When everything gets bigger than you remember - when it becomes hard to think about the adult world - know that your Mama will always be there for you. Relax into your Mama's arms.

Story inspired by  kittycubbear.

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All characters are 18+.

The world is big. Or you are small. These days it’s hard to remember the difference between the two.

You’re on the floor right where Mama left you. You haven’t moved in a while because you can’t remember if she told you to stay put when she put you down. You were too focused on nursing to pay attention. Either way, you worry about making Mama upset. That calm voice she always uses with you, sometimes she only does it because you want it, not because she means it. You want her to mean it.

To your side is a shape. It’s a big one. You can’t remember what it’s called, but you recall what shapes are and you’re sure this is one of them. Proud you got even that far, you clap your paws together and giggle to yourself through your pacifier, laughter sounding as small as you presume yourself to be.

You reach out to the shape but no matter how far you stretch you just can’t get to it. Curious. You look down at your arms. Pudgy, short, flabby, you’ve heard them described in dozens of ways but you don’t know what any of the words really mean. All you know is they pick up shapes. They’re supposed to anyway.

It’s closer to one of the walls - those of the room itself or the playpen within it you can’t tell, and for another moment the existence of two sets of walls makes you dawdle on the small body, big world debate. If you had two shapes they’d take up all your arms. That must make two big, and you small.

Something runs down your cheek. It’s wet and it tastes salty and you can’t stop it from coming out of your eyes. You don’t know how it got there, what it is, or why it’s there but you want it gone. It will not make Mama happy. She’ll frown and her lip will waver, and she’ll look at you like you’re fragile, when all you want is for her to look at you and smile.

If you could get that shape maybe it would go away. Mama, she wanted you to stay put, you remember that now. But what does that actually mean when there are two sets of walls around you? What part should you stay put in? And why would she put the shape so far away if you weren’t supposed to move at all?

You dig deep into your memory for a solution. Surely Mama said another really important thing right before leaving the room. You push away thoughts about her plump breast against your mouth, of her large nipple squeezing delicious nectar down your throat, of her gentle paw coursing through the fur on top of your head. You don’t want to forget these feelings, but for now you have a more important mission.
Aha!

“Toy!” you say, pointing at the shape. Mama wanted you to play with toys! You bounce on your rump because the sound of air whooshing out from your diaper punctuates your excited cheers so well. “Toy toy toy toy!”

You can’t really play with your toys if you keep sitting here, now can you? Mama has been talking about walking for a while like it’s some big deal, and you think you know how to do it but it looks hard. Walking on all fours is so much easier. Just more proof that two is a big number.

Once you strike up the motivation to get moving your body becomes a crawling machine. It was like you were made to keep toddling along, and even when your shoulders hit the ground a few times you just get on back up, determined to make Mama proud. You can do it, just a little further along the foam mat.

You hit your head on the ground right in front of the toy.

Your voice is no longer your own because now it sounds big, loud and horrible, and it makes you feel certain that you’re small. You would never willingly subject yourself to this. Only someone small would let their pacifier fall from their mouth to wail so uncontrollably.

“Oh, baby,” Mama says.

Arms wrap around you and you suddenly come face to face with your Mama. With her wavering smile. The wetness on your cheeks is back in full force, coming from both your eyes now. The two of them.

“I’m so sorry honey,” Mama says. “I’m rusty and I forgot how intensely you interpret off-handed orders when you’re so far under. You don’t have to stay put or play or anything. Just let me hug you, okay?”

You don’t understand what Mama’s saying but the words make sense, so you nod. She cradles your head and pulls you into her bosom, right where you usually suck on her nipple. The coziest spot. You don’t want milk right now, but even being close reminds you of how intimate you are with your Mama.

“Shhhhh, shhhhh. It’s all going to be okay,” she says. You feel her body move but you don’t bother to watch where the two of you are going. So long as you’re in Mama’s arms very little else matters. “Let me grab your plush cube for you.”

The toy finally reaches your paws. It’s a different kind of soft from Mama’s breasts. The fabric tells you it’s at your mercy, one of the few things you have control over when you’re this small.

You waste no time before putting it in your mouth. The world is big, and you are small, and there doesn’t seem to be a difference between the two. But when Mama pulls you out of that embrace to coo at you – when she gently tugs on the shape toy in your mouth, making it jingle as you wrestle it away from her with your teeth, and you both smile at each other despite the tears – you realize any distinction that might exist doesn’t matter.