Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
I don’t pull on the leash a single time all morning, even though I want to. I’m eager. As we move from one habitat to the next, I grow more and more excited. Seeing the animals up close like this instead of in books or on television is life-altering. All the animals I’ve read about come to life in 3D right before my eyes. Until today, I’m not sure I fully believed most of them were real. Intellectually I did of course, but it’s hard to fully grasp something you’ve never seen in person.
When we stop for lunch, Papa assures me we have seen nearly a third of the exhibits. They insist I need to have a bottle and then lie down for a nap on a blanket on the shady grass before we continue.
We’re next to an outdoor food court. It smells amazing, but I won’t even ask for solid food. I’ve known for weeks that I would be on a strictly formula diet while we’re here. It’s part of the lifestyle. Some Littles do gradually move on to baby food and finger foods if they live here, but most visitors do not. Papa told me I wouldn’t be getting the full experience of total regression during this vacation if they cheated and fed me adult food.
My tummy grumbles as Papa sits on a park bench near a grassy area and leans me back in his arms. He taps my lips with the nipple until I open and accept the formula. It’s delicious. There’s nothing not to like about it, but I can see where it might get boring over time.
When I glance around, I see a lot of Littles also taking a bottle. I’m pretty sure even the ones who’ve lived here for years still take bottles for some of their meals. I wonder if they miss regular foods. The island only serves healthy foods. Nothing artificial. So even those who eventually eat finger foods don’t get to chow down on pizza dripping with fat or candy and ice cream.
Papa jiggles the bottle. “Finish all of it, sweet girl.”
I realize I’ve stopped sucking, and I resume. My eyes grow heavy as I suck the last of the bottle. Even though I often insist I don’t need a nap, somehow I manage to take one every day.
Papa replaces the bottle with one of my pacifiers and holds it in my mouth until I resume sucking before he gently settles me on my back on the blanket Daddy spread out on the grass.
Papa kisses my forehead. “Sleep, sweet girl.”
I drift off to thoughts of kangaroos and monkeys. I’m not dreaming yet. They were real. I saw them this morning. I’m so tired and heavy I don’t care that my legs are bent and parted wide. I know my arms are also bent and positioned next to my head. I’ve seen pictures of me in this position. Daddy and Papa have taken them for me.
I know what I look like. An adult Baby. With my hair in high pigtails, my mouth wrapped around a pacifier, a T-shirt the only thing covering my chest, and a diaper swaddling my bottom. It’s a soothing visual. It’s real. It’s how I live. It brings me peace.
Chapter Eight
At the end of the day, we’ve seen most of the animals, and my Daddies have promised me several times that we can come back to see the rest and revisit any I want to see again.
I trust them, so I try not to get agitated by the thought of leaving. Suddenly, Daddy stops at a table near the outdoor food court where I know they both ate lunch while I napped. He settles me in a high chair and pops the tray on.
I kick my legs. “What are we doing, Daddy?”
He kisses my nose. “You’ll see.”
He heads toward the food court, and I try to watch him, but Papa steps in front of me, blocking my view.
“Hey…” I look up at him.
He’s grinning and steps closer, cupping my face. “Nosy girl.”
I giggle. “What’s Daddy getting?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises,” I lie.
“Yes you do, sweet girl. Don’t lie to Papa.”
I sigh and kick my feet again, waiting excitedly.
When Daddy returns, Papa steps to the side, and my eyes bug out of my head. He’s holding a giant ice cream cone filled with vanilla ice cream and some kind of red swirl.
I clap my hands together. “Is that for me? Is it cherry?”
He sits facing me and hands a spoon to Papa. “It is cherry vanilla swirl, Baby girl. And it’s too much for one person. We’ll share it.”
“I thought they only had healthy treats on the island,” I say, licking my lips.
“They do. It’s non-fat frozen yogurt and the swirl is made with real cherries.”
It sounds like heaven.