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My Return To The Nursery - Part 3

by BabyRox

My Return To The Nursery - Part 3

Part 3

With the completion of my reconditioning to acting, feeling, and even thinking as a baby, we have embarked on a new phase of our lives as Mommy and Baby together. Now, even when I am in my so-called “adult” mode, there’s no longer any conflict between my infantile behavior and reactions. Though I can think like an adult, I spend almost no time doing so. I regard myself as a baby, and behave like one in almost every way.

Mommy won’t allow me to completely abandon adulthood, however. She insists that we spend Thursday evenings together for an adult dinner, and afterwards she requires me to spend at least two hours on the computer, responding to my adult baby e-mails, and writing an entry to my blog, or working on another Part of our semi-true story for the Warp My Mind site. Fortunately, my keyboard skills mean that my fingers remember how to spell better than my brain does, and Mommy just uses spell check and a bit of grammar correction before posting them.

Mommy always takes care to ensure that our adult dinner menus feature only the best and freshest ingredients. We eat a three or four course meal, and I’m always careful to tell Mommy how much I enjoy such grown-up foods, though mine of course are always pureed since I cannot chew them with my toothless gums. Truthfully, however, I often find myself with an upset tummy or runny BM’s after eating the rich, spicy foods, and I’d be happier having my usual strained baby food in my highchair.

I was much more content during my total immersion into infancy under the control of being a Complete Baby. With some effort and practice, I soon found myself able to recall the infantile mental state I had experienced without being placed into trance by Mommy. All it required was for me to breathe deeply in and out three times slowly while pressing the front of my bulky diapers back into my crotch. Soon I was able to again forget being an adult altogether and just be the baby I truly was. I pressed my thick wet diapers into my crotch as soon as I awoke in my crib each morning, and often did not have another adult thought the rest of the day. It was Baby Heaven!

I no longer feel any embarrassment or self-consciousness when Mommy takes me places in public. I waddle happily along holding Mommy’s hand tightly, wetting and pooping in my diapers as the need occurs, and am no more embarrassed than any other baby about having my diapers changed in public. With my slender physique and long auburn hair, no one ever questions Mommy taking me into the Women’s bathrooms. She keeps a rolled up changing mat in my big diaper bag, and we use the handicapped stalls for my diaper changes if I need changing.

Since I have basically forgotten how to act or even think like an adult most of the time, Mommy can no longer leave me at home alone. If she needs to run an errand, or go out for any reason, she has to take me along. She bought a large version of a child’s safety seat – made for handicapped adults – with a 5-point restraint harness that I can not open once strapped into the seat. Like any other baby, I ride in the back and play with my baby toys while Mommy drives us around.

Last week at our Thursday dinner, Mommy said, “Baby, I need to talk to you about a couple of changes I’ve decided to make to our household. I know that I was the one who wanted you to become as much like a baby as possible. However, I guess I didn’t really consider that might mean you became such a baby that you would need to be cared for 24 hours a day, seven days a week just like any other baby.

“But, we both know that’s the reality of being Mommy and Baby now. It’s getting too hard for Mommy to take care of you all day and get my work done, much less do my errands and little chores that I have to drag you along to get done. So, I’ve decided that we need to get you a live-in Nanny to help me take care of you.”

“I don’t want a Nanny, Mommy,” I said softly, “I like you to do my dipee changes and take care of me.”

“Oh, Baby, Mommy will still be changing your diapers and taking care of you most of the time,” she answered, smiling, “But, having a Nanny to take care of you when Mommy has to work, or does other things, is just what other Mommies do when they can’t take care of their babies. Having a Nanny or babysitter is just part of being a baby, like needing diapers or sleeping in a crib. Mommy will even let you help Mommy pick which one to hire.”

I tried to think of another reason why Mommy should not get a Nanny to take care of me, but I’m really not very good at thinking any more. I know that other babies do have nannies and babysitters, and I know I really am a baby now. I can’t even dress myself, and I certainly can’t change my own dipees. Anyways, Mommy says she knows what best for babies, and only bad babies argue with their Mommies. I’m a good baby.

I’d almost forgotten the conversation a few days later. I had just finished my morning bottle lying in my playpen after breakfast. Mommy had Teletubbies playing on the television to divert me. Between short moments of watching toddler television that now seemed to suit my increasingly limited abilities, I was suckling slowly at the last remnants of baby formula in my nurser. Mommy came into my nursery with a somewhat masculine appearing woman. While it was obvious she had taken much care dressing in her white uniform, and her full breasts and long dark hair were her own, her broad shoulders and height made me wonder if she was really a woman. Even in Baby Mode I felt confused by her appearance.

“Justine, this little sweetie is my baby hubby, Baby Chrissie,” Mommy said, crouching beside the playpen to slip a finger under the leg band of my plastic panties, “She’s wet enough to need a change, and we can start with that. I narrowed the candidates to you and two others. I’m going to give the position to the candidate who does the best job as a professional nanny for a half-day try out. I thought you were the most qualified with your nursing background, and if we decide to offer you the position, I’ll let the others know it’s been filled. If not, I’ll give you a full day’s pay for your time today. Both of the others are in pretty much the same stage of transition as you, Justine. Like you, they need to live and work as a woman for at least two years before they can get their SRS approved.

“As for me, I’m looking for someone maternal enough to treat my special baby with as much love as her Mommy does. If you open the playpen gate and hold out your arms, Chrissie will hold up hers and you can help her stand. She can’t walk on her own, but she can do it if you hold her steady. The nursery is back the way we just came.”

Justine opened the gate, and extended her arms as she crouched before me. In a surprisingly soft contralto voices, she coaxed me, “C’mon, Babykins, don’t you want Nanny Justine to change that wet dipee?”

After a bit of hesitation, and glancing at Mommy’s smiling face, I put up my arms. With Justine lifting me by my forearms, I managed to get to an unsteady but upright position, and waddled slowly along the hallway to my nursery. Justine guided me to the changing table and easily lifted me onto it, holding me cradled in her strong arms as she lowered me to the padded surface.

“I hope we’re going to become great friends, Baby, and I will always try to give you as much love and care as your Mommy,” Justine said to me as she bent over me, and planted a light kiss on my forehead. She took the safety strap, and strapped it in place as I babbled happily and pumped my legs in a cycling motion. I was in my own special ‘happy place’ on the changing table. Whether I was in adult or baby mode, there was nothing I loved more than being on my changing table and having my diapers changed. Leaving a hand on my tummy, she turned to Mommy, “Would Madam like a full change of clothes or just the diaper change?”

“Oh, let’s do a change of clothes and take Chrissie for a stroll through the park,” Mommy answered, “Pick out some frilly play set for my sissy baby and we’ll show her off to all the other nannies. Her rompers are in the top drawer of the tall bureau.”

Justine had no problem handling me like a real baby, lifting me easily when she needed to remove my diaper, romper and pink print onesie. I’d never felt or behaved more like a baby as she controlled me deftly while cleaning my diaper area thoroughly and gently massaging me with baby lotion. She could even hold both of my slender ankles in one hand to lift my bottom from the changing pad and slide my thick soft cloth diaper under me. I babbled happily at the feeling of being hoisted by my ankles, and even more as my diaper was being drawn between my legs. Her strong hands adjusted the back corners of the diaper over the front for the best fit as Justine snugly secured the Velcro tabs. I was already wetting again even before she finished adjusting the fit of my pink plastic panties around my legs and waist, and cooing with delight at the sensation.

Justine left me strapped to the changing table while she caught my cycling feet to dress them in ruffled pink anklets and my white ankle high baby shoes. Releasing me, she drew me to a seated position to begin dressing me in the outfit she had selected. It was a matching set of a nursery print onesie, pink romper with rumba ruffles across the rear, and a bonnet in the same nursery print. The romper had a short bib front edged with the same ruffles. Justine tucked my curls inside the bonnet carefully, and drew the straps into a large bow under my chin.

Justine popped my pacifier between my toothless gums, and I began sucking on it reflexively, “Baby looks so sweet and pretty. All the other Nannies and Mommies will be jealous their baby girls don’t look half as cute as Chrissie does.”

My stroller was a large tricycle model made for use by handicapped adults, but looking very much like an oversized baby stroller. Justine carried me easily from the nursery to the garage, and lowered me gently into the canvas sling seat to secure me with the safety harness. I clung to her tightly, and babbled happily at Mommy as Justine carried me. I felt so small and helpless in Justine’s strong arms, delighting in the feeling of being handled as easily as a real baby.

After months of a diet consisting mostly of baby formula and strained baby foods, and the limited movement and control of my muscles in Baby Mode, I had lost most of the muscle mass and all of the muscle tone in my arms and legs. I now weighed no more than ninety pounds and resembled a slender pre-teen girl much more than a man of any sort. Even so, it was amazing how small and helpless I felt being carried and handled so easily in Justine’s strong arms. I babbled happily, waving my arms feebly, and pumping my slim legs as she fastened the restraint harness of the stroller over me.

Mommy and I naturally drew curious stares and some questions or comments whenever we went for a stroll to the local park. The questions and comments had become much less frequent as the neighbors and the children at the park grew used to our presence. Since I behaved pretty much like any other one-year-old, most of the neighborhood children treated me like one. They and their mommies had accepted Mommy’s “head injury” and regression explanation at face value.

Today, however, Justine’s massive presence pushing my stroller drew even more stares than I had on our first outing to the park. She seemed – or pretended well – to ignore all the eyes fastened on her as she pushed me close to the sandbox where several babies and toddlers were playing. Setting the brake on my stroller, Justine released my harness, and slid her arms deftly under me to lift me.

“Play nice with the other babies, Chrissie,” Justine said firmly and loudly enough to be heard by all present, as she lowered me over the side of the sandbox. She placed my beach pail and shovel beside me, “Why don’t you make a sand castle? Nanny and Mommy will be right over there on that bench.”

I looked around at a toddler girl and a couple of younger babies playing nearby, and babbled something in pure baby gibberish. The toddler’s name was Jessie and she already knew I was too much of a baby to interest her. Justine, however, drew a mouth agape stare from little Jessie as my nanny drew herself to her full imposing height and smiled down at us. I continued playing with my pail and shovel, blissful in my infantile obliviousness to the reactions of others to my huge new nanny.

I had long since ceased to feel any self consciousness about behaving as, and being treated as, an infant in public, of course. I acted like a baby because I completely believed and accepted the fact that I WAS a baby. In that state I was equally oblivious to the stares and curious looks my nanny attracted as well.

A baby was what I wanted and needed to be, I knew. Letting a stream of nonsense babbling run continuously through my mind seemed to ensure that no terrible adult thoughts could break through. Whenever I felt a need to “talk”, I simply babbled the nonsense syllables aloud, along with one or two of the few “baby words” (baba, dipee, paci, Mommy, pee-pees, poopies, teddy) I retained in my sparse vocabulary.

I don’t know how long passed before I felt a familiar sensation filling the rear of my diapers and the nearby air with its aroma.

“Bagh gadoo dood poopies.” I announced my full diaper with a happy giggle.

“Well,” Nanny said grinning as she bent to crouch before me, sniffing the air, “It certainly smells like Baby made a ‘poopies’ in her dipees. Did Baby make Nanny a nice present in her dipees?”

I giggled some more at silly Nanny, nodding, and saying, “Me poopies. Me poopies. Me poopies.”

“I think we might want to take Chrissie home now, Madam,” Justine said, reaching out to lift me under my arms to a wobbly standing position, “I believe we’ll need more than baby wipes to deal with this diaper’s contents.”

Back in my nursery, Nanny had just finished her smelly task, and restored my aroma to one of sweet baby powder as she readied me for my clean diaper.

“I’ve just been on the phone to the other two girls I was considering, and let them know that I’ve found the person I need for the job. Assuming you still want the job after dealing with Chrissie’s toxic waste, it’s yours, Justine.”

“I’ve dealt with far worse from patients who weren’t nearly as cute and sweet as Baby Chrissie, Madam,” Justine said, grinning widely, “I definitely want the job.”

“Good, I’ll show you the guest apartment over the garage later, and you can move your things in there as soon as you like, Justine,” Mommy said, “And, “madam’ seems a bit too Brit and stiff for our household. Just call me Maria, please.”


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