June 4, 2012

Diaper Locks

So you show up at my door with a messy, wet diaper and want it changed who do you really think is going to do that not me.Infact i have something so much better than a diaper change i have  brand new diaper locks that i will fix you up with that way that diaper can not be changed unless i say so. Plus i am not in the mood to be changing your diaper you didn’t ask ahead of time if i would did you all you did was show and cry i need my diaper changed so get into the bedroom i am going to put these diaper locks on you and you can sit in this messy diaper until i decide you need it changed maybe i will then call mommy Lauren to change it for you or mommy Rebecca just never know which one might agree to it. Victoria 1.888.430.2010
January 7, 2012

Love those WETNESS INDICATORS!!!!

HAHAHA! I just love watching my abie scooting around on the floor on his hands and knees! Hearing the shuffling sound of the diaper! And then making him stand up so I can see those wetness indicator huggies go from pink to blue when he wets himself! If I have friends over we sit by and laugh while he goes pee pee!! I have so much fun teasing my Diaper Lovers! Cum Play in my Toy Box! Jenna 1-888-430-2010
November 14, 2011

POTTY TIME

  Going to the potty is something we must do. Mommies do it. Daddies do it. Even me and you. Our number one is always liquid. Our number two is like a paste. Both of them are made up from all our body’s waste. We have to dump our garbage, so that we don’t get sick, From all the dirty, yucky and disgusting garbage ick. Our waste is trash inside us. We have to push it out. Doing it without our diaper is what this book’s about. We have to wear a diaper, when we’re a baby who’s still small. But once we start to run around – swift and straight and tall, Then we know it’s time to learn what we’re supposed to do when we have to go & make a number one or two. It’ll start out as a tickle, from somewhere deep inside our tummy. Sometimes we can feel it after we eat something yummy. When things begin to stir around and start to move inside, we won’t go in a corner or find a place to hide. We’ll find our mom or daddy – any relative will do – then we’ll say,Excuse me, I must go number one or two! They’ll understand, take our hand, and help take care of it. We’ll walk into the bathroom, pull down our pants and sit. We’ll keep sitting on the potty. Until our wait is through. We’ll know when we’re finished; we’ll see our number one or two. Things feel so much better when we don’t need a change. Even though at first those things might feel a little strange. We’ll feel so much bigger, and that feeling feels so good. If we can number one and two it, then don’t you think we should? mommy lorraine 1-888-430-2010 for all of baby’s fun time needs whether it be potty or sexual and sensual you know where to find me heheheh
October 9, 2011

THE HELL BOUND TRAIN

A Texas cowboy lay down on a barroom floor, Having drunk so much he could drink no more; So he fell asleep with a troubled brain To dream that he rode on a hell-bound train. The engine with murderous blood was damp And was brilliantly lit with a brimstone lamp; An imp, for fuel, was shoveling bones, While the furnace rang with a thousand groans. The boiler was filled with lager beer And the devil himself was the engineer; The passengers were a most motley crew- Church member, atheist, Gentile, and Jew, Rich men in broad cloth, beggars in rags, Handsome young ladies, and withered old hags, Yellow and black men, red, brown, and white, All chained together-O God, what a sight! While the train rushed on at an awful pace- The sulphurous fumes scorched their hands and face; Wider and wider the country grew, As faster and faster the engine flew. Louder and louder the thunder crashed And brighter and brighter the lightning flashed; Hotter and hotter the air became Till the clothes were burned from each quivering frame. And out of the distance there arose a yell, “Ha, ha,” said the devil, “we’re nearing hell” Then oh, how the passengers all shrieked with pain And begged the devil to stop the train. But he capered about and danced for glee, And laughed and joked at their misery. “My faithful friends, you have done the work And the devil never can a payday shirk. “You’ve bullied the weak, you’ve robbed the poor, The starving brother you’ve turned from the door; You’ve laid up gold where the canker rust, And have given free vent to your beastly lust. “You’ve justice scorned, and corruption sown, And trampled the laws of nature down. You have drunk, rioted, cheated, plundered, and lied, And mocked at God in your hell-born pride. “You have paid full fare, so I’ll carry you through, For it’s only right you should have your due. Why, the laborer always expects his hire, So I’ll land you safe in the lake of fire, “Where your flesh will waste in the flames that roar, And my imps torment you forevermore.” Then the cowboy awoke with an anguished cry, His clothes wet with sweat and his hair standing high. Then he prayed as he never had prayed till that hour To be saved from his sin and the demon’s power; And his prayers and his vows were not in vain, For he never rode the hell-bound train. Lily
September 18, 2011

Autumn Storm By Firelight

A flash of lightening streaks across the sky. We huddle close beneath the trembling eaves As thunder roars a nightmare lullaby, And strips the trees outside of summer leaves. The fire is warm. Its light is warmer still. A gentle beacon holding back the dark. Yet, in the light of day, we know we will Deny the fearful pounding of our hearts. The ancient wonder once again is near. The fury of the storm awakes our past. When gods and nature both were to be feared. And spells of warding were by fire cast. An autumn storm returns us to that place When nature’s glory awed the human race. Katherine Marek Minnie We huddle together listening to the storms passing over our house all cuddled up me and the babies Baby afraid of storms come and cuddle up with Minnie she will take care of all those diaper needs and cuddling
September 1, 2011

The End of Summer

Sweet smell of phlox drifting across the lawn— an early warning of the end of summer. August is fading fast, and by September the little purple flowers will all be gone. Season, project, and vacation done. One more year in everybody’s life. Add a notch to the old hunting knife Time keeps testing with a horny thumb. Over the summer months hung an unspoken aura of urgency. In late July galactic pulsings filled the midnight sky like silent screaming, so that, strangely woken, we looked at one another in the dark, then at the milky magical debris arcing across, dwarfing our meek mortality. There were two ways to live: get on with work, redeem the time, ignore the imminence of cataclysm; or else take it slow, be as tranquil as the neighbors’ cow we love to tickle through the barbed wire fence (she paces through her days in massive innocence, or, seeing green pastures, we imagine so). In fact, not being cows, we have no choice. Summer or winter, country, city, we are prisoners from the start and automatically, hemmed in, harangued by the one clamorous voice. Not light but language shocks us out of sleep ideas of doom transformed to meteors we translate back to portents of the wars looming above the nervous watch we keep. By Rachel Hadas Mommy Lorraine Mommy Lorraine is always around to play with babies and sissies
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