I have a routine. It’s working for me. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m on task and getting stuff done. The last few years of college and graduate school were spent rushing around procrastinating and leaving things to the last minute.
Those days are gone, mostly because I don’t have a choice. I’ve learned I like not having options. It’s comforting.
I’ve been on Regression Island two weeks, and with each passing day, Daddy has taken more control of my life. I’ve encouraged it. Every time he touches base with me to make sure I’m happy, I let him know I’m beyond content and make it clear he has my blessing to continue on this path.
I didn’t see this coming. I couldn’t have predicted it. If anyone would have asked me two weeks ago if I could see myself living this life, I would have told them hell no.
It wasn’t even gradual. It took less than twenty-four hours for me to know I was going to be happier here. My routine each day keeps me focused.
Every morning starts with Daddy removing my jammies and pushing a suppository into my bottom. That is my least favorite part of the day. He holds it inside me for above five minutes, my tight ring gripping his finger. I’m getting used to the feelingand might secretly even like it by now. But the next part I try to ignore.
Once he has changed me, he lets me sit on the couch and watch cartoons while I drink my morning bottle. I prefer the times when he cradles me in his lap and holds the bottle himself, but he can’t do it four times a day. He has too many other things to do.
At nine, we go into the office. I work for three hours in my harness with my padlock reminding me to stay on task. Daddy lets me have a juice bottle, which I usually finish by the end of the three hours, which means I’m desperately in need of a change at noon.
I play outside while Daddy eats lunch, and he rocks me to sleep with my nap bottle. I don’t mind napping. I’m usually tired from studying all morning.
After my nap, I’m back in the office working for another three hours. I drink my dinner bottle in my playpen and read, do puzzles, or color while Daddy fixes his dinner and eats.
I miss food. Every day I’ve wondered if Daddy would give me something besides bottles, but he hasn’t yet, and I haven’t asked him about it out of fear he might extend my days without food if I do.
I have an appointment with Dr. Morgan again tomorrow. Hopefully he’ll say I can switch to a mixed diet of soft food and smaller bottles. Anabel tells me that’s common. Eventually most Littles on the island transition to solid finger food which could be whatever Daddy is cooking. She isn’t sure how many Littles who live here are permitted to feed themselves. She hasn’t personally held a spoon or fork yet.
After Daddy eats, we usually go for a walk. Sometimes we visit Anabel, or she comes to our house. Our Daddies knew each other from the Big and Little club we belonged to onthe mainland, but they’re becoming good friends now, which is convenient.
My bedtime is ten o’clock, so in the evenings I get to watch movies with Daddy, or we play games, or we read together. It’s peaceful and predictable. I never ask what we’re doing. Daddy likes to surprise me.
At about nine thirty, Daddy bathes me and rocks me while I have my nighttime bottle. By the time I’m in my footed jammies with my wrists restrained to the sides of my crib, I’m half asleep.
I think the nighttime bottle has less sedative in it than the first few days. I’m less groggy when I wake up, but I still sleep a solid ten hours. It’s amazing how good I feel with that much sleep all the time.
I know Daddy doesn’t sleep that long. He works early in the morning before I wake up and does several things around the house after I go to bed.
The weekends have been mostly about fun. Last weekend Daddy took me to the amusement park. Today he’s taking me to the water park. Anabel and Anthony are coming with us, and I can’t wait. I’m so excited that I finish off my morning bottle faster than usual and then bounce around the house in anticipation.
Daddy finds my antics humorous for about five minutes, and when I ask him for the tenth time when we’re going to leave, he puts his foot down. He sets me in my playpen and tells me to be quiet and entertain myself while he finishes getting ready.
His expression is stern, so I force myself to comply, picking up a book and flipping it open to my page even though I can’t concentrate on reading.
I don’t actually know what time it is. I haven’t seen a clock in two weeks. There are none in the house, and I don’t have a cell phone. The only time I’ve known the time has been when I’mworking and can see the readout in the corner of my computer screen.
I perk up and stand in my playpen when I hear the faint noise of Anabel giggling outside. I can see Anthony removing her from her car seat through the front window, so I start bouncing on my feet. “Daddy, they’re here!”
Daddy comes from the back of the house, but he doesn’t look at me as he opens the front door to greet our guests. “Come on in. Melody is having some behavioral issues this morning. Please give us a few minutes while I address them.”
I’m trembling as he lifts me from my playpen, takes my hand, and drags me from the room. I don’t look at Anabel or her Daddy because I’m embarrassed.
Daddy takes me to the nursery and shuts the door. He sits on the rocking chair and holds me by the waist between his legs. “I know you’re excited about today, but I asked you to settle down, and you ignored me.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy.” I haven’t been in trouble in two weeks.
“Do you have permission to stand in the playpen?”
“No, Sir.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not safe, and I might fall over the side.”
