The girl glanced sleepily at her clock, for a moment trying to figure out why in the world it had woken her up so early on a weekend. It took a moment or two for her brain to remember that it was Sunday, and a couple more to remind her that it was Easter.
She yawned and stretched, rolling over onto her side, facing away from the clock. She really wouldn’t mind going back to sleep, and her eyes even started to drift shut again, but now that she knew what day it was, she couldn’t fall back asleep, so, after a couple minutes, she threw back her covers and slid out of bed.
There was enough sunlight leaking through her curtains that she could see to shuffle across the room to her closet. She shed her pajamas, tossing them back in the direction of her bed, and stood there in just her diaper, staring at her new outfit, hanging there, waiting.
In the mirror on the back of the closet door, she saw the crotch of her diaper begin to sag. For some reason, though that was hardly an unusual sight, it got a giggle out of her. Maybe it was just looking at her new clothes – perhaps not “grown-up”, per se, but not little girl-ish either – while wearing only something so clearly babyish. Or maybe she wasn’t even thinking about that, but rather just about how, no matter how stupid it was, and how much she sometimes thought she should give all of it up, it was just nice.
It always felt wonderful to get out of her big girl panties and let herself sink down into the soft padding of a diaper, to sprinkle a little baby powder, then tape herself securely inside. She couldn’t recall ever feeling that kind of comfort, or anything close to it, from anything else. And that was why, she realized, she didn’t stop, even when she told herself she should, or when she was afraid that, surely, the rest of her family was going to find out.