Latest Posts by contemporarybaby - Page 5

Having a traumatic childhood means you cannot talk even objectively about your basic foundational experiences without it being "venting", even if you're not actually venting. You just straight up have a huge chunk of your life you can't talk about, full stop, without it being trauma dumping.

And it not being socially acceptable to talk about your own childhood is super alienating. Sometimes people want to know why, and any answer you can give them is going to be off putting.

It's to the point I get irritated when something I said is framed as venting when I'm literally just talking about my life experiences, doing my best to keep emotion out of it.

Topical

helloooo annalise ^^

soo happyy you're still around despite tumblr being a meanie

maybe some ✨soft asks✨ to brighten the day?

3. reading 📖 or writing✒️? why?

15. comfort food? 🍽️

25. if your soul was a color, what would it be? 🎨

hiiiiiiiii!!! tumblr is big meanie but they can’t get rid of me that easily!!! thank you for the asks!!!!! 🩷🩷🩷

3. reading or writing? why?

READING. i am a voracious reader. genuinely i will read just about anything i can get my hands on. when i was a kid reading was my biggest escape. i had a very traumatic childhood, and the fact that i could pick up a book whenever i wanted and immediately be somewhere where i physically wasn’t was huge for me. but that habit has definitely stuck on in my adulthood! i mostly read literary fiction, but i also read a lot of contemporary art theory/philosophy, and museology. some of my favorite authors/thinkers are donna tartt, susan sontag, sara ahmed, lucy lippard, elena ferrante, kaveh akbar, and ottessa moshfegh. oh and john steinbeck. i’m due for an east of eden reread soon i think.

15. comfort food?

grilled cheese and tomato soup! my all time favorite meal probably. or matzo ball soup! i have a constant craving for matzo ball soup.

25. if your soul was a color, what color would it be?

baby pink! obviously

On my college campus, let’s learn with mama!

lngu little melodies sold out, absolutely devastated don't text :,(

lets be muddy with mama

✨soft asks✨

What song makes you feel better?

What is your go to comfort show?

Reading or writing? Why?

Whats your favorite feeling?

How do you like to take care of yourself?

What’s your favorite candle scent?

Who do you feel most like yourself around?

Whats a fabric/texture that’s nostalgic for you?

Best childhood moment?

When was the last time you laughed so hard you cried? (or just felt really good afterwards)

Do you have a comfort item? Tell us about it!

What calms you down?

Bath or shower to relax?

Whats something upcoming that you’re excited for?

Comfort food?

What’s something you want to create soon?

How do you feel best loved?

What age in life do you think you’ll feel most yourself at?

Have you ever written or received a love letter?

Tell us about a memory you hold close to your heart.

Tea, Coffee, or hot cocoa?

Name of your favorite playlist?

Have you ever received flowers?

Who is your bestfriend?

If your soul was a color, what would it be?

If you could live anywhere with anyone you want, where would it be and who would you bring?

Do you like to garden? Have you ever grown something?

What are you proudest of?

Are you a kind person?

What do your hobbies look like?

people on here are so weird about diapers. it's just underwear, keep on scrolling sweety.

When I don't agree with the justification for a spanking , I just go pee while I'm over his knee. It's not my fault he took my pull-up down and spanked me so hard I wet myself. Daddy should have thought about that before hand, right? ...right?

is there an age limit to flailing and crying on the floor until i feel better and get cuddled or is society just lying to me?

Lets sneef with mama

i love being a little freak on tumblr nobody can stop me

Let’s stand guard for mama

Really just need daddy to come put me in some thick, fluffy, diapers and shove a paci in my mouth. Maybe strap it around my head so I’m forced to wear it. Add some booties and mittens so I really can’t get anything off. Just some nice forced regression 😵‍💫🫣

Papa has been to a lot of your gallery shows, but, he has to say, this is your best.

Everyone is enthralled by your bold use of primary colors.

The simple shapes and designs call back to a simpler, happier, more innocent time.

Further, everyone seems to agree that your daring choice to forgo traditional painting implements, like brushes, and use your fingers, paid off.

However, it's the 'performance art' in the back of the gallery that has drawn everyone's attention.

Your decision to dress in nothing but a onesie and well-used diaper, confined to a playpen, and silenced by the pacifier in your mouth has made you the darling of the art community.

If only the art critics knew what Papa did.

You weren't 'performing' for the world, but revealing the true you: An adorable, diaper messing, adult-sized infant.

It's probably for the best though. Otherwise, you would only be the darling of Papa's world, a title you already have locked up.

Food Allergies

We went to the store to pick up groceries. They had some samples that you were excited to try, not being cautious of your food allergies. You were fine on the way home.

Our usual grocery arrangement was that I unpack the car, bringing in the heavy bags, and you unpack the bags, filling the pantry, filling the refrigerator, filling the freezer.

I wasn’t expecting you to fill your pants.

I came back in to find you bawling in the middle of the kitchen, standing in a growing brown puddle, twin wet streaks down your legs.

“Oh honey,” I said softly, putting down my groceries and coming close to hug you. “What happened,” I asked, knowing already what the answer was. You could barely string three words together, and you didn’t need to. Some of the samples you’d scarfed must have contained banana. “Oh no.”

I hear your tummy rumble loudly, heralding another noisy helpless gush as you lose control of a second wave. You start to cry harder, your muscles tensing with pain and frustration and shame.

I wrap you in my arms, rocking you gently as the attack continues, your little body wriggling against mine, trying desperately to get comfortable. I murmur in your ear, “You’re alright, baby. It’s OK. You’ll feel better soon.” Your sobs grow softer, muffled by my shirt. A few more cramps, another noise from your bottom as you helplessly let go.

Finally there’s a break in the action. I dry your tears and pick you up, caring only about not slipping in your puddle, without concern for my shirt or pants. I carry you to the washroom, only bothering to take your shoes off before standing you in the shower and rinsing you from the waist down, stripping off your shirt and bra after making sure your poop didn’t blow out your jeans to your lower back. You whine in humiliation as your breasts are freed.

I let the detachable showerhead do the hard work of rinsing everything down the drain as your sobs slow. Your thumb ends up in your mouth. You probably think you look pathetic; you look adorable. I slowly wrestle your thumb from your mouth, quickly replacing it with the pacifier from your “special” cupboard I grabbed on the way to the shower. The tension lines around your eyes, screwed tightly shut, start to loosen as you suck.

Finally the water is running clear down the drain. I strip off your remaining clothes and soap your lower half thoroughly, trying not to let my arousal guide my fingertips, trying to maneuver you away from my erection— you were stressed enough without feeling the need to perform. All the while I speak softly to you, telling you what a good girl you were, telling you that you did such a great job with the groceries.

When we get out, and I’m toweling you off, you have that vacant look in your eye that tells me you need at least a few hours in a diaper. Sure enough, you gasp as a trickle of mess slips down your leg, your helpless sphincter not even bothering to twitch closed. You look like you’re about to cry again, not ready for another shower.

I find the baby wipes instead, clean you up, then diaper you, and set you in your bouncer. That always helps you relax. Your tears dry up and you start to smile.

kind of weird how parts of your soul are left in various locations without any warning… like yes i’m always at the top of that hill, sitting at the bus stop, in the cool light of the Japanese restaurant, standing at the pier etc etc

who else up & bisexual⁉️⁉️⁉️ And very afraid

why do we even have legal genders anyway. maybe we should not have those

give me a place to dream

lets cross the street with mama

and what if i said i dont like little kings or bluey

She has grown up 🥺🫶✨ @eviltanguyan