety. Same with telling on himself or asking someone to change him; it made his fear response go through the roof.

He knew it was complete bullshit, but his unconscious brain had been given the connection that bothering Grown-Ups about one’s diaper is not something good boys did. So anytime he even considered whining or crying about the state of his pants, he felt incredibly anxious, akin to stepping out onto a twentieth story ledge. Trying to take off his diaper was on the same emotional level as being trapped under water and needing to inhale.

But as far as Mommy and her conditioning was concerned, this was all just reinforcing how immature he was and how he needed his baby pants.

“Turn around,” Mommy said.

Kyle did and drooped his head, readying himself for the next phase of the ritual, feeling the air rush into the back of his diaper while Mommy pulled the waistband back and looked down.

“Kyle! Is your diaper messy?”

“Yesh,Mommy…”

“Do big boys go poopy in their pants?”

“No, Mommy…”

“Did you know you went poopy in your pants?”

“Yesh, Mommy…”

“Why didn’t you come tell Mommy that you had an accident?”

“I wush pwayin’…”

“That doesn’t sound very mature, does it?”

“No, Mommy.”

Mommy turned Kyle around so that he could see the knowing look to her peers. “Littles. What would they do without us.” That got some knowing nods from the assembled giants. The one breastfeeding switched the Little over to her other breast.

“What happens to big boys who go pee-pee and poopy in their pants?” Mommy asked. More of the script.

“They get shpankt” Kyle mumbled.

“What happens to babies who go pee-pee and poopy in their pants?’

Kyle bit down into the pacifier to spare his tongue. Then said, “They gesh a diapher chahshe.”

“Why?”

“Cush dere Mommiesh wuf dem.”

A chorus of ‘Awwws’ accompanied Mommy grabbing the Mints Hints diaper bag and picking Kyle up by the waist. It wasn’t a long trip. Just enough to be on the grass away from the bench.

Kyle realized what was happening and spit out his pacifier. “Mommy! No! Bathroom please!” They were close enough to the circle of Littles that Kyle could make out when someone enthusiastically yelled ‘Goose’!

Mommy kept laying out the changing mat in the grass. “Your diaper was clean when we got out of the stroller,” she said. Kyle’s pants were down around his ankles and he was laid down. His shirt was yanked up above his belly button. “You said it yourself. You pee-peed and poopied in your pants and you were too busy playing with all your Little friends to stop. That means you shouldn’t mind getting changed in front of them.” She stuck the pacifier back in Kyle’s mouth. The answer was final.

Kyle huffed and crossed his arms as his diaper was untapped and his legs were lifted into the air, broadcasting his messy bottom for all. He’d be embarrassed, but he’d already been through so much worse. It was more annoying than anything at this point.

“Good baby,” Mommy cooed, wiping him up. That gave him a rush of endorphins. The programming he’d been subjected to worked both ways. Being called ‘cute’ and ‘good’ made all of his happy brain chemicals lurch into sudden overdrive.

“Nooooooo….” Kyle looked up and over to the benches. The Little girl in the pink jumper dress was off her Mommy’s tit and was being burped. She was moaning pitfully and lightly squirming while her Mommy patted her back “Nnnnn…ugh…Nooooo!” Kyle saw the back of her diaper expand and sag. Her Mommy contentedly patted the back of her diaper and the girl’s shoulders started shaking. She must be new to this.

“All done,” Mommy said She’d finished changing him while he’d been distracted watching somebody else’s ‘Year One’. “Go play.” She gave him a pat on his back seat to send him off. At least she didn’t want to breastfeed him right now.

The Little boy toddled away, sucking on his pacifier. He joined in the Duck-Duck-Goose Game just so he’d have an excuse to sit and brood without looking like he was pouting. That and the jungle gym was so far away as to wind him. Between the thick diapers and the lack of coordination forced onto him with subsonic treatments to his inner ear, things like balance took a lot more stamina than they used to. Playing a game of Duck-Duck-Goose might qualify as quality cardio now.

“Duck-Duck-Duck-Duck”

.He shouldn’t have to be dealing with this nonsense at his age. Just because he was almost numb to the daily condescensions and humiliations didn’t make them right. He’d done his fair share of screaming and crying and denying and more crying early on, but all that did in the eyes of the Amazons was justify his treatment and his diagnosis of ‘Maturosis’. Leave it to the baby crazy titans to make up a disease that they didn’t catch and the only ‘cure’ was treating people with it the exact way Amazons wanted to treat Littles.

“Duck-Duck-Duck”

If Maturosis was really a health condition, and something Amazons could catch or develop, there’d be a worldwide panic. There’d be vaccines and hospitals and charities all rushing for a real cure. And clothing that didn’t have cartoon characters on it for people suffering from it.

Or even better, what if they stuck to her own rules? Mommy lost her marbles when a Tweener misspelled her name on her coffee. Imagine her getting told that she was too immature to go to wipe her own ass or drink from something without a spill proof lid. Imagine Mommy getting fired from her job and slammed into a daycare. As traumatizing, embarrassing and humiliating as Kyle’s first year of this had been, Mommy’s first day would be hundreds of times worse…for her.

“Goose!”


“Open up!” Mommy said. The spoon full of…eggs? Was it eggs? Whatever it was it was coming in low and slow towards Kyle’s mouth.

Like a good baby, Kyle opened wide and let the yellow stuff be spooned in. Yup. It was eggs. Not salted or seasoned and somehow both dry and runny, but it was eggs. Maybe egg substitute? Regardless, the Little closed his mouth and swallowed the bland tasteless stuff. At least it wasn’t strained beets.

“Do you wanna try feeding yourself?”

A suppressed sigh. “Yes, Mommy.” Another ritual. Another bit of conditioning to just reinforce how absolutely helpless he was. Kyle didn’t have the fine motor skills or hand eye coordination to use a spoon anymore. She just wanted to get good use out of the bib tied around his neck and the ever present packet of wipes just out of reach.

She loaded the plastic spoon and slipped it into his hand. Like a hungry predator she watched the spoon trembling in his grasp. If he just gave up and spilled it, he’d be punished. He had to embarrass himself and prove that he was an immature baby and not just an adult that had given up. Suport a lie to cover the truth.

“We interrupt Helen in the Morning for this breaking news!” The mindless talk show that featured Middle Aged celebrities doing Click-Clack Dances and Rappers doing at home cooking segments was cut off. Two news anchors, a man and a woman, sat at their desk staring straight out to the camera.

“Growing unease continues to spread around the world as more and more Amazons start to exhibit behaviors normally associated with Littles and Tweeners afflicted with the genetic condition commonly called Maturosis.” The lady anchor’s hair was bigger than her face and so pale as to be white.

“That’s right Diane,” the dark haired anchor jumped in. “Maturosis, which is considered an inherited condition common in people with Little ancestry, is marked by symptoms that reduce them mentally and emotionally to small children, often requiring full time care and adoption.”

“Best thing for them, really, Chuck” the lady anchor chimed in.

“Right you are, Diane.” The male anchor continued. “Common symptoms of Maturosis often include emotional volatility, decreased balance, fine and gross motor skills, language impairment and decreased vocabulary, dyslexia, dysgraphia and of course a near complete inability to go to the potty like a big boy or girl.”

The lady anchor arched an eyebrow and looked over to her cohort. “You mean incontinence, right Chuck?”

There wasn’t enough makeup to hide the rising blush in the Amazon man’s. cheeks “Right you are, Diane.”

The woman took over. “While this is considered a normal and adorable part of everyday life for most Littles, Tweeners and their parents, reports are starting to come in that such behaviors are starting to manifest in Amazons and in relatively large numbers.”

“That’s impossible!” Mommy scoffed, completely absorbed in the T.V.

Yeah, Kyle thought. Mostly because Maturosis didn’t actually exist. Just a set of ‘therapies’, ‘medicines’, ‘products’, and ‘treatments’ that caused and later exacerbated the symptoms. He put the spoon in his mouth and swallowed the eggs.

???

He put the spoon in his mouth and swallowed the eggs! “Mommy!” he screeched. “Mommy I did it! Look!” The Amazon waved it off. She was too busy staring at the screen. “Mommy! Look!”

“Not now baby.”

Kyle shut his mouth, feeling the dread rise up at him. If he argued or disobeyed her, he’d be being purposefully naughty.

“As we all know, Amazons, Littles, and Tweeners have a shared ancestry,” The lady anchor said. “However, only Littles and Tweeners tend to exhibit Maturosis with Amazons requiring the same level of care being only a percent of a percent of the total population.”

“But all of a sudden,” the male anchor took back over, “Amazons everywhere are beginning to show similar levels of immaturity across the board. Scientists always knew it was possible, but why now? Why so widespread and across the board? Is it the government doing something to the drinking water? Are foreigners to blame? Or is this some kind of terrorist attack?”

“I personally think it’s a prank,” the lady anchor said, “that people are taking too far. Just like crop circles, or the Lockness Monster.”

Mommy tilted her head sideways. “Huh?”

Kyle’s brain took a moment to process her confusion. Two out of three friends from daycare had such extreme oral fixations that Kyle’s ear had trained itself to understand it when people were mumbling over pacifiers or around their thumbs.

What the Amazon lady on the news had really said was. “Uh pershony fink isha pank phat peefle aw tayghin too fah. Chus wike cawf firkuhs.”

“Diane, take your fingers out of your mouth…” The feed cut immediately.

Mommy stood up and turned the television off. She did not sit back down, however. “That’s ridiculous,” she said to herself. “Some kind of joke or deep fake or whatever.” She was pacing the kitchen floor.

Kyle stared at his forced caregiver’s feet and narrowed his eyes. Something was off about her, but he couldn’t quite figure it out. “Mommy?”

Mommy stopped pacing and doubled back to the highchair. She grabbed a wet wipe. “Yes, baby? Are you finished trying to eat your eggies?” She looked at him. There was disappointment in her hazel eyes when she saw that the plate was clean and there was no mess on Kyle’s bib or face. She looked down at the floor to see if he’d spilled it. “Nothing?”

Kyle didn’t take his eyes off her feet. “Mommy? Are your shoes on backwards?”

Mommy bent over and inspected her flats. She let out a surprised gasp. “Oh gosh! How did that happen?” She hurriedly tried to correct the mistake, tripping all over herself and stumbling like a newborn foal. She finally remembered to sit down in the kitchen chair.

Intensely curious, Kyle leaned forward in his highchair and almost fell over when the tray slipped out of place. Mommy had forgotten to click it all the way in. He had to catch it with both hands to prevent it from banging and clattering on the floor.

Mommy was still muttering to herself, wondering how she’d gotten something as simple as her left and right shoes mixed up. She was having trouble getting the shoes back on, too.

Cautiously, Kyle leaned out and placed the tray on the side of the breakfast table. Mommy had also forgotten to buckle him in, so there was no fighting against Amazon strength buckles. He still had to do his best not to look down, shimmying from the highchair to the floor.

He felt the ache in his bladder and gritted his teeth. Holding it in until his feet safely touched the floor. “Got it!” Mommy said, and then looked up. Hunched over in her chair he was at about eye level with her Little baby. “Huh?”

“I did it!” Kyle threw his arms up in the air. Some part of his training was still reinforcing desires to impress the woman who’d conditioned him back to toddlerhood.

Mommy beamed. “Oh! You got out of your highchair!” she said. She sounded happy and surprised. Like a parent witnessing their child’s first steps. “You got town out of the highchair?” she repeated. “All? By? Yourself?”

The color drained from both of their faces for completely different reasons. Kyle just consciously realized that he’d been holding his bladder all the way down the highchair and even now barefoot on the kitchen floor. He was so excited that he accidentally released it, flooding his Koddles.

Mommy looked relieved when she saw the wetness indicator change color. That added wetness dampened his mood just a tad.

“Mommy,” Kyle whimpered. “Can you change me?”

The smile bloomed back on Mommy’s face, the shoe incident forgotten. “Of course, baby boy. Let’s go get you changed.”

The change went the same as the countless changes beforehand and the same as the countless number that would follow.

Except for one thing….

“Wipes…ball it up…pail…new diaper…powder…aaaaaand….done…” Mommy loved narrating so many of the humiliating events in Kyle’s life. Meals. Baths. Bedtime. Diaper changes. She Zon-splained everything as if Kyle was too stupid to understand that he’d spilt something or was bewildered about being carried around on her hip. Sometimes she got so into it that she would do it for everything that happened to him until bedtime and Kyle could hear her voice in his dreams.

Right now was different. Her voice was quieter. She wasn’t narrating what she was doing to Kyle. She was talking to herself. And there was the slightest hint of doubt in her voice, like she wasn’t sure what the next step was.

Was she…was she struggling to remember how to change a diaper?

“All done!” Mommy chirped. “Let’s go on with our morning routine.”

The pace picked back up to normal as Mommy carried Kyle out to the garage and grabbed the diaper bag off the hook by the door. Just like every morning, Kyle was buckled and strapped into his car seat-this time quietly- and Mommy walked around to the driver’s seat.

She closed the door, clutched the black leather steering wheel and sat ready to drive. Except that she didn’t drive. Mommy just sat there, white knuckled, trying to will the car to life.

“Mommy?” Kyle called. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything fine, Kyle.” Mommy said. “Mommy’s just having a little car trouble.”

The Little looked at his captor turned caregiver in the rearview mirror. “Don’t you need keys to turn the car on?”

Mommy gasped. “Right right!” She slapped her forehead. “Silly Mommy! Mommy definitely needs her coffee. Ha-ha!” She scrambled around in her purse for the keys and the ridges on her forehead became more pronounced with every passing second. The closest she got were a rainbow colored plastic set. Her eyes lit up and she eventually found the actual car keys in the bottom of Kyle’s diaper bag. “Wow! How did those get there? Mommy really needs her morning coffee.”

She fidgeted trying to find the right key, but eventually got the engine started on the third try.

“Mommy…” Kyle called from the back.

“What?” She was beginning to sound flustered.

“Shouldn’t you put your seatbelt on?” Kyle said. “You always put your seatbelt on first before driving.”

The car shut off. “On second thought, Mommy said. “Let’s go for a walk. The weather is wonderful this morning and your daycare isn’t very far away.”

True enough but…”Won’t you be late for work?”

“Let me worry about that, baby boy,” Mommy cooed. “That’s a Grown-Up problem, not a Little problem.” He supposed that was true. It was still weird to be unbuckled from his car seat without having actually gone anywhere.

The transfer from car to umbrella stroller was a quick one, and Mommy was speed walking (speed strolling?), ill at ease down the street and out of the neighborhood proper as if something was chasing her. Kyle leaned back and just took in the sights, sucking on a bottle of juice that Mommy had shoved in his mouth after buckling him in.

Being in his stroller gave him a certain level of protection. He was socially invisible, he could people watch, and his face was obscured most of the time.

“What’s the matter, honey?” A voice caught Kyle’s attention. “Are you lost?” It sounded feminine, but also very, very small. Little. Yet the confidence and power it oozed was only regularly spouted by the giants.
“She looks lost.” A second voice said. The words sounded concerned enough, but there was an underlying poison in the tone. “Do you need help sweetey? Where’s your Mommy and Daddy?”

Kyle had seen this happen so many times before. Some poor Little would be surrounded by Amazons and if they didn’t play their cards right, there’d be a Monkeez or a Koddles on their butt by lunch. “I’m…I’m fine. Thank you very much.” The voice was deep and masculine and near booming…and…timid?

“You don’t look fine.” The first said. “You look lost. Where’s your Mommy and Daddy?”

“I…I…I don’t have one.”

Cringing, with the same type of morbid curiosity of watching a flaming car crash in real time, Kyle turned his head to witness the scene playing out at a city bus stop.

“Of course you do,” the second stranger said. “Everyone has a Mommy and Daddy. Don’t fib. Unless you still think the stork is real?”

The two strangers, both women, put their hands to their lips and stifled giggles as if the idea that a grown man might believe in the stork was both natural and condescendingly precious.

The boy, a man, actually looked decidedly uncomfortable. “I’m a Grown-Up. I don’t live with them anymore.” Despite his button up shirt, pleated pants, and loafers, he had the aura of a child who just happened to be dressed up to match Daddy. The fidgeting he was doing could be written off as being very uncomfortable at having his space invaded, or…

“Do they know you’re out here all by yourself?” The first lady asked.

“No…?”

“I don’t think they let babies get on the bus without a guardian.” The second stranger said.

The poor man was getting flustered, clenching his fists and fidgeting. “No…no…I don’t need…”

“Do you want us to leave you alone?” The first one asked.

Right on the heels of the first question, a second one came. “Do you need to go potty?” She addressed her friend. “I don’t think he has any protection on under those pants.”

“One tiny tinkle and those pants will be ruined,” the first stranger agreed. “No snaps, either. Makes it more difficult to change. We should help him with that. Wouldn’t want his nice big boy pants to get all yucky because someone had an accident. This bus doesn’t stop for potty breaks.”

The poor man finally lost it, overwhelmed, and stamped no foot. “No!” he said. “No! No! No!”

“Awwww!” The first stranger said. “Poor thing doesn’t want us to leave him alone all by himself.” The two bullies were pretending that he was answering the first question about leaving him alone and not the full volley of taunts that had followed.

“Come on, sugar,” the pair reached out and grabbed his hand, leading him away trembling but powerless to stop them. “We’ll catch the next bus. Let’s make sure you don’t have an accident, first.”

The man turned around and flashed a frightened, overwhelmed, frustrated, and yet hopeful gaze behind him as the two strangers led him away, most likely to the closest shop that sold diapers in his size. It was the look of the damned searching for respite. Kyle had seen variations on this scene play out so many times that he’d become practically numb to it. It’s why he enjoyed playgrounds and daycares as much as he did because the worst of the trauma; adoption, had already happened to everyone.

Kyle had seen something like this happen at least a hundred times since his own adoption. But never like this. Never with an Amazon man being the target. And never with two Littles being the ones setting him up for failure. That silent look of desperation and commiseration wasn’t directed at Kyle, but at the giant woman pushing his stroller behind him.

“Poor thing thinks that just because he’s big means he’s a big boy.” The strangers threw Kyle a knowing conspiratorial wink. “We’ll help teach him the difference. Being an adult and being mature aren’t the same thing.”

Kyle popped his thumb out of his mouth and wiped it on his shirt. “What the fuck?” he mouthed…

“Let’s get some coffee,” Mommy said loud enough so that Kyle could hear. The stroller swung wide and to the right, crossing the street so that they wouldn’t come across the giant who was about to be helplessly babied by people that were barely knee high to her.

The bell above the coffee shop door jangled when they entered. It was actually very busy here, with people of all sizes side by side, many of them nervously sipping coffee and staring at a large flat screen T.V.

Kyle hadn’t seen so many non-diapered Littles in one place since getting snatched up. Smart Littles tended to avoid Amazon spaces unless they absolutely had to. But here they were making coffee, mopping floors, and cleaning tables. More importantly, they had the strong, cheerful demeanor of someone who felt strong and secure in their work; and not at all intimidated.

It was something like a herd of confident antelope trotting around a pride of hungry but oddly out of sorts lions. Kyle blinked and did a double take. Was the only adopted Little in the building?

“Hello cutie!” The Tweener behind the counter said. “What can I get for you?” The presence of the black haired Tweener seemed to put Mommy at ease. Amazons liked Tweeners; people that they could boss around and be terrible to without feeling like they had to take care of them.

Mommy regained a bit of pep in her step on their way up to the counter. “I’ll have a red eye.”

“Say please.”

Kyle looked up to see his Mommy flinch. “What?”
The Tweener smiled. “I said, ‘say pleeeeease’!”

“Please?”

“Please what?”

Mommy stiffened. “Please, I’d like to order a red eye…?”

The woman behind the counter feigned thoughtfulness. “That’s an awful lot of caffeine,” she said. “You’re gonna be bouncing all over the place!”

“I know.” Mommy’s tone was turning annoyed.

She was struck temporarily mute when the Tweener leaned over the counter and made eye contact with Kyle in his stroller. “Is that okay with you, sir? Can she have a red eye?”

Kyle felt his Mommy’s confusion. He was “Uh…yeah. Sure?”

“Kay kay.” The cashier punched the order in. “Sorry about that.”

Mommy found her voice. “It’s quite alri-”

“I should have asked you first on whether she could have that much caffeine, but when she forgot to say please I saw it as a teachable moment.” The Tweener shuddered and gulped. “Not that you don’t teach her manners,” she quickly added. “It’s just that some people need a lot of help in learning. It takes a village, right?”

Beads of nervous, confused sweat were forming on Kyle’s forehead. “Um…okay.”

“What’s your name?”

“Kyle.”

“Thank you, Mister Kyle. The red eye will be ready in a minute.”

Mommy wheeled him away to a clear table close to the Cafe’s flat screen television. “The nerve of some Tweeners,” she muttered to herself. “Some of them get too big for their britches. I oughta…I oughta…” But Mommy had no more threats. Even idle ones.

“We’re back with Helen in the Morning,” the T.V. broadcast. Standing in front of the camera was an Amazon lady in a blue pantsuit with bleached teeth and an artificial tan. Weird that Amazons had perfected nanites that could simulate or relieve diaper rash but hadn’t figured out how to make a convincing tanning bed. “In light of recent news, we’ve rushed in a guest specialist to ask her what’s her opinion on so called current events.”

The camera panned over to the big, eggshell white, overly cushy couch, the kind that only seemed to exist on morning talk shows. On it was an Amazon woman

“With me today,” Helen prattled on, “is renowned Child and Little psychologist, Dr. Margaret Jameson. The so-called psychologist wore a yellow turtleneck sweater and jeans. She looked more like a Kindergarten teacher than a doctor. Amazons, however, sometimes had the privilege of being underdressed. “Dr. Jameson, what do you think of the current panic that’s being reported on?”

The psychologist shrugged with practiced ease. “Well Helen, as we all know, Littles make up for their innate lack of maturity and reason with overactive imaginations. So it’s no surprise to me that Littles,” she paused for a drink of water from one of the show’s coffee mugs, “Littles who either have or are on the verge of full blown Maturosis but have yet to find Adoption are concocting these overly elaborate stories.”

“So you think this is, what?” the talk show host asked, “Little propaganda?”

The psychologist fake laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far, Helen. Propaganda is such a malicious word. Such a mean spirited one. It’s too…too…”

“Grown-Up?”

“Precisely,” the psychologist said. “This is all just a very silly joke that some very clever Littles with more creativity than sense cooked up.”

“Excuse me!” A voice chirped in from the crowd. “I’ve got something to say!”

The camera panned around to a Little boy standing on an audience chair. He was waving his hand and hopping up and down to be seen since the middle aged Amazon women in front of him were still taller than him despite being seated. This Little wasn’t one that was allowed to live as an adult, either. Unadopted Littles didn’t wear dalmatian spotted overalls that stopped at the knees. Nor did they tend to have such perfectly formed freckles on their cheeks. The boy could have been someone that Kyle had met on the playground.

Heads turned and a collective. “Awwwwww!” reverberated through the studio audience.

“It looks like we’ve got someone who wants to share with us,” Helen said. “Come on down, kiddo!” The invitation was met with thunderous applause and Helen got herself a photo op by climbing the stairs and carrying him down after the halfway point.

When things had settled down, the Little boy stood in front of the couch, and the talk show host squatted down to hold a microphone to his mouth.

“Well hello there!” The psychologist beamed like she was talking to a toddler. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Maxwell MaGee, but my Mommy and Daddy call me Maxie and their last name is Sanders.”

“Well, Maxie Sanders,” the psychologist said, “what would you like to say?”

“I just wanted to let you know that Mommy and Daddy agree with everything you just said. They tell me that Littles are just babies that don’t grow up no matter how old we get.”

“And are they right, Maxie?”

“No,” the Little boy said sweetly. “They’re not. Amazons are the real babies. They’re just big babies who treat people smaller than them like baby dolls.” No scoffs came, just tittering laughter aimed at a child who didn’t know what he was talking about.

Back in the cafe, Kyle looked down at himself. He fit that mold perfectly. For the first time in a long time he felt emotionally invested enough to feel ashamed of himself, for his state of dress. Carefully, Kyle unclipped the pacifier from his shirt and lowered it to the ground…

“Really?” the psychologist said. “Do they change your diapers for you?”

“Not any more!” Maxie said proudly. “I got to use the big boy potty! All by myself!”

A third wave of ‘Awwwws’ bubbled up.

“Your Mommy and Daddy let you go potty all by yourself?” Helen asked.

Maxie paused and smiled deviously. “No.”

Helen leaned in. “Where are your Mommy and Daddy, sweety pie?”

“I dropped them off at daycare,” Maxie said with complete and utter seriousness. “They’re the ones in diapers now.” Kyle was beginning to think that this Little boy wasn’t a ‘Maxie’ as much as a ‘Maxwell’. Come to think of it, he looked a little thinner in the middle. It was hard to tell on camera, but he didn’t have that certain roundness between his legs that most Littles had.

The psychologist crossed her legs, casually. “It sounds like someone has a very active imagination! Aren’t Littles the best? So cute! So precious! Always pretending to be more mature than they really are!”

The laughter this time was more nervous than delighted or charmed.

“It’s not pretend, Doctor.” the Little on T.V. said, snatching the microphone away from the talk show host. “It’s the truth. You’ve all been fibbing this whole time. We’ve all just finally figured out the truth.”

“What truth?” the psychologist scoffed. “That Littles can’t be independent? That they need Amazons to take care of them? That they do this all for free and at no cost to the Littles?”

The grin on the Little’s face became positively devilish. Like he knew a secret no one else did. “Oh really? Is that the truth as you see it? My, my, what a fantastic imagination!”

Rumbles and grumbles were moving through the studio audience. Something was happening.

“I think you were naughty and ran away from your Mommy and Daddy,” the psychologist said. “I think you’re telling fibs to make yourself feel bigger and more mature than you really are. Maybe we should call some real adults to get you back home where you belong.” She sniffed and smiled, “and get you changed. Someone had an accident.”

No condescending laughter rang out this time.

“Oh, I’m not the one who’s having an accident,” the Little on T.V. replied curtly.

“Well of course you’d think that,” the Amazon replied. “Littles can never tell when they need changing. That’s kind of the point.”

Kyle looked down at himself and gave himself a pat and a squeeze. Still dry. That was weird. He’d have half expected himself to be at least a little wet by now.

The unsupervised Little on television closed his eyes and exhaled. When he opened them again, they narrowed, suspiciously. “Who’s checked you, Doctor Jameson?” he asked. “Why aren’t you wearing your diaper like a good girl?”

“I don’t need them,” the woman who’d shown up for a T.V. interview in jeans, laughed. “Amazons don’t experience Maturosis, silly boy. Only Littles and the occasional Tweener.”

There was a mean smile on the Little’s face. “Are you sure about that, cupcake? Uncross your legs.”

“Hm?” The woman spread her legs out and looked down aghast at the spreading wet patch on the front of her denim pants. “Wha-? No!” The only thing the big woman had the presence of mind to do was stand up and let the puddle continue to stream down her thighs, dripping onto the studio floor. She was so humiliated she didn’t even have the presence of mind to cup her hands over her crotch or otherwise hide the sight of the very real, very public accident.

Kyle could relate to that. That had been his face to a tee way back before his pants were padded full time.

“Awwww,” the Little man cooed. “Is the big girl having a potty accident? You better have diapers in a bigger size than that, Helen.”

“Th-th-th-” she stuttered. “This is not happening!”

“Babies,” Maxwell crowed. “Such big imaginations they have. I hope you have some pretty big diapers backstage, Helen. You’re gonna need them.”

The talk show host nearly dropped her mic. “Huh?” she grunted. “No! No-no-no! I’m not gonna…hnnng…I’m not changing her!”

“I know,” the LIttle said. “But someone is going to need to change you. It wasn’t me your baby friend was sniffing” The camera switched angles to catch the lump forming in the back of Helen’s pantsuit skirt… “You’re pooping, Helen. Right here. Right now. In front of everyone. You’re pooping.”

Shocked screams exploded out from the Amazons in the studio.

The host started to panic. “Uhh! Hrrnnn! We’re gonna take another commercial break but we’ll be right back! And in our next segment we’re gonna show you how to change a really big…baby’s…diaper…?” She blanched, not at what was going on in her pants, but at what she’d just said. “Hey! Why’s that on the teleprompter!? And who are you? You’re not my producer!”

The signal went black and the station switched over to an advertisement for Monkeez diapers, featuring a diapered Little pretending to play football with real Amazon toddlers…

“This is ridiculous,” an Amazon woman said. Kyle looked back over to the counter. Two giantesses were pointing to their coffee cups, specifically the lids. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Those are safety lids,” the Tweener behind the counter smiled, courteously. “Coffee is very hot. You wouldn’t want it to spill all over you or it could burn and give you an owie.”

The second Amazon at the counter scoffed. “We can’t remove the lids!”

“It wouldn’t be very safe if you could, would it?” The Tweener made a shooing gesture and turned her back. “Drink your bean water, hun. Go on’’ She looked at the next cup of coffee. “Kyle? Red eye for Kyle?”

The two oversized Karens didn’t walk away. “They look like sippy cups!”

The Tweener glanced at the lids and puckered her lips. “Huh. They kinda do.” She thought better of it right away. “I mean, no they don’t. Those are safety lids. And they’re only for special big girls just like you. Isn’t that neat?” A beat. “Kyle? I’ve got a red eye for Kyle!”

“Mommy!” Kyle hissed. “That’s you.”

Mommy rattled her head, breaking out of some kind of trance. Her eyes hadn’t left the television set since before it cut to commercial. ‘Huh? What?” She rubbed her eyes the way that people do when they’ve just woken up from a dream. “Oh yeah!”

“Red eye? Kyle?”

“Actually,” Mommy said. “That’s mine. Kyle’s my Little.”

The Tweener brushed her hair back. “Oh yeah. Right. Just a sec.” She slapped a white plastic lid over the cup, same as with the other two ladies in front of her. Kyle did a quick, baffled scan of the room. Only the Amazons had the white plastic sippy lids on their cups. Everyone else drank their coffee like adults. Again, she leaned over the table. “Sorry about that sir.”

“Uh…no problem?”

Mommy started sipping her coffee through the lid without complaint. The two giantesses before her were also drinking from their definitely-not-sippy cups, just not without complaint.

“Can you bewieve that mean ol’ Tweenuh?”

“I know! We should tawk to the bossy boss!”

“Yeah! Tell ‘em she’s bein’ a big ol’ meanie doo-doo head!”

Something clicked upstairs in both Amazons at the same time.

“Why awe you tawkin’ wike dat?”

Her companion growled. “You duh one tawkin wike a baby!”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Uh-huh!”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Uh-…”

Both stopped talking and gasped. Two puddles of warm pee were trickling down at their feet. One of them had more than just a puddle, with a solid lump sagging from the pack of her slacks.

“Clean up!” The Tweener called. “Big babies had an accident in their pants!” She sighed in disgust. “Again!”

A crew of Littles with mops zipped in and started wiping up the mess. Two more took each of them by the wrist and with impossible strength started to lead them towards the restroom. “Come on, baby girl,” the Little coffee shop worker cooed. “Let’s get you changed.”

“Noooooo!” the Amzaon who had only wet her pants shrieked. “No baby! No baby! Nooooo baby!”

“Let’s just get you taken care of, dear.”

The two giants dug their heels in. It did nothing to slow their progress to the restrooms marked with helpful plaques indicating Baby/Little changing stations inside. Someone had put a strip of masking tape and written “Amazon” over the “Little” section in black marker.

Pulling against the Littles, the one of them, the one who had done more than just pee her pants fell onto her backside. Her lip trembled for a second and then she started screaming, “NOOOOO! NO! NO BABY! NO BOOM BOOM! NO GOO GOO GA GA! NO BABY DIAPEE BOOM BOOM!”

Her cohort couldn’t even say that much, her speech regressing to nothing more than repeated babbling syllables. “Gooo-goo-ag-ga-ag-ag-ag-gaaaa!” And the first wasn’t far behind. Within seconds, ‘Diapee’ and ‘boom boom’ would be too complex for their mouths to form.

The Little employee patted the blubbering giant on the top of her hand as she dropped to her knees. “Of course you didn’t go boom boom in your diaper, sweet pea. You’re not wearing one. Let’s go fix that. Then you can finish your coffee.”

The women crawled on three limbs the rest of the way to the lady’s room to be changed, her hand still being held. The Tweener behind the counter shook her head and Kyle heard her mutter. “Amazons. Seriously. Why can’t they just accept that they need help?”

Mommy hurried herself and Kyle out of the store. Her red eye was dumped into the nearest potted plant.

“This is not happening,” Mommy said. “This is not happening. This is just a dream. Only a dream.” Kyle felt her pat him on the top of his head. “Right baby?” Kyle didn’t answer. “Oh right. Babies don’t talk. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

The world whipped by at nearly breakneck speed. The “stroller” was now effectively a “sprinter”. Kyle turned his head this way and that. All around him he caught familiar scenes cast with different players.

“I’m not a baby!”
“Uh oh. Big girl isn’t so big!”

“Come here honey. You’re going to look so adorable with a shave and a sailor suit.”

“Why do Amazons even bother trying to grow up? They’re just going to fail anyway. Much easier for everyone involved if they just find a nice Little Mommy or Daddy to take care of their mush tushes.”

Every line, every condescending taunt, every cooing syllable, had the sweet acidity of someone delivering the world’s cruelest joke.

The pounding of Mommy’s shoes sputtered and then changed to the slapping of her bare feet. “Gotta get to the daycare! Gotta get to the daycare!” Poor thing had lost her shoes. “We’ll just get you to daycare, and I’ll go to work and everything will be okay!”

A devilish grin flashed across Kyle’s mug. “Mommy? Did you lose your shoes? Maybe you should switch to velcro!”

“Baby!” Mommy barked. “Not now!”

Kyle tittered with laughter anyways, suddenly much less afraid.

Mommy was panting when they ran up to the daycare. She shuffled around to the front of the stroller, diaper bag slung over her shoulder, and unbuckled Kyle from his restraints. “Come on, Kyle,” she panted, “Let’s get you settled in and Mommy will-”

The front door to the daycare burst open. “Don’t! A daycare worker screamed out. Run! Save yourself!”

Mommy froze. Kyle gawked. Mrs. Abernathy wasn’t just an employee, but the proprietor of the daycare itself. Neither Kyle nor Mommy recognized her at first glance. How could they? Her graying hair was up in pigtails. Her face was covered in stickers. Her arms were scribbled on in markers. A giant, obviously wet diaper, was taped to her hips and hung between her thighs. She was missing her glasses too. If not for the daycare’s signature polo shirt uniform that she always wore she might have been completely unrecognizable.

“Leave!” The woman screamed. “Before it’s too late!”

Behind her, more crying and protests of ‘I’m not the baby! I’m your Mommy!” bled out into the open air. Kyle looked around the daycare’s parking lot. There weren’t usually that many cars here at one time. Amazons would just drop off their Littles and leave. “I’m an adult! A grown-up! A big girl! A biiiiiiig girrrrl!” They weren’t leaving…

“They’re making us finger paint!” Mrs. Abernathy cried, her tears wetting the sunshine smiley stickers on her cheeks. “Finger paint!”

“There you are, Michelle!” A Little woman, dressed like an employee came out and grabbed Mrs. Abernathy by the hand. “I can’t take my eyes off of you for a second, can I missy?”

“Please…” Mrs. Abernathy sniffled. “Don’t do this to me.”

“You’ll feel much better after a change. Then we’ll film you playing with all of your Amazon friends and you’ll be so cute you’ll get Adopted into a good Little home in no time.” Mrs. Abernathy started bawling beyond words. The Little finally seemed to notice Kyle and Mommy. “Oh sorry about that. You know how it is.” She was talking to Kyle and only to Kyle. “Are you checking her in?”

Mommy let out a wordless scream and ran away with Kyle in her arms, cackling with abandon! Normally, if he laughed this hard he’d expect his pants to be wet but his diaper was still as dry as a bone. The juice wasn’t going through him.

“Careful, baby!” Random passerby called after Mommy.

“Uh oh.”

“Someone needs a timeout.”

“She is going to get such a spanking when this is over…”

“Don’t you be like that one, Pamela. You suck your binkie like a good big baby.”

In the distance, a billboard was being papered over. It was still a diaper ad, but the drooling, toothless models were no longer Littles. Traffic was at a standstill; Amazons were being strapped into newly enlarged car seats, gagged with pacifiers and diapers splaying their legs apart. Littles were busily installing booster pedals and seats so that they could drive. Amazons moaned and cried out from top of the line remote controlled carriages, piloted by Mommies and Daddies much much smaller than them.

“Why?” Mommy panted. “Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?” She tripped over something. Only soft grass broke her and Kyle’s fall. “Whyyyyyy?!”

“Because you deserve it.” Kyle answered. He stood up and brushed the freshly mowed grass clipping off of his thighs. Mommy had managed to make it all the way back to the park before breaking down. “Because you deserve it.” Repeating his damning accusation with a cold relishing”

He toddled over to the diaper bag and dug out a pair of shorts. Deftly, he slid them up over his hips, covering the diaper. Then, he reached into his pants and pulled the sticky tabs loose, ripping the diaper off of him while keeping his modesty intact.

“No!” Mommy slammed her fist into the ground. “No! This isn’t supposed to happen this way! I’m the adult! I’m the Mommy! I’m the big girl!” She stood up.

“Susan!” Kyle exclaimed. It felt amazing calling her by her first name. “Are your pants wet?” There was no puddle beneath her.

She looked down at herself and her face melted. “Yes, Kyle…”

“Do big girls go pee-pee in their pants?”

“No, Kyle…”

“Did you know you went pee-pee in your pants?”

“N…” she stopped herself. “Yes, Kyle.”

“Why didn’t you stop and tell Daddy that you had an accident?” He felt himself stand a bit taller, a bit stronger calling himself ‘Daddy.’

Susan looked ashamed. “I was busy…running.”

“Playing you mean?”

“Yes, Kyle…”

“What?”

“Yes…Daddy.”

“That doesn’t sound very mature, does it?”

“No, Daddy.”

Kyle walked around her and inspected the back of her pants. Goodness it felt amazing to be able to take a step without hearing the soft plastic crinkle coming from behind him. A quick breeze carried the fetid scent of what Susan had done to herself.

“Susie! Are your pants messy”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“What?”

Susie stuck her thumb in her mouth. “Yesh, Daddy.”

“Do big girls go poopy in their pants?”

“No, Daddy.”

“Did you know you’d had an accident.”

“Yesh, Daddy.”

“Then why didn’t you tell Daddy you had an accident?

“I wush pwayin’…”

“That doesn’t sound very mature, does it?”

Susie, formerly Mommy, was quivering. “No, Daddy.”

He walked back around and bid her come closer to the ground so that she could look him in the eyes. “Amazons,” he said once she was crawling on all fours. “What would you do without us?” Susie just softly cried.

“What happens to big girls who go pee-pee and poopy in their pants?” Kyle asked. Time to finish her programing.

“They get shpankt” Susie mumbled.

“What happens to babies who go pee-pee and poopy in their pants?’

Susie winced like she’d just been slapped in the face, or more likely, just bitten her thumb. Then said, “They gesh a diapher chahshe.”

“Why?”

“Cush dere Daddiesh wuf dem.”

Kyle patted her on the head and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “That’s right.” He went back over to the diaper bag and pulled out the changing mat. It was big enough to fit even an Amazon. Kyle thought nothing of it. “Lay down.”

Susie popped her thumb out of her mouth “Here? Now”

“Your panties were clean when we left the house, young lady.” Kyle said. “That means you had your accident out here in public in front of all your Amazon friends. If you can go in your pants, in public you can get cleaned up in public.”

Weeping, Susie crawled over to the changing mat and layed down. Kyle reached his hand into the bag and pulled out the perfect diaper. Just like what he used to wear, but sized for a very, very, big baby.

“Ooops!” he said. “Daddy almost forgot!” He slapped his forehead. “Silly Daddy!” He took out the pack of baby wipes. “Before I put you all nice and cozy in your diaper I’ve gotta clean up your accident.” That got a mumbled moan of despair from around the Amazon’s thumb.

Kyle put the wipes down by Susie’s knees and bent over Susie’s waist, deftly unbuttoning her pants for her. She didn’t have any snaps, so it was nothing at all for his tiny fingers to unfasten the big buttons and unzip her pants for her. In the near future, he’d make sure to get her a proper onesie; one with strong little sized buttons that big clumsy baby Amazon fingers wouldn’t be able to manipulate. It wouldn’t do to have a baby try to go streaking, or worse yet, dress like a big girl.

Using leverage and just a tiny bit of effort, Kyle pushed her knees up to her stomach. “Hold it for me,” he instructed. Obediently, his former Mommy did. “Good girl.” He yanked the pants off her hips, followed by her soiled, filthy panties.

Susie’s mewling cries doubled over as she felt the sick mess pull away from her delicate skin. “I know, I know.” Kyle shushed. “It doesn’t feel good to have an accident in your big girl undies. That’s why you shouldn’t be wearing them.” Without him having to tell her, she lowered her legs and outstretched them so that he could take her shoes and socks off followed by her soiled pants and undergarments. They were left in a pile in the grass. He’d pick them up later after he got Susie sorted out.

“You’ll feel much better in a nice clean diaper,” he promised. It was a lie, of course, or rather a half truth. Clean diapers only felt good in comparison because dirty diapers happened, and one inevitably led to another. More importantly, diapering her made clean up easier when he wouldn’t have to slide the soiled padding all the way off Susie’s ankles.

One step at a time, though…

“Okay. Lift one more time for Daddy.” He instructed. “Good girl.” Wipe after wipe, Tommy started cleaning her bottom. Taking extra care to wipe the laminated mat that had become stained with her feces. A diaper would definitely help this in the future. “Gotta wipe the baby nice and clean,” he told her. “And get rid of her mess.”

Susie was taking it rather well. She was only quietly crying now, resigned to her fate. Just as he had been once upon a time.

Time for the piece de resistance. With both hands he unfolded the giant diaper. Had it been on him, it would have dwarfed him, coming up to his armpits and being too baggy. On her though, it would be just right. Not wanting to make a rookie mistake, he eyed the tapes and slid the diaper the right way under his new charge’s elevated bottom. “Okay…” he said. Susie lowered her hips.

A second round of wipes was taken to Susie’s front side. He wasn’t going to let her get a rash because he was more focused on the solid waste and forget about the glistening droplets of urine clinging to her pubic area. “We’re going to have to get rid of all this big girl hair later,” he tutted.

“Mo…” Susie mumbled. “Non’t”

“Are you a big girl?” Kyle asked. Susie remained silent, sucking her thumb. “Exactly. Don’t worry though. We’ll take care of that later tonight using the special shampoos you keep under the sink.” Susie sometimes threatened to make Kyle a bald baby if he misbehaved. Now the bootie was on the other foot.

Oh she’d look adorable in just a diaper, bonnet, and booties! A note for later!

Leaving her waiting on the open diaper, Kyle backtracked to the diaper bag one last time. “Let’s help the baby smell nice and clean.” He said. The cloud of powder he dusted her with was enormous. “Will definitely need to get rid of that big girl hair though…”

Finally, enjoying it, saving the moment, he pulled the diaper up between Susie’s spread thighs, making sure to center the front and pull it taut so it tucked neatly into the back as he taped the first side. A quick scramble over to the other side so he could tape it nice and snug, completing her well deserved and much needed reduction of status.

He panted lighty and proclaimed her “Done!” He wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead. Taking care of big babies really was hard work, but it certainly was rewarding.

Susie tried to sit up, but the sheer mass of the plastic backed padding gave her difficulty. Kyle’s firm and steady hand touched her shoulder and guided her back down to the grass. “Not yet, Susie,” he told her. “Not yet.”

One final trip to the diaper bag yielded a very big baby bottle, filled with nice cold milk. Confident and satisfied, Kyle strode over to the Amazon’s head and made her lift it so that he could position his legs underneath them. “Here you go,” he offered her the bottle. “Drink up.”

She did, her lips puckering and suckling on the rubber teat. “Good girl,” he said. “Drink up. Make it all gone.” The stuff in that bottle, he knew, would make her a very good girl and ensure that she didn’t need those pesky big girl panties for as long as the stuff was in her system. She’d get used to sitting and nursing and playing in a wet diaper soon enough. Messy diapers would follow. Kyle was just helping things along.

Content at last, Kyle closed his eyes and breathed in his moment of victory. “I get it, now.” He said to himself. “I really get it.”

There in the darkness behind his closed eyes, Kyle sighed luxuriously as his new big baby suckled on her bottle, (the first of many) and shifted and crinkled in her diaper (the first of many).

Slowly, the darkness swirled into mist, as darkness does between dreams, and the scene faded from Kyle’s mind’s eye if not his memory. The sound of Susie sucking on her ba-ba yet lingered. Slowly, very slowly, his brain wishing for sleep that his body no longer required, Kyle’s eyes opened. Just past the Little boy’s nose was his balled up fist. The sound of sucking that had stuck with him had been him suckling on his own thumb.

Just a dream. But, oh, what a dream!

A slight creaking of floorboards and hinges, and the door to Kyle’s nursery opened and Mommy’s voice sang out. “Wakey wakey!” She said, “Did my baby boy enjoy his afternoon nap?”

A petite yawn later, and Kyle slowly sat back up in his crib. The afternoon sun shone past the thin pastel blue curtains of his babified bedroom. The feeling of his soaked diaper squishing beneath his weight was a gentle reminder that he was back in the real world. His mouth hadn’t quite caught up to his brain, however. “Huh? Wha? Susie?”

Mommy cocked an eyebrow. He hadn’t even thought of her as anything other than ‘Mommy’ for a long time. She’d broken him of that habit a long long time ago; or so they both had thought. “What was that?”

Kyle’s mind went into overdrive as unconscious and conscious thoughts traded places and memory of the real world kicked into high gear. The soaking wet diaper between his legs helped. He’d been laid down clean and dry. “Sorry Mommy. I was having a dream.”

Mommy approached the crib and picked him up. “About what?”

“A girl at my daycare,” he lied.

Kyle was soon plopped on the changing table, which was a much better place than over Mommy’s knee. “Oh.” Mommy said. “That makes sense.” She undid the tapes on his diaper and started wiping him. “Don’t worry. You’ll get to see all your Little friends and Mrs. Abernathy at daycare tomorrow.”

Kyle started sucking his thumb. “Yesh, Mommy.”

He couldn’t help but smile. Wow! What a dream. It was just a dream, but it was a really nice dream. One that made the Little boy both a tiny bit sad, and very very happy.

“I love you, baby boy.”

“Yesh, Mommy.” Kyle lied through his teeth and over his thumb. “I love you too.”

He’d be holding onto the image of Susie crying and laying down to get her diaper changed like a big dumb baby for as long as he lived. Even as a dream, it was better than nothing. If he could, he’d tell all the other kids at daycare tomorrow…

(The End)