You can find the other stories in this series here.
You smile indulgently down at me as I say, “I feel like a superhero!”, not bothering to reiterate that wearing my swimming suit under my clothes would make diaper changes more difficult. I’d already known that, of course, even before the first, or second, time you’d pointed it out - why else do you think I hadn’t even bothered trying to convince you to let me wear Pull-Ups?
Well, I guess you could’ve just thought that I was giving up, just agreeing with you that I should be diapered all the time, but, in that case, you would be wrong. You can definitely expect some puppy dog eyes - and, likely, pouting when those get turned down - next time I’m in something that I could conceivably get off in time to keep my underwear, in whatever form that may be, dry.
Then again, you’ll probably just remind me that last time I’d been in Pull-Ups full time, you’d made me a progress chart for the wall of my room, and you’d never been able to give me a sticker in the “You stayed dry all day!” category. And barely any in the “You kept the special pictures on your pants!”, and only that many because I’d badgered you into putting them there by saying that any time you checked me and the flowers were still there counted. And I guess I hadn’t gotten many stickers for “You told me when you were wet!”, either. I could’ve gotten more for putting on or taking off my Pull-Ups myself, too, if you would’ve let me more often. So that was really your fault.
“You’re sure you don’t need to use the potty before we head out?” you ask, patting the back of my skirt with a soft crinkle. I don’t answer, but you seem to get the idea anyway, from me rolling my eyes and sticking out my tongue, and from the last few times you’d asked, before getting me dressed.
You hand me my diaper bag, watching as I slip it onto my shoulder before grabbing the picnic basket yourself and glancing around, making sure you haven’t forgotten anything. “All right,” you say finally, taking my hand, “let’s go.”
The sun is shining brightly when we get outside, and I bounce across the yard into it, leaning my head back to feel it against my face while you lock the front door. “Good girl,” you tell me with a smile when you see that I hadn’t gone any further than that, and take my hand again.
You keep ahold of me, despite my almost constantly tugging on your hand, as the fresh air fills my lungs and fills me full of energy, and makes me wonder why you’re being so slow.
“Good morning!” you call suddenly, and I look up to see one of our neighbors waving. I blush a little and wave back, slowing down as I adjust my cargo, hoping it didn’t look too much like a diaper bag from a distance. Luckily, you don’t stop all the way, and our neighbor quickly kneels back in front of her flower garden instead of pursuing us for a conversation. I’m sure she’s seen me with my diaper bag a hundred times, and never asked me about it, but it still makes me nervous.
I walk next to you for a while, but as we get further away from home, and closer to the park, you start to get slower and slower, no matter how hard I try to pull you forward. Finally, with the edge of the park and, more importantly, its playground, in sight, my hand slips clear of yours altogether. I turn around quickly, making sure you were still there. You are, and you nod at me.
I grin and take off as fast as I can run in my flip-flops without falling down and skinning my knees. I very nearly end up doing that anyways, but somehow manage to keep upright, though if I hadn’t been wearing my swimsuit, you probably would’ve gotten a pretty good glimpse of my diaper while I did so.
The playground, as usual for this time of day, was pretty empty, so I was able to go straight for the slide and immediately drop my diaper bag so I could scramble up the ladder, without having to wait my turn. While I don’t particularly like ladders, I’ve found that they’re much easier to take when you don’t have to climb back down them.
I giggle as I slide back down to the bottom, glad once again for my swimsuit, even with so few people around, and most of them in the sandbox, or sitting on the benches near the sandbox. I think I noticed one of the latter looking up at me, but it wasn’t anybody I knew, so I didn’t let it stop me from running back around to the ladder again.
By the time I begin my descent, you’re there, waiting for me, stopping me right at the bottom and holding me there, easy prey for your tickling fingers. I giggle and squirm beneath them, letting out an extra-loud squeal when you take off my flip-flop and tickle the bottom of my foot. You smile down at me, watching as I try to pull my foot up under myself, to get it away, only to have it keep slipping down into your reach.
You slow down when you hear the faint gasp in the midst of my laughter, as I feel my bladder give way and flood my diaper, then reach down to put my flip-flop back onto my foot and lift me down off the slide with a pat on my now soggy bottom. “You wanna slide again?” you ask, though you don’t look particularly surprised when I shake my head and dart over to the swings.
You follow a moment or two later, setting the picnic basket and my diaper bag down by the swingset. “I don’t know,” you call, shaking your head when you see me sitting on one of the swings, starting to edge myself backwards to get a good take-off. “Those look kinda dangerous. Maybe you should be in one of these,” you point towards one of the bucket swings.
“Nuh-uh!” I call back, sticking out my tongue, perhaps a bit louder than I had intended. Oh well… If the other people here were going to watch us, I’m sure they’d already started by now. “I’m too big for those, anyway!”
That was, of course, the wrong thing to say around you, and before I knew it, I found myself being picked up by you again and carried to one of the baby swings. I didn’t want to wriggle too much and get dropped, so you don’t have much trouble at all setting me inside.
“What were you saying?” you ask as my legs swing wildly back and forth, at least as far as the leg holes would let me.
“You’re not funny,” I pout, trying to pull myself up and out of the seat, but my hands just slip off the plastic around the chains holding up my seat.
“I can live with that,” you reply, moving around behind me and giving me a push. I sigh and settle down, seeing as I don’t have much of a choice. After a few moments, I let myself smile a little, feeling the air rush past my face, my hair flying behind me.
“Aww,” I blink up at you when you stop, sticking out my bottom lip. “Done already?”
“Aren’t you hungry, sweetie?” you ask, right as my stomach gives a loud growl. I sigh and nod, holding up my arms for you to pick me up, but instead, you go over and grab our stuff.
“Ha, ha,” I say, then repeat it a little louder when you keep walking away, kicking my legs uselessly. “Daddy!”
“Oh, I knew I forgot something,” you tease, finally coming back over to the swing to help me out.
“Meanie,” I sulk. You kiss the top of my head.
You try to make us sit at a picnic table, but it’s in a pavilion thing with a roof, and what fun is that? Plus, I know you brought a blanket. “You can’t have a picnic on a picnic table,” I point out.
“Then why is it called a picnic table?” you ask, but you still pick the basket back up and head over to a nice, flat area in the grass, where the sun is shining nice and bright. You let me spread out the blanket while you start getting out the food. I plop down in the middle of the blanket and wait for my sandwich.
“How’s your diaper doing?” you ask instead.
“It’s fine,” I sigh, holding out my hands.
“Oh, really? Isn’t that what you said…?”
I blush and quickly say, “It’s really fine!” before you can remind me that the last time I’d said that, it had been right before a leak.
“If you say so.” You don’t sound all that convinced, but you give me my peanut butter and cheese sandwich anyway.
I bite down into it, my smile fading away slightly as I chew. “I said I wanted crunchy,” I pout.
“Sorry, sweetie,” you apologize with a shrug. “We didn’t have any crunchy left.”
“We just got some Friday!” I protest. “I picked it out!”
“And it was smooth.”
“It was not!” I glare. “I know the difference between crunchy and smooth, and I got crunchy!”
“All right,” you say calmly. “But the only peanut butter we have in the cabinet is smooth.”
“Hmph.” I sulkily take another bite of my sandwich, since even if it isn’t as good as it should’ve been, I’m still hungry.
“See, it wasn’t that bad, now was it?” you ask when you see that I’m done.
Then you pick up the next part of lunch, which apparently requires a bib, since you also get one of those, scootching a little closer to me so you can tie it around my neck.
“Daddy, someone’ll notice!” I sniff, tugging at the bib until you lightly smack my hand.
“There’s nobody around,” you point out. “And I’m sure that even if they were, they wouldn’t pay us any attention unless they heard you over here complaining.”
I stick out my tongue at you, yet, ultimately, I decide to let it go. There are joggers that go around the park at around this time of day, though they hadn’t shown up yet, so I guess it’s okay for now. So I turn my attention to what my next course is. I can tell that it’s babyfood, which doesn’t make me too happy in and of itself, but I can’t quite make out what kind it is until you pick the jar up.
“I don’t want it,” I wrinkle my nose.
“But you like carrots,” you remind me.
“Only when they’re crunchy,” I correct you. “Those aren’t crunchy. They’re gooey and icky and I don’t want them!”
“You’ve never had carrot baby food,” you say patiently. “You might like it.”
“Will not,” I insist, crossing my arms.
Apparently, you aren’t listening, because you open the jar anyway. “I don’t want it!” I try to kick over in your direction.
“Hey,” you say sternly. “Be good.”
“I may have brought a jar of prune along as well,” you warn me. “Maybe you should eat that instead, huh?”
“Fine,” I give in, opening my mouth for the first spoonful of carrot, obediently, but not happily, and making a nasty face once I’ve swallowed, though I guess it wasn’t absolutely terrible.
Once you’ve finished torturing me with that, you set the jar back in the basket. I reach behind me, trying to untie my bib, only to see you produce another jar of babyfood.
“Daddy!” I plead, remembering your threat. “I was good!”
“Pretty good,” you sort of agree. “That’s why I’m giving you this.”
I wrinkle my nose, already tasting that yucky prune taste. “I’m sorry?” I try, staring up into your eyes.
You put the spoon into my mouth before I can close it again. I prepare to gag, only to realize that it wasn’t prunes at all, but some kind of cherry vanilla dessert thing. “Mmm!” I giggle in between bites.
“Silly girl,” you smile softly at me.
“You’re silly,” I reply automatically. There seems to be a lot less pudding than there were carrots, after which you fish my bottle out of the basket. It only has water in it, but you added some ice, so at least it’s nice and cool. The sun is making me feel all warm, and drowsy, so I suck on my bottle, curling up on the blanket with my head on your lap.
You reach down and pat my bottom. “I think you’re gonna need a change,” you say. “You should’ve just waited until we got here to put on your swimsuit after all.”
I shrug, squirming a little, already drifting off to sleep with a full tummy, head full of thoughts of an afternoon playing in the sprinklers, then maybe back to the playground. Either way, I know I’ll be with you, and that’s all that matters.
“Goodnight, Daddy,” I mumble, just managing to see you catch my bottle as it falls from my sleepy hands before my eyes close.