Elizabeth
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Joined: 30 Dec 2007
Posts: 172
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 Posted: Mon Dec 31, 2007 11:27 am Post subject: 2: Efficiency (or The Tell-Tale Pants) |
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The feeling of your finger running along the elastic band at the leg of my diaper is just enough to wake me up, though only in a very loose interpretation of the phrase. My eyes open slowly to find your face above me, smiling down at me.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," you say, lips fuzzily moving up and down.
It's too early in the day to answer you properly, I'm sure, even if it's eleven o'clock, which it most likely is. "Morning," I mumble, trying to roll back over and bury my face in the picture of Ariel on my nice, fluffy pillow. I feel your hands moving around me, and then picking me up, turning me over so that I can see your eyes again, as well as I can see anything yet, without my glasses, shining with way too much pep for this time of the day on a Saturday.
One of your hands moves to the seat of my pajamas, pressing the diaper underneath against my skin, and I flinch a little at the cold, clammy feeling. Maybe it's a good thing you're changing me now after all... It doesn't feel like my diaper can take much more before it starts to leak. And that would have been bad, even with my plastic sheets. Your other hand moves to the front of the pants, loosening the drawstring around the top of the pants a tiny bit, just enough to make it easier to pull my pants over my diaper.
You set me down on the changing table, the cool plastic cover making little goosebumps start to form on the skin of my legs, where they touch it, as you tug my pants the rest of the way off. It still feels weird, being changed up here. Makes it hard to argue I'm not a baby when I'm having a wet diaper taken off of me up here. Not that you ever make it an easy argument to begin with.
"Did you have good dreams, sweetie?" You ask, giving me a kiss on the forehead, gently pushing me back onto the table.
"Guess so," I shrug. I only have a few fleeting memories left of my dreams, as usual, and they seem normal enough. I hear the light ripping sound as you undo the tapes on my diaper.
"That's funny... I don't remember hearing the news mentioning the disappearance of Niagara Falls," you tease, reaching for the baby wipe warmer.
"Ha ha," I pout.
"Well, aren't we a little cranky-drawers this morning?" The feeling of the wipe against my skin is relaxing, and my pout lightens up a bit. "Are you feeling okay? Maybe I should take your temperature while we have your diaper off."
"No!" I answer quickly, sticking my tongue out at you, even though I know you're joking. "I'm fine."
"If you say so," you shrug. I feel my legs being lifted, and then my bottom settled gently back down on the table. "You do remember that I'm going to be doing work at the church all day, don't you?"
"Umm..." I blush, vague recollections of those words coming back to me. "Kinda?"
"Hmm... Maybe I should put you into another diaper, in case you forget to go to the bathroom while I'm gone, too? Or maybe I should just take you with me. I'm sure there's plenty of room in the nursery for you." You laugh at the indignant look on my face.
"I'll be jus' fine," I assure you, a look of disappointment crossing over my face as your hand moves over the baby oil and straight to the powder.
I didn't realize you had noticed, but I guess you did. "Sorry, baby, I need to get going pretty quick. I'll use it when I get back, all right?"
"Okay," I sigh.
"Now, you do remember that you're supposed to take out the garbage later, right?"
"Of course," I say, starting to pout again, partly at how much time you're spending dumping baby powder on me when you didn't have time for the oil, and partly at the very suggestion that I might have forgotten about my chores. Even if I had.
I never could hide anything from you, and now was no different. You pull out a Pull-Up from the stack beside me and starting to pull it up my legs. "Hmm... If you say so. You sure you don't just want me to do it before I leave?"
"No!" I glare. I wish I was on the floor so I could stomp my foot at you. "I can take care of a lil' thing like the garbage on my own."
"All right, all right. No need to get snippy, young lady." I can tell you're using your warning tone, so I try to calm down some more, not wanting to get a spanking when you get home. You put your hands under my arms and lift me down to my feet, giving the waistband of my Pull-Up a final little tug to make sure it's on well enough before moving down a little, and giving the seat of it a pat. I jump a little, wonder if maybe you've read my mind about the spanking. "Now that's the cutest looking and smelling little bottom I've ever seen."
I can't help but giggle a little. "It'll be the reddest one, too, if I find out that you don't eat your lunch again," you threaten.
"Okay," I sigh. It's not that I don't like your food... It's just not what I'm in the mood for, sometimes. If you'd just let me eat peanut butter and cheese, or ice cream, or pizza, all the time, then it'd be fine, but I guess you look down on that for some reason.
"Good girl," you smile, lifting me up into a hug, ending with a quick kiss.
"Of course," I giggle, following you to the front door to wave at your car as it retreats into the distance. I realize only after you're gone that I'm still wearing only my nightshirt and Pull-Up, and I retreat back inside the house, blushing furiously, glad I hadn't noticed if any of our neighbors were out and about, and also glad that my nightshirt is long enough to cover up whatever I have under it.
I go back to my room, head straight for my dresser, grabbing my glasses from my desk as I pass by. I pull open the top drawer and strain on my tiptoes to look inside. I know this is where you keep all my "big girl" panties, for the rare cases when you say I can wear them. I'd never admit it, certainly, but I like it that way, no matter how much I protest, from time to time, as to how much of a baby I'm not. It gives me the chance to feel a little naughty at times like this, when I wear them on my own.
A cute pair, pink, a little ribbon adorning the front, coming to a bow at the center, are at one corner. After much deliberation, I choose them, even over the ones with flowers, and even the cute unicorn print ones. Simple, yet pretty. I lay them down on the bed, nodding happily at my selection.
I start to take off my Pull-Up, but pause, more and more memory returning to my sleep addled mind. Last night, I had planned on working on the last part of my story... Or at the very least planning out that part. I was even going to try to get up early, so I would be sure to have it done by the time you got home.
I look up at my clock nervously, stomach sinking as I notice the crayons that work as hands were pointing at 11, and slightly after 6. I had slept even longer than usual! How was I going to get it done now? I could just not bother... There's always next weekend.
No. I've used that excuse for too long, now. I need to get it done. With a sigh I yank my Pull-Up back up, pushing the my dresser drawer closed loudly. I was going to get my writing done, no matter what! And, even if I didn't like it, my current state of underwear would serve me better for trying to get things done quickly. I wouldn't have to get up to go to the bathroom, anyway...
My legs feel a little cold, so I pick my pajama pants back up from the changing table, where you had left them, and put them on as I walk to the kitchen, wanting to get a head start on finishing my eating. There are a couple little containers of stuff, only the one containing vanilla pudding looking interesting at the moment. I grab that, and a spoon, and I trek back to the computer room. I pass by the TV; it beckons to me, tells me there are demons to be hunted, worlds to be saved.
I tell it no, as firmly as I can. It's my favorite thing to say to things that can't argue back, even if it's my least favorite answer to get from you.
There is writing to be done!
I finish most of my pudding while I wait for the computer to boot up, resorting to licking the bottom when I can't get the last bit to come out with my spoon. I set the container down, close my eyes for a few seconds to clear my head, get my brain working. My brain protests by lulling me back to sleep.
The only thing that keeps me from drifting out is the sudden feeling of my bladder letting go as I'm inches away from dreamland. I snap myself out of it, too late to stop it. "Ohhh..." I pout. "Well, -that- didn't last long."
I should probably change. But I didn't wet that much... I bet it can take a little more. And, anyway, that would just defeat the purpose of wearing it in the first place, although I'm now very glad that I didn't put on my panties.
I pull my foot up onto the chair, trying to get comfortable, but still be able to reach the keyboard. It's harder than it might seem. I have practice, though, so I should be able to pull it off, if anyone can.
I let my finger tap against the keyboard along with the tune running through my head. Inspiration should be along any minute now. I hope.
I should eat. Maybe food will get the creative process started.
I take the empty pudding container back to the kitchen, tossing it into the sink. The next most interesting thing you've left for me is the little plate of apple slices, so I pick up that, and the bottle of chocolate milk. I drink a few drops of the latter as I walk back to the computer, my thirst only now becoming evident. I finish off the bottle almost before I get through the first apple slice, and get myself a refill, making sure to clean up the little spill on the table so you won't notice it.
Getting back into my comfy position turns out to be harder than finding it in the first place. Stupid chair. My left foot ends up underneath me, my right perched just barely on the edge of the seat.
My finger taps against the keyboard.
My apple slices start to turn brown and icky looking. I leave them alone and just drink my bottle, unhappy to see how little is left in it already.
I squirm a little, my Pull-Up starting to feel uncomfortable. I really don't want to get diaper rash, but still, I don't let myself get up to change.
"You have to write at least one sentence before you can change," I firmly tell myself, nodding for emphasis. Maybe that would be enough motivation to get me started.
The word processor blinks out, is replaced by a field of stars zooming by. I don't even bother to move the mouse to turn it off; I just watch the stars.
My bottle is empty again.
"Ugh!" I exclaim suddenly, surprising even myself. "Why can't I write?!"
I almost throw my bottle across the room in frustration, but I know if I somehow broke it, or something else in the room, I'd be in trouble.
My bladder twinges at me, a signal that I know I need to respond to quickly if I want to avoid an "accident". Instead of hurrying to the bathroom, since my plan to save time obviously hasn't done me any good, I spite myself by just letting go, not even trying to pretend I'm a big girl.
"Stupid story."
The edge of my left foot notices a drop of dampness. I pull it away without giving it much thought, until that same dampness starts to spread down the legs of my pajama pants.
"Oh no..." I look down quickly, barely in time to see the wet spot stop expanding. "Oops."
---
This is not helping me write my story any faster. So much for best laid plans doing... whatever they're supposed to do. Whoever made up that saying obviously never thought of leaks, and how they screw everything up. Unless that's what the saying is about. I can never remember if it was saying that plans are good or bad.
My first instinct is to get out of these clothes, now that they are wet. As I head for my room, however, I realize that I need to dry off the chair, and probably pretty fast. I turn back around hoping that the fake leather of the seat will be all right, as it was when I spilled my Mountain Dew on it last week. I mean... When I... umm... never spilled anything on it, ever.
Almost back to the chair, I notice that I don't have anything to dry it with. I pause, running through my options. I could use my towel from the bathroom, then wash it, like I already am going to have to do with my pants. But my towel is big and fluffy, and takes forever to dry... What if it wasn't done by the time you get home? You might notice it was missing, and that would be difficult to explain, without telling you what happened. Or coming up with a story, and running the risk of you finding out different, and not being pleased with me lying to you. A kind of not pleased that would probably lead to a spanking, and maybe even diapers 24/7, with little to no chance for parole, even for school.
I'm not too happy about the idea, but I take off my pajama pants anyway, yanking them all the way off of my legs. I crumple them up so that the wet spot is on the inside, use the rest to dry off my legs before going over to the chair and giving it a quick wipe, trying to get it as clean as I can. It's not going to be enough, I know, but it's a start. Holding my soaked pants at arm's length, I traipse downstairs to the laundry room, dropping them into the washing machine. The hamper was empty; we had just done laundry yesterday. It's a good thing you're at the church, and not just in the basement or something. I'm not sure how I'd hide the fact that the washing machine was going if you were in the same house.
The Pull-Up falls into my diaper pail, which is starting to look a bit on the full side. I slide the baby wipes a little closer to the edge of the changing table as I clean myself up, calming down some. It isn't too bad... I just have to clean up the chair a little more, to make sure it's good, and get my pants cleaned and dried. I'm sure you'll be gone long enough for that.
I reach for a new Pull-Up, fingertips accidentally brushing against one of the stacks of my diapers instead. I move on, grab a Pull-Up, then set it back down. After all this, I don't particularly want to have to deal with another leak... And I still have my story to work on.
My hand moves back over to the stack of diapers. If I'm really serious about using my time efficiently today, then I'll swallow my pride, and just do it.
Just do it.
I sigh, hand closing around the faux cloth cover of the diaper. I contemplate jumping up onto the changing table to put it on; it seems rather unnecessary, so instead I lean on the table, fastening up the sides as best I can. I'm not used to diapering myself anymore... It's a bit more difficult than I remember.
There is a brief moment where I notice that the thing I'm leaning on is no longer there to be leaned on, not long enough to do anything about it, but long enough to know what's coming.
My feet come out from under me, and I fall flat onto my half-diapered bottom, head bonking against the side of the table. I think I might hear some stuff falling on the other side, though right now I don't care, as tears well up in my eyes. I sniffle, wanting to call you up and make you come home so you can comfort me, give me a kiss to make it all better. But you can't be home yet, so I have to pull myself together on my own.
It's a lot easier to finish putting my diaper on while sitting, I find. I don't feel like standing up yet, so I crawl over to the other side of the table, to see what I had knocked over, only to discover diapers all over the place. Most of them are disposable, though there are a few cloth, underneath which are a couple pairs of plastic panties, and a dwindling supply of Pull-Ups, although luckily there is a new box of those waiting to be opened to the side of the table. Just to be on the safe side, I lay aside one pair of plastic panties, bright yellow, as I gather up all the rest of the stuff and try my best to arrange it how I think it was before.
I feel like curling up on my bed and staying there for the rest of the afternoon. No time for that.
The plastic panties crinkle as I trot to the kitchen. I grab the washcloth and get it a little damp, not sure how wet the chair should get. I pick up the bottle of dish soap, too, just in case, and the dish towel, pulling a new one from the drawer to put in its place. I probably spend more time than is really necessary in making sure the seat is clean, and then dry, but it's better safe than sorry, you know. And, just to be absolutely, positively safe, I push that chair off to the side, the one broken wheel squeaking rather annoyingly, and drag one of the wooden chairs all the way from the dining room back to the computer room.
This story is turning out to be a lot more work than I thought.
Next is the washing machine. I deposit the towel and washcloth, almost dropping the dish soap in, but I manage to stop myself in time. I grab the laundry detergent, trying to figure out how much I would need for such a small load. Maybe half a cap? That seems like a bit much; I'd rather have too much than too little. I wish we had more laundry to do, though, in case you show up sooner than I expect. Not only would I have a good cover story for why the washing machine or drier is running, but you might even give me some ice cream or something for being a good girl and doing laundry for you without even having to be asked.
I twist the two dials on the front of the machine, to turn it on, and set it to small load rather than large. I hope I remember to change that back...
I walk back to the computer room, heart slowing back down to normal speed. Everything should be all right now. After all, it's hardly a crime to wet my pants, and I was responsible enough to take care of it all by myself. And I hadn't even been trying to wear my big girl panties, like I'm sure you thought I would be by now. Of course, I don't plan on giving you the satisfaction of knowing that you really should have put me back into a diaper for the day, but just in case... Just in case...
The chair is cold. I recall that my legs are still bare.
I get back up, go back to my room, get out my light blue pajama pants and slide them on. They're a little too big on me, so the legs go down to the floor, but since I don't plan on doing too much walking in them, I don't mind. I do have to tie the drawstring to keep them from trying to fall down over my diaper I find as I walk back to the computer room. I guess that's why I don't wear them too often, since other than that, they're pretty comfy.
I climb back onto chair, moving my legs underneath myself, curling my feet up inside the legs of my pants.
I pick my bottle up, suck on it with the hope that somehow that will cause it to refill on its own.
It doesn't.
My fingers tap against the keyboard.
They move closer to the keys, one tapping the Caps Lock a couple times to turn the screen saver off, to bring back my empty word processor.
A word starts to appear on the screen. And then another. I read them over and delete them, but immediately start typing again, a better alternative that just occurred to me. I nod as I look it over, starting to smile and the next sentence, and then paragraph, begin to form. It's always the first one that's the hardest.
And, in this case, the first one was the most difficult by a long shot. Almost as soon as I finish the paragraph, the rest of the story begins to flow out in a deluge, nearly too fast for me to type. My fingers race across the keyboard, mind working its hardest to write the new stuff and edit what was currently being written at the same time.
I hear the washing machine grind to a close beneath me. I need to move everything to the drier.
There's no time for that. If I don't finish this now, I'll lose my train of thought, and I'll be lucky to get it back today. It's been so long since I started working on this story... It would be so nice to be done with it, finally.
A rumble comes from my tummy, unfortunately not reprimanding me for not eating my lunch. Rather, it told me that I needed to go to the bathroom, and this time, I didn't care about efficiency. No way was I going to use my diaper - there was no way I could justify that to make it sound like I wasn't just a lil' baby.
I get up from the chair. My feet head for the bathroom, but my eyes stay on the computer screen, as the next section gets spelled out in my mind. I bite my bottom lip in contemplation, trying to figure out how long it'll take me to type it out. I sigh and sit back down. Tempting fate rarely turns out well for me, but maybe this time...
My fingers move a little slower than they had before, my legs fidget a lot more. "Come on, come on," I beg myself. I'm starting to think that this wasn't the best idea, as the next part of my story is turning out to be rather long.
I begin to just put down notes rather than typing it all out right now, not sure if I'll be able to decipher their meaning again once I return. I start to chew on my bottom lip a little harder, the rest of my body squirming.
Frustrated, I begin to stand again, only to sit back down again. Just until the end of this part. That's all. Then I'll get up, go to the bathroom, and finish writing. That's it. No big deal. After all, I'm a big girl. I can handle this.
"Ow!"
I remove my lip from between my teeth after a particularly hard bite, suck on it quickly to make sure it isn't bleeding. "Oh, screw this," I mutter, hopping down from the chair once more. My eyes meet the computer screen, freeze me in place again, but this time I fight back, tear myself away. Not this time.
I'm going to make it, I tell myself. Gonna make it.
My legs wobble uncertainly underneath me. I groan in protest. The bathroom's right there; I can see the door.
It's not close enough.
"Uh-oh," I blush, even though at least there's nobody around to see me as my diaper begins to sag underneath my pajama pants. "Icky," I pout, glad that at least I'm this close to the bathroom.
Except I'd rather be near my bedroom, so I could grab my baby wipes. I guess I could use toilet paper, but I like my wipes. With a long-suffering sigh, I gingerly walk back to my room, practically waddling to keep my bottom as clean as possible. "Icky, icky, icky," I grouch, nose wrinkling, already seeing my conversation with you when you find out about this, as you always seem to.
"Did somebody have an accident?" You'll ask, grinning, already getting out my cloth diapers, counting out however many you think I would look cute in for the rest of the night.
Of course, I'd deny it, but I'd be blushing too deeply for you to believe that.
"Oh, then you did it on purpose?" You'd pull out another cloth diaper to add to the stack you already have.
"No!" I would blush even redder than before at the very insinuation.
"Well, which is it? It has to be one or the other."
There's no way to get out of it. And tomorrow is Sunday, so I know you won't be able to resist using this as an excuse to get me to wear a diaper under one of my cute Sunday dresses.
Then again... You don't have to know. Surely there has to be a way to hide all of this. I quickly pull down the top of my pants, just to make sure that I hadn't accidently grabbed the locking plastic panties, and somehow locked them while putting them on. I imagine if anyone could manage that, it would be me, and it definitely wouldn't help my plans at all, since I would have to call you to get me out. I hadn't.
So I have a chance. All I need is a plan.
But where am I gonna get one of those? It's not like I can hide my diaper somewhere. Not only would that be gross... Actually, the gross is enough of a deterant for me, honestly. If I could just...
The garbage! I completely forgot about that! It was perfect - just have to get myself cleaned up and get all the trash out before the garbage man comes, and it's all good. I'm actually almost a little grateful to my accident... I probably would have completely forgotten about taking out the trash if it hadn't been for it, and then you could have just as easily used -that- as an excuse to put me in diapers tomorrow, because of my irresponsibility. Hmph.
I'm almost done with getting cleaned up when I pull the last baby wipe out of the warmer. Oops. Maybe you'll forget that there were any left in the thing?
No, I didn't think so. Craftily, I stick it back in, a little disappointed at having to use just plain toilet paper for the rest, but slightly happy at my ingenuity. There's no way I'm going to get caught if I keep this kind of quick thinking up.
I'm tempted to put on my big girl panties, wanting to feel as grown up as possible after all that, and especially since I'll have to be going outside to take out the garbage in a few minutes. Not that anyone would be able to tell with my pajamas on... It's the thought that counts, though. But what if you come home early, as I'm outside? I guess I could run back inside and change quick like a bunny. Somehow, I think that might make you a bit suspicious.
So I put on a Pull-Up instead, making sure my pants are pulled up and my shirt down far enough to hide the top from prying eyes, in case one of our neighbors sees me. I gather all of the trash cans, including the diaper pail, and take them to the kitchen, where you had one of the big trash bags already laid out for me. It's a little heavier than I expected when it's full, but I can still half carry, half drag it down the sidewalk to the street, where I see the garbage man starting to get back into his truck.
"Wait!" I yell, wrestling the bag into an easier to carry position. "Hold on!"
I hear his door slam closed. I start to run, wishing I had put my shoes on first, since the sidewalk is pretty cold, although part of my feet is covered by the bottoms of my pajama legs. "Don't you want our garbage?"
The engine of the truck gets louder. "Ohhh!" I put down the bag, stomping my foot in frustration at my predicament. What was I going to do now?
The engine stops. A door opens. "Sorry about that, little lady. Didn't notice you there." The garbage man smiles down at me, gloved hands picking up the bag from where I'd dropped it. I look up at him, not realizing I had been starting to cry until I saw that my vision was all blurry.
"Thank you," I sniffle.
"Maybe you'd better head on back inside. It's awful cold out here." I nod, follow his suggestion. I slump down onto the couch as I hear his truck pull away. Have I actually pulled it off? Will I be okay?
Just planning on staying here until I get my breath back after that adventure, I start to cross my legs in front of me. I stop when I see the dirt stains on the bottoms of the legs, and sigh. Looks like I have to take them down to the hamper already.
The hamper.
The laundry room.
"The laundry!" I shriek, launching myself off the couch, racing downstairs, where I did indeed find my little load of laundry, still sitting in the machine. I scoop it up, all three pieces, toss it all into the drier, which I switch on. Luckily, our drier is a lot newer than the washing machine, and doesn't band around nearly as much. It's pretty hard to hear from upstairs, in fact, just in case you get home before it finishes.
I take off my second pair of pajama pant of the day, and put them into the empty hamper. I almost want to wash them, too, just so I don't have to explain about taking the garbage out barefoot, but I really, really doubt I have time for that. I start to walk up the steps to the ground floor of the house, then turn back to the laundry room.
"I'm on a roll," I giggle, as I turn the dial on the washing machine back to large load. No way you can catch me now.
I walk slowly up the basement steps, very satisfied with myself. I pass by the bathroom again, where I pause and contemplate for a moment. I probably won't be able to start writing again anytime soon, anyway...
I duck into my room to get my last pair of pajama pants from my dresser, these ones light purple, and a nice big T-shirt, and then go back to the bathroom. I strip out of the rest of my clothes and step into the bathtub, turning on the water and getting it to the right temperature before switching on the shower head. I know you'll probably give me a bath later anyway, but, hey, it's not like you can be -too- clean. And sometimes it's nice just to take a nice, long shower. This is one of those times.
I try not to get my hair too wet, not wanting to cheat myself out of a bath if you do intend to give me one, as I let the warm water flow over me. I close my eyes, feeling so nice and awake and refreshed, like I always go after getting all cleaned up. My big, fluffy towel is waiting for me when I decide I'm done.
I slip my clothes back on, can feel them start to cling lightly in a few places where I hadn't dried as well as I could have. I might feel guilty for taking so long to really wake up, at least enough to change completely out of my pajamas, even just to put on what could easily be another pair of pajamas, but it's Saturday. That's what the day is here for.
The screensaver is back when I return to the computer, so I lightly jiggle the mouse as I sit down, and start to sort through my notes. Most of them aren't all that bad. I can probably salvage a decent semblance of the story I thought of earlier from them.
A car pulls into the driveway. I look up happily, forgetting about the story again as I bound for the front door. You make it there before me, already taking off your coat when I get to you.
"Hi," I smile innocently.
"There's my baby girl!" You exclaim, grabbing me and swinging me around before ending up in a hug. I feel your fingers creeping along to the waistband of my pajama pants, where they grab ahold of the back of my Pull-Up as well.
"I'm dry," I stick my tongue out; I know it won't make any difference. You're just going to check me anyway. And you do.
"Maybe my little girl hasn't had enough to drink yet," you tease, your other hand tickling my tummy as the first lets go of my pants, then moves a little downwards, underneath my bottom, as you pick me up and start to carry me... somewhere. "Now, how was your day?"
"It was okay," I shrug. "I took out the trash!"
"Good girl!"
I return your smile, happy for the praise. I notice you seem to be heading for the kitchen. Ice cream, maybe?
You set me down in the kitchen chair, walk over to the fridge. My stomach starts to drop as reality takes over my happy fantasy of a reward. You're checking to see if I ate my lunch. The lunch I had forgotten about most of.
This just won't do. My thoughts race, try to come up with a distraction. I do the first thing that comes to my mind. "Oops," I say, pretending to be embarrassed, though making sure not to speak low enough for you to miss it.
"Oops?" I cheer inside as you turn around. "What's the matter, baby girl?"
I look down at my legs, which I start to swing. "Umm..."
"Did somebody have an accident?" I blush, more for real than acting now. Even if it was for a good cause, it wasn't exactly making a good case for me being a big girl to wet myself not five minutes after you walk in the door, without even pretending to try to get to the bathroom first. "Aww, it's okay," you pick me back up, kissing the tip of my nose. "I think someone just wants to collect on a little promise from this morning."
It takes a second to remember what you're talking about, then I giggle. "Maybe a lil," I 'confess'. If I had thought of it, I would have.
You begin to walk towards my room, pausing as you notice something out of the corner of your eye. Or rather, something -doesn't- catch your attention. "What happened to the soap? And the washcloth?"
"Oh..." The soap! I had left it on the washing machine! Stupid, stupid... "I put them under the sink." I glance hopefully up at your eyes, praying you won't check there until I have a chance to make that true.
For a long moment, your face is doubtful. Finally, you nod, and we continue. You slow down as we pass the door to the basement. "Is the drier running?"
"Nope." I pretend to listen, or rather, pretend not to hear what I do. "Why would you think that?"
"Must be getting old," you shrug.
"Nuh-uh!" I protest, snuggling up against your shoulder.
You set me down on the changing table, remove my pajama pants, much like you did this morning. I think maybe you have something planned for tonight; you don't set them on the table to put back on me. Instead, you fold them up and walk over to the bed, set them down there, and seem to stare at them for a few seconds.
When you turn back around to face me, you're holding the panties I'd been looking at earlier. "Why are these out, I wonder?"
I whimper softly. This isn't turning out nearly as well as I'd hoped. "I must have left those out when I rearranged my dresser." I nod. Not my best story, but it would do.
"Well, it sounds like you were productive today," you smile, setting the panties on top of my dresser. "Maybe I should leave you alone more often."
I shake my head violently. "No!"
You laugh. "Don't worry, sweetie. I wasn't really going to."
"You better not," I pout.
Your hand tickles my stomach again as you reach for my Pull-Up, sliding it down off my legs as you reach for the baby wipes. "I could've sworn we had more than this left," you say, mostly to yourself. I grin, proud of my clever job of disguising my handiwork, quickly stopping when I notice you looking at my face. You don't say anything. Maybe you didn't notice. Luckily, you have a new package of baby wipes ready to be used, even if they are warm. Not sure how I missed them...
I flinch slightly as they touch my skin, much colder than I was expecting. You apologize, kissing the top of my forehead. I forgive you.
You flip me over onto my tummy, gently patting my bottom, making me flinch a little. I can hear you squeezing the baby oil into your hands, rubbing them together, and then I feel your hands starting to massage the backs of my legs, working upwards.
"So, did my good little girl eat her lunch?" you ask, casually, about halfway through.
How do I answer? This isn't the best position to be in to tell the truth... On the other hand, you could easily check the fridge and find the truth. "Most of it." A bit of a fib, maybe. I mean, for all I know, a couple apple slices and some pudding really is the majority of the food you left for me. Probably not, but you never know...
"Oh, good, good." One of your hands pushes the hem of my T-shirt up some, starts to rub the base of my spine, moving outward in a circle from there. I close my eyes happily, almost drifting back to sleep until your voice brings me out of it suddenly. "What was your favorite part?"
"The pudding," I answer, pretty certain that would be true even if I'd eaten all of it.
"Imagine that," you chuckle lightly. You continue the massage. "What else?"
I open my eyes again. "What else what?"
Your hand stops moving. "What else did I make you?"
"Umm... Apples." My voice starts to lower a bit, as much as I try to pretend not to be scared.
"What else?"
I gulp. "Some... good... stuff..." I try to turn and smile innocently at you, but it's hard to do while lying on my stomach. What am I going to do? I'm sure you wouldn't be asking all this if you didn't remember your threat from this morning... How am I going to get out of this?
A loud sound, one I had completely forgotten about, echoes through the house. I don't know really how to describe it - kind of like a buzzer, and at the same time, kind of like a bell.
"Huh. And here I thought the drier wasn't running."
I swallow loudly, options not appearing too great. Rock; hard place. Except, unless I got lucky, I would be smooshed between the two, rather than just hitting one or the other. My luck seems to be coming and going a lot today. Maybe if I just trust it one more time, it'll pull through for me...
"Of course it's not. Why would you think that?" I say in my best angelic voice.
This long silence that followed makes me just a touch nervous.
For some reason, I just don't think you bought it.
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