.
Thomas was beside himself with both embarrassment and emotional exhaustion. He was wet, dirty and his mother and son had died that night. His wife had gone mad and had decided that he was her baby even though he had identified himself clearly earlier in the evening as her husband. His bottom itched from a case of diaper rash and he was famished. He couldn’t even talk about his grief over his loss. As a consequence, the infantile instincts encoded into the neurons of his brain took over and he became fussy and fretful. He cried.
With a quick flick of her finger, Mary set the mobile in motion that she had placed over the changing station to reduce Bobby’s fidgeting while she worked on him. She sniffed as she pulled the diaper down between his legs, saying, “Peeu! You’re really stinky tonight, Bobby! If I didn’t know better, I’d think that someone had tried to wean you without my knowledge. I wonder what the dickens got into your gut! You must have some sort of intestinal infection! That’s okay, Baby, Mommy will let you sleep late tomorrow to get over it. This has been a trying day for the both of us.”
Mary topped and tailed him quickly, then applied a thick coating of Diaperene to his paprika-hued, papule-peppered bottom. After she had treated his diaper rash with the sticky white cream, she wiped her hands on a clean baby wipe to prevent the oils in the cream from getting on the tapes and rendering the adhesive unusable. Then she lifted his bottom again and slid a disposable Nighttime Pamper under his bottom and drew it over his crotch to tape it down securely without bothering to put baby powder on him. Being the modern, informed mother that she was, she knew that baby powder didn’t really prevent diaper rash, but only made a baby smell better for adult’s olfactory sensibilities. While she had no objection to little Bobby smelling good, she didn’t want to spend more time changing him than she had to that night. He was obviously tired and cranky and it was well past his bedtime. Since he had not wet his sleeper, she decided to let him sleep in what he was already wearing rather than discomfit him by changing his clothes for no reason. Once she had given him his evening breast feeding, she was sure he would fall into a deep slumber until morning.
She picked him up from the changing station and settled down in the large rocking chair in the corner of the nursery by the crib. Once there, Mary decided to forgo the receiving blanket that she normally wrapped Bobby in while she nursed him and unbuttoned her blouse to reveal her nursing bra. When she unfastened the cup over her right breast and presented her nipple to Bobby’s mouth, Mary was floored when he seemed to reject her teat. Mary persisted, forcing the nipple between his lips and using her fingers to start the flow of milk into his mouth. Bobby struggled wildly for a few moments as if she was doing something unnatural to him, but after his mouth filled with his mother’s milk, and he swallowed convulsively, he seemed to quiet somewhat. Mary was truly surprised that her baby boy had suddenly found suckling objectionable. She put his odd behavior down to the stress of the evening. She had read that babies often perceived and reacted to the stressful emotions of their mothers. Certainly she had undergone a stressful night; both her ex-mother-in-law and her regressed ex-husband had died in an auto accident.
As Bobby drained her right breast, she turned him around in her arms and switched him to her left teat. This time, he took it without fussing, so she was reassured that her baby had only been reacting to the events of the evening. Once he was finished, she took the cloth diaper that always lay over the right arm of the rocking chair and laid it across her shoulder. She put Bobby to her shoulder and patted his back gently, producing a prodigious belch as she winded him. Then she took him back in her arms and held him close to her bosom while she removed the diaper from her shoulder and returned it to its customary place on the arm of the rocking chair.
Instead of putting him in his crib after feeding as she normally would, Mary rocked and cuddled her baby for almost an hour. At first Bobby didn’t drift off to sleep the way she would have expected him to, but after thirty minutes of gentle rocking, he fell fast asleep in her arms. She continued to rock, dissipating with repetitive motion her own angst over her ex’s death. Finally, with her eyelids drooping, she put the sweetly slumbering Bobby in his crib for the night and sought the solace of her bed.
When Thomas woke in the morning, his sleeper had already been removed. The ego shattering spanking had been forgotten amidst the horror of his mother’s death. His adult mind, such as it was, had returned to relative normalcy. Mary had finished topping and tailing him and was slipping a clean diaper under his bottom. In loving manner, she sprinkled him lightly with baby powder and gently massaged it into the pubic skin of her sleepy baby. Then she opened the tube of Diaperene and squeezed out a dollop on her tip of her index finger and held his ankles with one hand to hoist up his legs and administer a thin coating of the protective cream over his peritoneum and rectal area. After she lowered his bottom onto the soft padding of the disposable diaper and wiped her fingers clean with a baby wipe before taping him securely into his clean dydee.
Strangely, that morning Thomas didn’t feel the embarrassment at having his diaper changed by his ex-wife that he did the afternoon before. “Perhaps,” he mused to himself drowsily as she fussed about closing the top on the baby powder and capping the open tube of Diaperene, “I’m getting used to diapers. On the other hand, I wasn’t awake when and if she cleaned my butt last night. All I know was the feel of her fingers as she put the cream for diaper rash on my ass and then rubbed baby powder onto my crotch.
Christ, it felt good when she rubbed the powder into my crotch! I could go for that even if I wasn’t a baby! God, I wish I could tell her how much I missed her when I had to go back to my mother’s house! That’s the worst part of being an infant again; I can’t fucking well talk to anyone! And her tits, Jesus! They blow me away! I liked them before Bobby came, but the way they’ve gotten bigger since she started nursing has driven me absolutely crazy! Christ! I begged her for months just after Bobby was born to let me have just a sip from her tit and she rejected my requests out of hand. I would have given anything as an adult to suck milk from her tits.