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You take a deep breath, smelling the soft scent of baby powder that always emanates from your clothes. You grab your phone and open the bedroom door. The hallway is in semi-darkness, the light from the living room leaking up the stairs along with the muffled sound of the television. You descend the steps slowly. With each step, you feel the heavy sway of the wet diaper against your legs. The soft swish-swish of the plastic is the only sound other than your bare footsteps on the carpet. You feel small, exposed, and at the same time, incredibly safe. In that house, you are about to ask to go out into the adult world dressed in the most childish way possible, carrying the evidence of your physiological needs strapped to your body. It is a living contradiction. You reach the bottom of the stairs and peek into the living room. Your parents are there, nestled on the sofa. It is time to use all your charm, and maybe a little bit of a tantrum, to get what you want. The living room is immersed in a warm, sleepy atmosphere—a violent contrast to the white storm lashing the windows outside. Your parents, Chloe and Willem, are nestled on the large suede sofa, sharing a plaid wool blanket while watching some police drama on television. The scent of cinnamon tea hangs in the air, heightening the nest-like feeling. You stop at the entrance to the living room, feeling the cold wooden floor beneath your bare feet. Your diaper, now undeniably heavy and bulky, pulls the bottom of your onesie down, creating a gap between the fabric and the skin of your legs. You know exactly what you look like: a 20-year-old wearing a little blue polar bear onesie, with your hips puffed out by a soaked diaper and a pacifier hanging from your chest. But in that house, that look provokes neither laughter nor looks of shock. It is just you. You clear your throat, trying to summon your most mature voice. “Mom, Dad?” Your father pauses the movie immediately, the screen freezing on a chase scene. Your mother turns her face toward you, smiling gently, her eyes sweeping over your figure from top to bottom without any judgment, just checking if you are okay.

Mom: “Hi, my love. Can’t sleep?” she asks, her voice soft. She gestures to the space between them on the sofa. “Come here and get warm. The tea is still hot, and there’s plenty of room under the blanket for our little one.”

Your father chuckles softly, noticing the heavy sag of your attire.

Dad: “Looks like someone had a very busy evening in bed,” he remarks affectionately. “You’re waddling more than usual.”

You take a few steps into the room, stopping between the television and the coffee table. The wet sway between your legs is impossible to ignore. With every step, the saturated gel shifts, and the animal print on the diaper, visible through the stretched fabric of the onesie, is on full display under the lamp’s light.

What will you do?