Sunday morning. Early September. I wake up without an alarm. This is a rarity because I am a heavy sleeper, and always need an alarm. But not on this day and the reason is clear. A smile comes across my face as I know what the day has in store. In the next room, there is a girl fast asleep who has stolen my heart and I absolutely her for it. She and I have something in common that you don’t always find easily.
Throwing the covers off my legs, I stood up. I’m not a morning person, but on this day I moved with purpose. I walked into the hallway and over to the next bedroom door. Placing my hand on the doorknob, I paused for a moment to recognize how lucky I was. In this room, there is a sleeping girl who shares a love for infantilism. For both of us, it’s as pure and natural as it can be. It’s role playing, but we never have to do much playing at all when it comes to us so effortlessly.
I turned the knob and slowly opened the door. The sunlight had made its way into the room and brought warmth with it. The scent in the air told me that there was a girl in the room. It’s one of those little things that only a guy can truly appreciate. Whether it’s a perfume, or a body lotion, or the scent of her hair, when you breathe it in, it brings every sense within you to life.
The room is set up exactly as she wants it. Pink everywhere. And the walls are covered with butterflies. It’s her dream nursery. From the closet in the corner filled with every bit of AB clothing you can imagine to the bookshelf, loaded with Dr. Seuss, Beatrix Potter, C.S. Lewis, Disney, you name it’s there. The rocking chair sits next to the bookshelf, undisturbed and awaiting its next story time use. There is a net attached to the ceiling that covers one corner of the room. At this point, I would imagine there are probably over 100 stuffed animals in it, but I haven’t counted recently.
Then there’s the crib with the changing table next to it. From the doorway, I could see a mound of stuffed animals inside it. A soft white blanket lays heaped up in the middle, and beneath that blanket, she lies sleeping peacefully.
I walked up to the edge of the crib and looked down at her. Her eyes were so beautiful, and I couldn’t wait to wake her up so she would open them and melt my heart. I reached up and turned off the nightlight above her crib. She was very frightened of the dark. I looked down at her again, and could feel my heart beating through my shirt. There she was. My AB Girl. The love of my life.
She always like to go to sleep while laying on her tummy, but somehow had wound up on her back. Her hair was beginning to fall out of its pigtails. It gave a slight look of bed head. I grinned as I gently lifted up her pink nightshirt. Hello Kitty, of course. I placed my hand on the front of her diaper. She had wet herself, but that was all.
I quietly lowered the side of the crib, and knelt down beside her. The sunlight streaming through into her crib touched golden beams on her face. She was so peacefully asleep, and I was in no hurry to wake her up, just yet. I could’ve knelt there and watched her dreaming face for hours. But she needed her diaper changed, and we had a busy day ahead of us.
This wasn’t just any day. It was a very special day for her. From the moment I woke her up until the moment I put her to bed that night, this entire day she would spend as a baby, and every moment of this day I would be there to take care of her, to feed her, to bathe her, to hold her, to play with her, to love and to cherish everything about her and everything about her desire to be a baby.
This wasn’t every day for us. We still had vanilla lives to lead outside of our ABDL ones. But today, she was going to be all baby, and I was going to make her happy.
I gently ran my fingers down the side of her face. She gently awoke and took in a deep breath before curling her arms up and stretching. She opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling, then to either side of her on the crib mattress. She was looking for her pacifier, her cookie monster pacifier to be specific. She was never without it.
I parted her lips with that very pacifier. I had found it lying next to her, just moments before she rolled on top it. She looked over at me, and her beautiful brown eyes grew big and wide like she was about to burst with excitement. When this girl smiled her entire face lit up, and behind a cookie monster pacifier, she was adorable.
She reached out to me with “Daddy, Pick Me Up!” I did just that, taking her up into my arms. She wrapped her arms around my neck and her legs around my waist, and I just stood there and we embraced for a few minutes. We needed to say good morning to each other and this is how we did it.
I kissed her softly on the forehead as she closed her eyes. “Good morning, Angel. Daddy loves you.” She touched my cheeks with both hands and then leaned back. I wrapped my arms around her legs, lightly patting her diapered bottom. She smiled brightly again behind her pacifier. And wrapped her arms around my neck again as I carried her over to the changing table.
I laid her down on the table, and she relaxed herself. The countless number of times she found herself there led me to put a whole bunch of neat stickers on the ceiling above for her to look at. They may have served as a pleasant distraction for her at one point, but now they just stood to playfully remind her that she was about to get her diaper changed.
I unfastened the tapes of her wet diaper, and folded the front down. In one quick motion, her legs and bottom went up into the air. Wiping her clean, and applying a little baby oil gel in the right places, she was lowered back down onto a new diaper that she didn’t even see me put underneath her. I had become somewhat of an engineer at doing this.
The feeling of a clean diaper was as much fun for her as the feeling of a wet diaper. She delighted that I took the time to make sure she was dry. If it was up to her, she probably wouldn’t ever want her diaper changed. It took away from her time to be a busy babygirl, but she also delighted in me tending to her in this small but important way.
She and I had so much in common, and our love for the little details was a very big similarity. “All done!” I exclaimed.
She got up onto her knees on the table and stretched her arms out. Once again, I lifted her into my arms, this time patting her diapered bottom, a habit that I had. I carried her over to the crib so she could choose the stuffed animal she wanted to keep with her and her blanket, and out of the nursery we went, down the hallway into the kitchen. Along the way, we continued to say good morning to each other. (It was a lengthy process to say good morning, but one that we could never get enough of.) We touched noses “like de Eskimos do” she would always say. And then the blinking eyelash kisses “just like butterflies” she would always say. This girl loved butterflies.
I reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a small baby bottle of milk. I carried her into the living room, and sat on the sofa. I kept her on my lap, facing me. We looked at each other intently. (This was the laughing contest. We stared at each other and tried to get the other to laugh first.) I crossed my eyes for a second and she giggled. I took her blanket and covered and covered her head with it. She would take it off her head quickly, and then I would cover her with it again. This was our early morning version of peek-a-boo. We played it like this when we first woke up because neither of us were awake enough yet to play regular peek-a-boo.
I loved to catch her off guard with little tricks. I covered her head with the blanket, and as she pulled it off her head, I began bouncing my knees. Once again, it was the little things that brought a smile to her face and made her laugh. She did her best to hang on to my legs with her knees, but with a disposable diaper on and an inability to stop laughing, she never could hang on.
I scooped her up into my arms, sat back, laid her across my lap, and placed the baby bottle in her lips. She began to drink from it, and then reached up behind me to the back of the sofa. Suddenly, I felt her put my black Zorro hat on my head. I smiled at her and gave her a wink. She winked back and then nestled herself against my chest as she closed her eyes and drank from her bottle.
She stopped being silly for a while. When this happened, I knew that she wanted to feel “little”. So I gently rocked her back and forth and held her bottle to her mouth. Her left arm tightly hugged her teddy bear, and with her right hand she delicately ran her fingers up and down my arm. She was feeling very tiny and wanted to know where everything was around her. She didn’t want anything to move. She didn’t want anything to change. She wanted to feel safe and protected and cared for. It was what I always called her “little moments”.
I stared down at her loving brown eyes. She looked back up at me, shyly, sweetly. And I said: “You are absolutely beautiful in every way. I love everything about you. How you crave the feeling of a soft blanket. The way you curl up in a ball when you watch cartoons. The fact that all the food on your plate has to be mixed together completely before you will eat it. The way a diaper makes you waddle when you try to walk. The wrinkling of your nose when you smell something that’s bad. How you cock your head to the side when you make a decision. How ticklish your thighs are. How you respond to a gentle touch, soft words of kindness, and the chance to eat chocolate ice cream. And how your eyes tell me that this is exactly where you want to be.”
I took the empty bottle from her lips. “And how your eyes tell me that you need to be burped in the worst kind of way,” I said with a smile.
She puts her arms around me and I carried her into the kitchen. While making her breakfast, I gently bounced her up and down, and lightly patted her back. She rested her head on my chest, and sucked her thumb until……
“BUURRPP!” She burped, and she burped loudly. She let out a sigh of relief, and smiled. “That felt really good!” she exclaimed.
“It sure sounded like it did,” I said while putting her breakfast in the microwave. “Sweetie, would you be a good girl and go pick out the bib you want to wear for breakfast?”
I set her down to her feet. Sheepishly, she scrunched up her shoulders and jumped up and down. “High chair?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” I answered as she hugged me. “Arms up.”
She raised her arms and I took her nightshirt off. “Go pick out your bib, sweetheart,” I said as I patted her on her diapered bottom.
She ran over to the drawer that had her bibs in it, and opened it. Almost like clockwork, she tilted her head to the side, trying to decide which one to wear. Finally, she picked up the yellow one with the big butterfly on it. She skipped back over, and handed it to me.
“What’s for breakfast?” she asked. I took her over to the microwave, and she looked through the glass to see what was inside. Her eyes lit up again as I put the bib around her neck, hoisted her in the air and carried her over to the high chair. She willingly climb into it, and I put the tray in place just as the microwave sounded it was done.
She looked down at the bib and lifted it up to look at the butterfly. She lowered her bib to see me putting a bowl of oatmeal on the tray in front of her. I pulled up a chair and sat next to her while swirling the oatmeal. She smiled and winked at me, knowing that I was going to spoon feed her. I winked back.
Scooping up the first spoonful, I asked: “Which will it be today, planes or trains?”
“You choose!” she said eagerly.
“Since you don’t like to fly, we’ll take a train instead.” The first spoon began to chug-a-lug along through the air. She shyly scrunched up her shoulders and opened her mouth. She took the first spoonful in, and closed her lips around the spoon to get it all off. She smacked her lips, and awaited the next spoon. She ate that one the same way.
And through the feeding she began to get distracted from time to time. Her eyes would wander around the room, and she would occasionally bounce up and down in the high chair, but she was very much in a heavenly situation. And she was happy.
With oatmeal all over the face, she took in the last spoonful, and said: “All gone!” And as I took a wet washcloth to her face to clean her up, she crumpled up her nose. No baby likes to get her face wiped, of course. I took the bib off her neck, and unlocked the tray from the high chair. She put her arms up, waiting to be picked up. She knew what was coming next…one more bottle to wash breakfast down.
Up into my arms she went and she wrapped herself around me tightly while saying, “I love you, Daddy!” Tears welled up in my eyes, and I carried her into the living room again. I sat down and laid her across my lap. She took the next bottle into her mouth very eagerly.
And then she looked up at me with such a content look that all I could do was smile back at her. I couldn’t speak. Here was a girl who put all her trust in me to make her fantasy become the reality that it was. She opened her tender soul, hoping that I would take her most passionate secret and make her the happiest babygirl in the world. She was so sweet and so wonderful that I knew right then and there I would never again have to search for the things that my heart needed to survive.
She began to fall asleep again. She would fall asleep and wake up and continue to drink from her bottle. Then she would fall asleep again. And this continued until she fell asleep completely. I set the bottle aside and returned her pacifier to her lips. Her body relaxed into arms. Her cheeks began to release all stress, and I kissed her on the forehead while running my fingers along her eyebrows.
I held her in my arms like that for a while. Then she suddenly awoke, and sat straight up. She looked around for a moment and then down at her diaper. She looked at me sheepishly, and I winked at her playfully. “You ready for your bath time?” I asked.
She nodded excitedly. Up into my arms she went, one of her favorite places to be, and off we went to the bathroom. I sat on the toilet lid and put her on my knee. We both looked in the tub, and all of her bath toys were still in there from yesterday. (I spoiled this girl. I admit it.) No sooner had I plugged up the tub and turned the water on than she had all ready grabbed the bubble bath and poured a large amount into it.
The water level began to fill up. I took her pigtails out, letting her hair fall over her shoulders, and unfastened her wet diaper. She leaned over the edge of the tub, and began running her hands through the water, making the amount of bubbles grow.
I scooped her up in my arms, and began to lower her into the warm water. The moment I set her in the water completely, she began kicking her feet and splashing and went straight to her toys. I sat next to the tub for a little while and watched her enjoying her bubble castle.
Then she tired of playing and leaned back and closed her eyes. I picked up a wash cloth and bathed every inch of her body. Warm bath water and the touch of a soft cloth calmed her. She leaned her head back resting it on a towel I had placed in the edge. She took the pacifier out of her mouth, and said: “Don’t you ever wish I would take care of you?”
“You do take care of me,” I replied.
“How?” she asked while looking at me with a lively twinkle in her eyes.
“You are the sweetest girl in the world. You speak with love in your voice. You delight in the simplest things. Your fingertips feel like silk. Your eyes and your smile are so beautiful,” I said as I lifted her out of the tub and into a towel on my lap. “And you want to be with me.”
She smiled at me warmly and lovingly, and put the pacifier back into mouth as I carried her into nursery. I put her down on her feet and began to dry her off with the towel, saving her hair for last. “What color of t-shirt do you want to wear?” I asked as I laid her down on the carpet.
She laid her head on the carpet and pointed to the
closet. I walked over and opened it up. “A pink one!” she exclaimed.
I grinned; knowing that pink was always her choice. So I grabbed a pink t-shirt off the shelf closet, and said, “Arms Up.”
She sat up and raised her arms to the sky. I brought it down over her head and hands and over her body. I pulled her out of her shirt and let it lay on her shoulders to dry. She crawled over to her doll house, and I followed after her, picking her up and carrying her over to the changing table.
“Not yet, Princess,” I said as I laid her on her back and put her in a diaper. “I have a question for you.”
She looked up at me with wonder. I opened up the book I had hiding behind my back and read from it. “Do you like green eggs and ham?”
Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. She sat up and jumped off the table, grabbing me by the hand and taking me over to the rocking chair, which she called the read’n chair. I took a seat and she sat on my lap, resting her head on my chest as I read Green Eggs and Ham. As I read it, she recited the words with me. I finished the whole book and she made me read it again. I offered to read it backwards, but she shook her head no and called me silly.
I kept her on my lap and took a brush to her hair,
returning the pigtails that she so dearly loved. And as I was doing this, I realized that the little things that she delighted in so very much, I was beginning to delight in as well, just in a different way. I loved her like no other, and it filled me with such a warm feeling to make her laugh and to put that magnificent, adoring smile on her face. Pigtails did that very thing to her. Maybe it was because she liked them, or maybe it was because I was the one who put her hair up like that. Either way, she was happy.
“You wanna watch some cartoons?” I asked.
“Yep!” she said enthusiastically as she leaped off my lap and ran out of the nursery towards the living room. I sat there for a moment and smiled at watching her trying to waddle/run in her diaper. It was an endearing and sugary sweet site to behold. I leaned forward to stand up when I heard her running back down the hallway towards me in the nursery. She ran back in, grabbed me by the hand, yanked me up out of the chair, and pulled me in the hallway, at which point she let go of my hand, went sprinting down the hallway towards the TV room and leapt into the air, landing on the couch.
The TV was on and she was all ready into an episode of Mickey’s Playhouse. I walked into the kitchen, and began cleaning up the high chair and kitchen floor. Every few minutes I would glance back in the living room to see if she was okay. And she was mesmerized by the TV. Mickey Mouse has that power.
“You want Macaroni for lunch, sweetheart?” I asked from the kitchen.
“Yes! But de yellow ones, not de orange,” she replied.
“Okay. Velveeta then, Not Kraft,” I said with a smile. I began to prepare it, still smiling about how particular she was. She would only eat certain things. Period. That’s it. Some things I had to give in on. Honestly, I didn’t mind. For as much as I took care of her, she had me wrapped around her finger. She knew how to get what she wanted when she wanted it. And I didn’t mind that either. I would have it no other way.
Loading up a bowl with macaroni and cheese (the yellow, not the orange!) and placing it in the freezer for a moment to cool down, I called out to her. “Lunch is ready! Is there any BabyGirl nearby who might want some yellow macaroni and cheese?”
I heard her hop up to her feet and run into the kitchen like an excited two year old. She crashed into me, hugging me, and exclaiming, “Me!”
I pretended I see her, and kept looking into the living room. “Anyone? Anyone at all?” I said.
She started jumping up and down in front of me. “Me, Daddy! Me! Me! Me!” she said.
I looked down at her with surprise. “Well when did you come in here?”
“I came in when you called,” she said while lifting her arms up.
I took her t-shirt off, and attached a bib. (Hey, I’ve learned.) Up into my arms she went and she dropped her pacifier in my shirt pocket for safe keeping. I carried her over to the high chair, and she sat in it very politely and waited for the tray to be put in front of her before she started bouncing up and down. I went over to the fridge and took the bowl out of the freezer. It had cooled down enough for her now. She liked to eat macaroni with her fingers. It was another one of many thousands of adorable things that she liked to do.
I set it the bowl down on the tray in front of her, and watched her fold her hands and bow her head. She always said a silent prayer. Except in the mornings. Sometimes she would honestly forget or she wouldn’t be awake enough. But it was very much important to her. I was glad she and I shared that conviction as well.
She leaned over the bowl and started taking handfuls of it and devouring it. This was one of her favorite meals. And with each handful of it, her face became more and more covered with cheese. She had cheese on her hands and part way up her arms by the time she finished and leaned back to burp. And her burps were adorable do. She tried to belch loudly, but just didn’t have it her. She was a girl and even when she tried to be ungirly about things, she was still a girl.
I put the bowl in the sink, and took a washcloth to her arms and face, and just like at breakfast, she hated it, but it had to be done. Besides, Daddy wasn’t going to let her out of that high chair until she was cleaned up. She eventually gave in and let me clean her face. I took the tray off and then her bib from her neck. As if we had down this many times before (because we had), she instinctively put her arms up for her t-shirt to go back on.
I picked her up and carried her into the living room. She reached into my shirt pocket and found her pacifier. I lifted her up, and asked: “Play Dough or Coloring?”
She cocked her head to the side, trying to decide. “Coloring!” she finally shouted out.
I set her down on the living room rug and she crawled over to the basket alongside the couch. She pulled out 12 coloring books, and an enormous handful of crayons, throwing it all over the rug and getting right to it. I sat down on the couch and turned the TV on.
“Wuh yachin’, Daddy?” she asked not looking up from her coloring.
“The Chiefs,” I answered.
“Fooooooo Ball,” she said.
This was opening Sunday for the NFL, that horrid wait since the Superbowl in January was over, and I was eternally grateful that she didn’t fuss when I watched football. It was something that I really wanted to do, much like her desire to be a babygirl. And I had learned to not get so shoutingly excited during the football games. I call it a necessary agreement.
She entertained herself with her coloring books, and I would occasionally hear her talking to herself. From the floor, I would hear, “Wu Not eat it wit a fox. Wu not eat it in u box.” She eventually began to tucker out a little, crawled over to the couch and up on my lap. She curled up in the fetal position and began to fall asleep. It was soon time for her nap, so this wasn’t a little cat nap. It would soon be crib time.
I held her for a while until she was fast asleep. Checking her diaper once more before taking her back to the nursery, I slowly stood up, and carried her back the hallway. She was out like a light on my shoulder. I turned the lights off in the nursery, and closed the curtains with one hand, being careful not to wake her. I walked carried her over to her crib, lower the side of the crib, turned her nightlight on, and very delicately laid her down in the crib on her tummy.
As I stood up, she awoke and began to cry lightly. “Hey, I’m right here,” I whispered to her softly.
“I don’t wanna go to bed,” she fussed as I pulled the blanket over her body. “I don’t wanna go to bed.”
I leaned in towards her face, put her pacifier in her mouth, and kissed her on the forehead. “Shh-shh-shh,” I whispered. “You’ve got a busy day ahead of you and it’s only just begun. It’s time to rest.”
In a matter of seconds, she was asleep. I raised the side of her crib, and quietly walked over to the door. I glanced back at her sleeping, and then shut the door.
To Be Continued