Elizabeth
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Joined: 30 Dec 2007
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 Posted: Mon Dec 31, 2007 11:28 am Post subject: 3: Priorities - A Father's Day Story |
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I roll over sleepily at the familiar feeling of your hand checking my diaper, blinking a couple times and faking a yawn that turned real about halfway through. My tummy tightens as I wait for your reaction to my pretend sleeping for the last thirty minutes.
"Sweetie, I asked you to start getting ready half an hour ago," you complain, picking me up to transfer me from my bed to the changing table. "We're going to be late for church if you don't hurry up."
I pout as you set me down on my squishy bottom, the plastic cover of the changing table already starting to stick to my legs. It was days like this that I wish summer never came, even if it did bring about an end to school. "You shouldn'tve let me go back to sleep, then," I say, my stomach clenching up even more than before at the expression I'm imagining on your face.
"I thought a big girl like you might be able to handle that by herself," you answer, more gracefully, and with much less threats of spanking, than I had expected. Normally, I'd stick my tongue out at you, and you seem to be expecting it, but instead I shrug, letting my head roll over to one side as you push up my night shirt to get to my wet diaper. "You don't look so good, baby."
"Don't feel good," I say, the words themselves making me feel even worse than before, even though technically it's not lying. I really -do- feel bad... It's just not for any medical reason.
The back of your hand rests against my forehead for a second or two. "Hmm... You don't feel warm. I don't think. What's wrong?"
"My tummy hurts," I pout, looking up at you with my best pitiful expression.
"Awww, poor baby," you coo sympathetically, bending down to give me a little hug. "How come?"
"I dunno." I answer defensively, perhaps too quickly. Your eyebrow might have raised a little in response, but it's hard for me to tell without my glasses.
If you're suspicious, you don't let me know. "Do you need to go to the doctor?"
I shake my head. "You don't have time to take me there, anyway... You have to get to church."
You sigh. "Baby, if you need to see a doctor, that's more important. I'm sure the congregation will forgive me."
"I'm fine," I insist, starting to sit up. You push me softly back down onto the changing table, then start untaping my diaper finally, seemingly convinced my illness wasn't -too- serious. I lay in silence as you get out a baby wipe and start to clean me up. My stomach makes another jump as I start to speak again. "I just..."
You stop for a moment, look over at me, waiting for me to continue. "Just what?"
I swallow, unsure if I can go on. It feels so wrong, pretending to be sick, even if I was starting to feel more and more like I wasn't pretending any more, to get out of church, on today of all days. But it was because of what day it was that I couldn't bear to go. "I... I don't think I should go to church," I finally manage to squeeze out, blushing apologetically, glad I can't see the look on your face.
You're quiet for a bit, as you continue to change me. "I suppose that would be for the best, if you're not feeling well."
"I'm not!" I assure you.
"Okay," you nod. "Do you need me to call someone to look after you while I'm gone?" I shake my head, even though you're mostly kidding. I think. "Do you want me to put you in another diaper, so you can go back to sleep?"
I hesitate before I answer; are you trying to trick me, somehow? Normally, you would just diaper me up and send me back to bed... Are you trying to see if I'm actually sick or not? To be safe, I nod, making sure to pout a little as I do, to show you I'm not pleased.
With that, you slide my old diaper out from under me, replacing it with a nice, new one before setting my bottom back down on the table. You tape the diaper up nice and snug, pick me up and deposit me right back onto the bed.
"I'm sorry, Daddy," I say, truly meaning it.
"It's not your fault, baby," you tell me, giving me a kiss and a pat on the diaper. "You know, we really should get a crib for you. To make sure you stay out of trouble when you're home alone." Your face is still right by mine, so I can see your wink, even though I can also tell you're probably serious about the crib. "I'll be back as soon as I can," you promise, and I nod in reply, watch you leave my room, hand moving to switch off the light.
"Happy Father's Day," I blurt out, right before you can leave, stomach twisting up even tighter.
"Thank you, baby."
The lights go off, and I lay in bed, listening to you walk through the house, finishing up your preparations. You look in on me again before you go, coming into my room to put your hand on my forehead again, then replacing your hand with a kiss. A few minutes later, I hear your car start up outside, and after a moment I two, I open my eyes, stare up at the ceiling with a sigh.
I'm the worst baby girl ever.
I roll over, plastic sheet crinkling under me as I roll into a ball. How could I have forgotten about Father's Day until yesterday? Even then, I'd had to be reminded by you, playfully trying to figure out what I'd gotten for you.
What did I get you? Absolutely nothing, because I'm a horrible, evil, mean, self-centered person.
Sure, I wasn't exactly used to celebrating Father's Day, so I was a little out of practice, but how could I manage to completely forget about it? Maybe if I ever watched anything but cartoons on PBS, I would've seen a commercial for a Father's Day sale at some point. Or if I had read the little bulletins from church for the past few weeks, instead of trying to fold them into little paper cranes that never looked like cranes anyway as I listened to you talk.
My stomach wasn't feeling any better now that I'd gotten you to leave me alone and feel awful about myself; my throat is feeling dry, though. I roll out of bed with a sigh, grab my glasses, and walk to the kitchen. Normally, if I was alone and trying to feel like a big girl, I would pull a chair over to the cupboards, where you kept all of the glasses, but now I don't feel much like being grown-up, so I get a bottle off of one of the lower shelves, the only one I can easily reach without help, as I'm sure you knew when you arranged the kitchen, and fill it up with water.
I don't have any sort of plan for my time alone, so I wander into the living room and flop down onto the couch to drink my bottle. My eyes fall on the remote control on the end table and, having nothing better to do, I stretch over to pick it up. My outstretched fingers knock it to the floor instead, however, and, doubting there's anything on television worth standing up and retrieving the remote for, I curl up instead, still drinking, my mind starting to wander.
How mad are you going to be when you come home and find out the truth? When you ask me again what I'd gotten you for Father's Day, like last night, except this time expecting to be answered with a neatly - well, you probably weren't expecting it to be -too- neat, after Christmas - wrapped present?
Tears fill my eyes as a number of terrible possibilities filled my imagination. Would you kick me out, make me wander the streets, lost and all alone, in just my night shirt and diaper? Would you lock me in the basement until I learned the proper respect for you? Would you, in retribution, never get me any presents ever again? Would you throw out all the baby oil?
The worst part is, whatever you do, I deserve it.
I'm still lying on the couch, feeling awful, when I hear your car pulling into the driveway. I consider staying there for a few milli-seconds, just to get this all over with, and then I get to my feet and hurry away, trying to think of a good place to hide, unable to face you. My bottom is feeling cool and clammy now - I think I might have drifted off there on the couch for a couple minutes. My diaper sounds louder than ever before, even after I warn it to keep down, or it would give us away.
I hear the front door open, and I duck inside the closest room, which turns out to be my room. Probably not the best hiding spot, but with my thunderously loud diaper, I don't dare go back into the hallway, so instead, I carefully open the door of my closet and slip inside, just in time to hear your footsteps approaching the door to my room.
"I'm home, sweetie!" you call. This is followed by a short pause, as, I assume, you notice I'm gone. "Baby?" you ask, your footsteps growing louder.
My heart races as you get closer to the closet, feeling less secure about my not-quite-so-brilliant hiding spot with every passing second. Your footsteps stop. I close my eyes, praying you would assume I was smart enough not to hide in my own closet.
"Hi," you say as you open the door.
"Hi," I answer with a weak smile.
"What are you doing in here?"
I'm not sure what about the question did it, but the words were somehow enough to jump out of the closet into your arms, sobbingly telling you the whole story as you hug me, trying to calm me down.
"I'm sorry," I sniffle as I reach the end, hardly able to dare to look into your eyes.
Instead of looking mad, though, you were smiling at me. "Oh, baby, is -that- what you were so worried about?" You shake your head and laugh, making me feel a little offended. How could you think this was funny?
"I'm terrible," I remind you. "I didn't even get you a present, or a card, or nothing."
You smile at me again and hug me, one of your hands dropping down to run a few fingers inside the leg band of my diaper. "Well, I think you have -something- for me," you say, and I blush as you sweep me up into your arms. "Nothing cuter than a blushing girl in diapers." I can't help but giggle as you kiss the tip of my nose before putting me down, though not on the changing table, as I expected, but on your lap, as you sit down on my bed.
I look up at you, blinking. "Daddy?"
"I don't want you to feel bad about this, sweetie." You put your arms around me, holding me tight against you, and I comply, resting my head against your shoulder. "You're not a horrible person because you forgot Father's Day."
"Promise?" I ask quietly.
"I promise," you nod. "It's not like I was expecting a car or anything." You wink, giving my side a little tickle that makes me squirm and giggle. "You can save that for my birthday."
I feel better enough to stick my tongue out at you, and snuggle deeper into your arms. My stomach starts to calm down, and now that it isn't wound up as tight, to growl at me to remind me I hadn't eaten yet.
You smile at the sound. "I think we'd better fill that little tummy up, don't you think?" you ask, although your fingers were already tickling that same tummy so that the only response I could give for a few minutes was giggling, until I felt my diaper growing warmer. "Do you feel like going out to eat?"
I nod, and you take me over to the changing table to get me ready. In between removing my wet diaper and slipping my Pull Up onto my legs, you ask me if I need to go to the bathroom. I shake my head.
Once you decide on a nice, yellow dress and help me change into it, I slip away, while you do whatever it is you need to do to get ready to go out. I sneak into the computer room, trying to hide behind the door, face a little red as I waited for you to start to look for me.
I start to giggle as I hear you, apparently in the living room, asking, "Where are you?" I force myself to stay quiet, but I can hear you coming closer now anyway.
I run out and dash across the hall, into the guest room, hiding behind the door again, doing my best not to start giggling again. Your footsteps are closer now; I bet you saw me, but that was okay. You can't possibly know where I'm hiding.
You step into the room. I hold my breath, inches away from you. You take another step in, and then another step. My foot starts to inch towards the edge of the door, preparing myself to jump out and get to another room before you saw me, to continue our little game.
You take another step.
I jump out, unable to keep from giggling as I try to make it out the door, only to find myself in the air. "You little brat," you smile, holding me up in the air for a few moments before setting me down. I could swear I felt your hand brush my bottom for a second or two, and I'm almost as sure your smile seemed extra big for just as long. "Ready to go?" you ask.
"Umm... Okay..." I reach up to take your hand, feeling a little confused. Had you not noticed?
As you lead us to the front of the house, I make my pace get slower and slower, especially once we pass my bedroom door. Walking slowly isn't difficult normally, and certainly not unpleasant now, but with you holding my hand and urging me to move more quickly than I want, it isn't as easy as it could be. I practically have to drag my feet as we walk through the living room, approaching the front door far more quickly than I expected.
What are you doing? Surely you're not going to make me go out like this... You had to have noticed... Didn't you?
I start to blush again; are you going to make me come out and admit it? Is that what you're waiting for?
Well, too bad. This is bad enough as it is. Actually saying it out loud would be...
I hear the door knob turning, the front door opening.
"Daddy!" I exclaim quickly, reaching up to pull the door closed again.
"What is it, princess?" You're smiling. You -do- know, don't you?
My cheeks grow redder, and I grow quite interested in my feet. "Ummm..."
"Aren't you hungry? We want to get going if we're going to get a good table." You start to reach for the door knob again.
"I think I need a change," I admit quietly.
"What was that?" You pretend not to hear, although you start to move your hand away from the doorknob. I was too busy watching my feet to repeat it, so you picked me up again, swinging me around and giving my bottom a dramatic sniff before letting me rest in your arms. "Did you have an accident, baby?"
I blush, force myself to look up into your eyes anyway. Still, it's too embarrassing just to come out and say it, so instead I answer with, "Maaaybe."
I haven't seen a smile quite as big on your face for quite some time. "Maybe, huh... Well, maybe we'd better keep you in diapers for a while just to be safe then. Don't you think?"
I sulk as best I can, trying to seem much more disappointed than I am at the prospect.
Really, I'm glad you accepted my present, to take the opportunity to keep me in diapers. I know you'll like that better than anything else I can come up with on such short notice. And, hey, all it cost me was a little of my big girl dignity, and that wasn't too bad, right?
I squirm a little, wrinkle my nose. Well, maybe it was more than "a little" dignity... But it was worth it.
At least until I find out how long "a while" is; from the look in your eyes, I think it might be a tad longer than I had planned.
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