Mummy's Girl - Part 4

Because it was so popular and I had a lot of requests for it, this month's story will be a continuation of Mummy's Girl.

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One Month Later

“Are you excited for your playdate, sweetheart?” Kimmy’s mother cooed, looking at her daughter in the rear-view mirror as she drove.

“Yes, Mama,” said Kimmy, although she wasn’t. She wasn’t looking forward to being seen by strangers dressed the way she was. She was wearing a puffy pink dress that seemed to be made entirely of frills, a lacy bonnet that obscured much of her peripheral vision, woollen baby booties, and, of course, an ultra-thick disposable diaper. She hated how ridiculously babyish the outfit made her look, but Mama said grown-up clothes were for people who could keep their pants clean, and Kimmy hadn’t been doing a very good job at that lately.

Ever since the humiliating dirty diaper incident on her date, Kimmy had had failure after failure when it came to going number two in the toilet. She hadn’t been out of nappies for even one day since then, and her problem was showing no signs of going away. Mama still let her attend university, but her popular status had quickly disappeared. Not only had word spread around about the grown woman who’d gotten a dirty diaper change in the backseat of a car, it was also very difficult to hide the enormously thick adult nappies her mother made her wear. It hadn’t been hard for people to put two and two together when they noticed her toddling out of the lecture hall, crinkling loudly, with her hands clamped to the seat of her bulky bottom as she struggled desperately not to mess herself. She didn’t get the kind of teasing she’d experienced during her schooldays, but she could see the looks of mingled pity and amusement in people’s eyes, and nobody was overly keen to hang out or flirt with the big, smelly baby. Kimmy’s bottom lip trembled. At least she had her Mama.

Mrs Jones pulled into the driveway of a large house, and Kimmy waited patiently for her to open the back door (child-locked for her safety) and help her out of her car-seat. She tugged on the ends of her frilly pink dress self-consciously once she was out and standing. If she stood perfectly still, the hem of her dress almost covered her nappy. She glanced around anxiously, hoping none of the neighbours were looking out of their windows. It was small comfort that the owner of the house in front of them had a girl “just like her”.

“You look adorable, Kimmy,” her mother said, adjusting her bonnet and smiling. “Now make sure you’re on your best behaviour today, understand? We’re guests here, and I don’t want to have to spank your naughty bottom in front of Mrs Evans.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Good girl.”

Mrs Jones led them up to the front door and rang the bell. There was the sound of movement coming from within, and a moment later the door opened to reveal a handsome, copper-haired woman. Mrs Evans looked to be around ten years older than Kimmy’s mother, her face lined and weathered but still beautiful. She smiled at the pair of them. “You must be Mrs Jones,” she said, reaching out and shaking her mother’s hand. “And you,” she said, turning to look at Kimmy with a hungry look in her eyes, “must be her little Kimmy! It’s lovely to meet you both.”

“It’s lovely to meet you too,” Kimmy’s mother said. “Talking over text just isn’t the same, is it? I’m so glad we were able to arrange this little get-together. I think it will be very good for Kimmy to play with someone at her own maturity level, and I’m looking forward to sharing tips on how to take care of the little terrors!”

“Oh yes, I am too,” said Mrs Evans, standing back to let them inside. “Please come in. Vicky’s just in the living room at the moment, but I’m sure she can’t wait to play with your little girl.” They headed into the house, and Mrs Evans took them through a door off the hallway into a spacious living room. A large playpen was set up in the middle, and dolls and stuffed animals and baby toys were scattered all around. The television was on, blaring out some mind-numbing baby show. But the most noticeable feature of the room was the redheaded woman standing in the corner with her hands on her head, her thick cloth nappy and plastic pants pulled down to her knees, and her bright red bottom exposed. She was sniffling and hiccupping quietly. “I’m afraid Vicky was a naughty baby earlier,” said Mrs Evans, “so I had to give her a spanking.” Her tone turned strict as she said, “You can come out of the corner now, little girl.”

Vicky turned around. She must have been in her early thirties, but her face was streaked with tears, a pacifier was bobbing in her mouth, and her t-shirt (the only piece of clothing she wore apart from the nappy around her knees) had the words Mummy’s Little Stinker written on the front. She stared at the floor, her face as red as her bottom.

“Pull your nappy up before you have an accident, Vicky,” said Mrs Evans, and her daughter obeyed, sliding the cloth diaper up her legs and over her bottom, followed quickly by the transparent plastic pants. “That’s a good baby. Now introduce yourself to Mrs Jones and little Kimmy here.”

Vicky looked up shamefully and bent her knees in a curtsey. “Hewwo Mrs Jonesh,” she said, her words garbled by her dummy. “Hewwo Kimmy. My name ish Vicky, an’ I’m a big baby.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Vicky,” said Kimmy’s mother, grinning. “And how old are you?”

Vicky blushed even harder. “I’m fiwty-fwee yearsh old, Ma’am.”

Kimmy felt a horrible sinking in her stomach. She couldn’t help but imagine where she might be when she turned thirty-three. Surely she wouldn’t still be living with her mother... Surely, by then, baby clothes and nappies and potty problems would all be distant memories. But then, hadn’t she thought the same thing ten years ago? Hadn’t she hoped that by now she’d be a mature, independent woman, free of her mother’s control? Ten years ago she’d finally stopped messing herself, and she’d been looking forward to a future where she got over her pants-wetting issues too. And now she was back to square one. Pooping her pants every other day, and sometimes not even knowing she had to pee until she felt the warm wetness flood her nappy.

“Why don’t you two go and play in the playpen?” Mrs Evans suggested, smiling at Kimmy and Vicky. “Let the grown-ups talk for a bit.”

“Yesh, Mummy,” Vicky said quickly, and she toddled over to the middle of the room where the playpen was set up. Kimmy followed her. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was expected to do. What did Mrs Evans mean by ‘play’? She glanced at her mother, who shot her a stern look that meant, quite plainly, do as you’re told. Vicky had picked up a doll and sat herself down in the playpen, gingerly to avoid hurting her sore bottom, so Kimmy did the same. With a blush, she realised the doll she’d chosen was dressed almost exactly the same as her, with a frilly pink dress, booties, and a bonnet. Vicky was rocking her doll in her arms and babbling to it behind her pacifier, but that looked stupid, so Kimmy decided to just listen to her mother and Mrs Evans’ conversation.

“We gave up on potty training a long time ago,” Mrs Evans was saying. “She was wetting herself all the time and hardly ever making it to the potty for her messes. Eventually we decided enough was enough. Well, I say ‘we’, but Vicky wasn’t very pleased about it. Honestly, she can be so silly sometimes! She complained endlessly when I was doing my best to get her toilet trained, fussing over her training pants and throwing the biggest tantrums whenever I spanked her little bottom for having accidents, but when I told her we’d give the whole thing up and stick to diapers, she got grumpy about that too! It was a big blow to her, of course. Even though she’d done nothing but fail at potty training, I think she liked to cling on to the hope that one day she’d be out of diapers. So when I told her that her little tushy would be stuck in them forever… Well, it was nothing a bit of strict discipline couldn’t sort out.”

“I understand. Kimmy was improving over the last few years; hardly any messing, and she was getting much better about keeping her pants dry as well. I thought we were finally putting all this babyish nonsense behind us, but then about a month ago she just started pooping in her pants again!”

Mrs Evans tutted. “It makes you wonder what all your work was for, doesn’t it? I went through the same thing. How many hours had I spent trying to teach Vicky that she’s supposed to do her pee-pees and poo-poos in the potty and not in her pants, only for all her yucky messes to end up there anyway? It’s a hard thing to accept, but it might be that your little girl won’t ever be ready for big girl panties…”

“I will be!” Kimmy blurted out angrily, looking over her shoulder at the two older women. Her bottom lip was wobbling again, and her eyes were bright. She wouldn’t end up in nappies forever!

“Kimmy!” her mother snapped. “What has Mama said about raising your voice? Do you need a smacked bottom, young lady?”

Kimmy looked down at the carpet sulkily and shook her head.

“Then you’d better apologise to Mrs Evans right this instant, missy, or there will be two little girls with red bums playing in the playpen this afternoon!”

Kimmy’s stomach felt as though it was tied up in knots. She didn’t want to give in to her mother. She didn’t want to end up like Vicky. But she didn’t want a spanking either.

“Sorry, Mrs Evans,” she whispered.

“That’s alright, Kimmy,” said Mrs Evans. “I know you’ve got a lot of big feelings right now. It can’t be easy being a potty training dropout at your age.”

Kimmy gritted her teeth and seethed silently.

“Now go back to playing, Kimmy,” her mother ordered. “Copy Vicky. I think you could learn a thing or two from her.”

Kimmy turned back around and scowled at the stupid baby doll in her arms. Feeling the eyes of her mother and Mrs Evans on her back, she started to play – rocking the baby in her arms and, following Vicky’s example, cooing to it about how pretty she looked, how she must want a cuddle, how her diaper must need changing. And as she played, she barely felt it as the warm wetness soaked into the thirsty padding between her legs…