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womanofwords · 1 year

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Daddy’s Baby Boy (Hero’s POV)

Villain’s POV

CW: platonic yandere caretaker hero, whumpee villain, whumper supervillain, abduction, broken bones, infantilisation, Stockholm syndrome, drugging.

My life changed forever the day I went to break up Supervillain’s headquarters. It was gruelling and terrifying, but nothing I hadn’t handled before. But that was when I found the worst thing I had ever seen in my life.

A frail, broken body laid in a pool of blood on the floor. I was about to call the police about a murder victim when I saw movement, a hand groping the floor for something to hold on to.

They were alive.

“Who is this?” they whimpered. The voice sounded male. I scooped him up and took a long look at his face.

It was the most adorable thing I’d ever seen.

Those big eyes, those pouty lips, how waifish they looked. They were probably starved for some time before being beaten. That poor baby had been abused for months on end, possibly even years.

And that would never happen to him again.

First, I’d have to kill Supervillain or, better yet, get her killed. She was undoubtedly the one behind this, and if she wasn’t the one directly doing it, then she would be the one directing others to get their hands dirty. That wasn’t hard: Supervillain may have always been ready for a fight, but she was never bullet proof.

Then, I would report finding Villain to the authorities so he could go to the hospital. Nobody seemed to care that they were hurt so badly, which was so callous. How could anyone look at such an angelic face and not care about what happened to them?

A few days after the terrible incident, Villain was still in my head. He was such a sweet boy, who probably wasn’t even a bad person. Supervillain had probably forced them to do it.

Taking them home was difficult. I had to pull in a lot of favours for this to work. Bribing the nurses on shift so they wouldn’t say anything, someone to take Villain’s place in the hospital so it would look like he had made a miraculous recovery, yet another person to make a portal directly to my new safe house to make the whole operation easier. I had to pay a lot of hush money to these people so they’d keep their mouths shut, but my baby boy was worth every penny.

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Taking care of Villain was nothing short of a labour of love. It broke my heart every single time Villain rejected my love, but I kept my faith. Villain would learn to love me once he knew how much I cared for him. I would wake him up with breakfast in bed (a meal replacement shake because he couldn’t chew) first thing in the morning. Villain struggled with the bottles at first, but he learned to tolerate them eventually.

Then his old bandages would be removed so he could be bathed. I would be scared of hurting him as his wounds were stitched up, but painful, and his whimpers and yelps of pain made me want to bawl. While he was in the bath, I would brush his hair, which was full of mats and tangles. Some of it had to be cut, but what I could brush out made him whimper and groan. I spent a ridiculous amount of money on brushes so this wouldn’t hurt him or damage his hair. It was so fluffy and I would hate to ruin it with split ends.

After the bath, he would get new bandages for his wounds and oils massaged into his skin. This seemed to be the only part of our day that Villain actually liked, as he practically purred while face down on his bed. Physical therapy would happen after he had clothes, stretching and bending the ways he had to so he could become stronger.

Our day ended with Villain wearing the most adorable footed pyjamas and sitting in my lap to drink soup from a thermos. I would take him downstairs to watch a Disney movie and then I would bring him back to his bed to snuggle him.

Slowly, very slowly, my efforts paid off. Villain’s cold demeanour would start slipping away, his defenses coming down. I would smile and tell him that I was so proud of him for being so brave and calling me Daddy. He would blush with shame, but that would lessen with time. Eventually, he would say the word Daddy with no shame at all and the sweetest lilt in his voice. The best time was when I came home from going somewhere and I would hear his excited squeals from upstairs. Every time I got home, there would be endless snuggles and one of the stuffed animals I got for him was presented to me. My baby boy became the sweetest angel once he was out of his shell.

Once it was safe for him to come off bed rest, we got started on walking. There were good days and bad days, but Villain would always be so tired after practicing walking. This would lead to me carrying him from place to place, something that I cherished as much as possible. Villain would snuggle into my shoulder and want to stay there forever, only agreeing if we cuddled all night. But once he became confident with walking, he would trot at my side like the adorable puppy he was. We’d even go on walks together to a nice park, where it was expansive, pretty, and most importantly, secluded.

The first time I used muscle relaxants on Villain, it was during a moment of weakness. That day, I was feeling particularly clingy and missed the days when he needed me . . . needed me more. One dose of muscle relaxants and he would be incapacitated for at least half the day. “Did mean, awful Supervillain do this to you, too?” I asked, covering my tracks. Villain sobbed into my arms.

“I’m sorry, Daddy! I did something bad!” Villain wailed, the first time it had happened. “I disappointed you! I’m sorry!” Even after giving him a few stuffed animals for comfort, telling him over and over that it wasn’t his fault, and giving him another smoothie, he would only be contented with kisses and snuggles. I did feel guilty, but Villain was so obedient and eager to please for a week afterwards, and I was hooked.

After that, it would happen a few times a year, roughly every two months. I will admit, I hated how much he would cry when he woke up from a nap to see how his legs wouldn’t hold him up, but he would be so affectionate and snuggly, and then so happy when he was better.

I’d heard of people who kept other people in their house, mainly in true crime documentaries. These people would torture their captives in all sorts of ways, cut them off from the world, restrain them with all sorts of tools. But I’d never needed to do such things. There was no reason for me to do such a thing to my precious Villain, though. No more hurt and pain for my baby boy. He’d gone through more than enough.

Besides, I have Villain exactly where I need him. He’s well-loved and well-trained. And when someone has everything they need where they are, you can leave them alone with every exit available, and it won’t make a difference.

#creative writing #my writing #writers on tumblr #writers #writing #writeblr #writerscommunity #whumpee x caretaker #infantilisation #tw abduction #tw stockholm syndrome #yandere #platonic yandere #yandere caretaker #caretaker hero #whumpee villain

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bonelessenthusiast · 2 years

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“disabled adults aren’t kids” applies to people with all support needs, if you only apply it to people you already viewed as adults or adult-adjacent you’re still ableist

#disability #ableism #infantilisation

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moonssugar · 11 months

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thinking about the intersection of ableism against autistic people and infantilization when paired with misogynoir. its not looking great

#its dogshit if ur wondering #the infantilization and misognoir crossover is INTERESTING bc 1. adultification but also no agency?#constantly at war with my cultures perception of what they call ‘grown’. ive always hated it #double whammy combo #you could add transphobia and queerphobia to these too #this is really me trying to decode what it is my family cant stand about me #autism #misogynoir #infantilisation #autizzy

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fem-lit · 1 month

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For women to stay at the official extreme of the weight spectrum requires 95 percent of us to infantilize or rigidify to some degree our mental lives. The beauty of thinness lies not in what it does to the body but to the mind, since it is not female thinness that is prized, but female hunger, with thinness merely symptomatic. Hunger attractively narrows the focus of a mind that has “let itself go.” Babies cannot feed themselves; invalids and the orthodox require special diets. Dieting makes women think of ourselves as sick, religious babies.

— Naomi Wolf (1990) The Beauty Myth

#not to mention that dieting and anorexia featured heavily amongst religious women #infantilisation #naomi wolf #the beauty myth #radblr #radfem #radical feminism #radfem safe #radical feminist safe #anti diet culture

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raccoonzinspace · 10 months

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I still remember when my older cousin said I was "innocent" and still a "baby" at the age of 23.

While yes I am my "mother's baby" and have a bit of a naive-ness, I am a grown adult. I'm certainly not innocent because I know about a lot of stuff that I probably shouldn't know about.

(Imagines horrific images when pictures of a jar and a beloved character are anywhere near each other.)

#personal #space raccoon rambles #infantilisation #maybe it's because i have autism #and not much life experience #still though

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flowercrowncrip · 1 year

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I just found out that one of my carers has asked to cover Christmas Day, but then arranged with my mum to only come in for the morning and evening. Basically, she was trying to get paid the extra money for covering Christmas, while leaving my mum to do the work she's getting paid for. And like, I get why she'd want to get the extra money, but there is absolutely no excuse for going to my mum rather than me about my care needs

Neither of them thought to talk to me about it, which is really shitty of both of them. Care is supposed to be about me being able to live the life I want, but so many carers seem to think it's about making my parents life easier. I kind of had a suspicion before this that this particular carer thinks of me more of a child than an adult (her son is about my age) and I feel this only adds to that suspicion.

As it happens, I have plans to go to a queer get together on Christmas Day, so she's going to have to work all day. Any feeling of sympathy I might have felt about that has completely evaporated having found out she had gone behind my back like that instead of talking to me about it.

#Ableism #physical disability #Care needs #Infantilisation #Christmas #Holidays

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notabled-noodle · 2 years

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“mental age” is bullshit by the way. we all develop at different rates, and we all hit milestones at different times. an adult who is disabled, needs a carer, and/or still lives at home is still an adult

an individual disabled person may feel like they age differently from their peers, or they may feel as if they individually are “mentally a child”, but that is not a label you should slap on someone other than yourself

#ableism #disability #autism #neurodivergent #infantilisation

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siwekubheka01 · 2 years

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The disabled experience of being parentified when you’re young to being infantilised when you’re an adult is a wild one, let me tell you.

#parentification #infantilisation #disability trauma

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proudfreakmetarusonniku · 2 years

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Day 5: Every Whumpees Needs, with inspiration from the extra prompt Blood Loss.

An AU where Dream is a vampire and Tommy's blood tastes the best out of anyones. Dream feeds from Tommy in exile, and makes sure to take just enough blood that Tommy's alive, but delirious and exhausted from blood loss and pain. Warnings for biting, drugging (pretty sure venom counts there), incredibly unhealthy coping mechanisms, dehumanisation, infantilisation, blood, blood loss, abuse, forced codependency, and an extremely unreliable narrator.

AO3 link, if you prefer.

Tommy barely so much as whimpered anymore when Dream sunk his fangs into him.

Of course, the venom kept him still enough to feed, even back in the L’Manberg days where he was jumpy and anxious whenever it was time, but ever since Dream had come up with the excellent idea of having his little bloodbag exiled from that pitiful excuse of a nation, he’d stopped even trying to fight against it, just giving into the paralysis while Dream took his fill of blood.

Honestly, the real question was why he hadn’t done this earlier.

Oh, he’d wanted to. He knew there wasn’t anyone else… like him anymore- he’d made damn sure of that, because unlike most vampires, Dream had some sense of fucking standards, but he couldn’t help but feel paranoid that somehow, someone would try and take away his precious food source, and leave him suddenly without.

Addictive was a mild word to describe the sheer ambrosia running through the poor kids' veins. That much was a fact. But that didn’t- that shouldn’t- change the fact that he was still a kid with a wide, vibrant smile and infectious energy that reminded Dream of his younger siblings back when he was still human. Prime, it had been so long since they all went, so long since he’d lost contact with any still bearing their blood, and he missed his family more than anything.

It was, perhaps, the one area where he had to admit he fell short.

There was something so vibrant about the living, so overwhelmingly energetic, that he lost years before he was ever even turned. He’d suffered so many indignities for his family’s survival that he’d died even before they killed him, turned him into one of them. Perhaps to them, the way that mortals shone like the sun made them inferior, but Dream thought that trait made them well beyond simple cattle, tools to be used and thrown out and tortured without reason. Perhaps they were lesser, but in the way a child is lesser than their guardian, not a human to a cow.

(Or, if it was, it’d be in the same way Tommy treated the gangly mooshroom in the corner of his tent, brushing shaking hands through fur and cuddling up beside him and telling him silly stories. In that sense, it really wasn’t that different after all.)

The first few drops of blood as he drained it away from Tommy’s pliant form were like his memories of sunshine on his face in the warmth of the fields again. Like the shackles binding him for long enough to lose count of the millennia and almost lose count of that too had been cut away, and he was flying freely once more. The taste was richly metallic, and if Dream was one of the superstitious types, he’d say he could almost sense the glint of a sword and the will of a soldier in it.

Greedily, Dream leaned further into Tommy’s arm, latching onto his wrist like a wild animal. Desperately licking the wound for the few droplets that escaped, he could feel the interlocking patterns of bite scars he knew covered every inch visible on Tommy, some parts of the flesh raised and inflamed and some chunks torn out altogether. He could feel his venom swirling underneath the skin, paralysing but not numbing.

(Prime, he remembered how much that hurt. Not only did it feel exactly as painful as a carnivore biting through your flesh and draining your insides sounded, the venom stung like burning fire and shards of ice all at once. Sometimes, he still had nightmares about it.)

Gently, carefully, Dream slung an arm around Tommy, holding him tightly in what he hoped was a comforting embrace, or as close as they could get to one with Tommy half-collapsed on his cot and Dream firmly attached to his wrist. He’d done that long ago, when his little sister had nightmares and couldn’t sleep, and stayed there with her until she fell unconscious in his arms. For some reason, he kept picturing her with pale blond curls and electric blue eyes.

He could be kind. He wasn’t- he wasn’t like them, who treated mortals just as their own personal slaves, toys, playthings, anything but a person. He’d made damn sure he was last of his kind for a reason, because he didn’t want anyone like that back ever again. No, mortals were his sweet little brothers, his mischievous little sisters, the baby siblings he’d protect with his life. They were family.

(And, sure, this might be the third time he’d drank from Tommy today, and he’d stopped being able to even crawl out of the tent in Logstedshire a week ago, but that was fine! Dream had just moved in everything he needed, and he didn’t mind having to do a little extra help. He quite enjoyed it, in fact. It’d been so long since he’d been the only one able to take care of someone. He was suddenly a hero again.)

Dream was a good person. He never drained someone completely, no matter how tempting it always was. Hell, he didn’t even drain anyone but Tommy anymore, and the kid had agreed to it. It was a fair deal, more than fair, really. L’Manberg’s freedom for Tommy as his bloodbag. And as his favourite mortal, he treated his bloodbag with great kindness. Just enough food and drink to stay healthy and keep something on him, all the luxurious gifts he could want, even painkillers if he was really good, even though it fucked with the taste of his blood a little.

(And, well, he wasn’t planning on leaving the poor thing mortal, was he? If the experiments with his little book planned out, he’d be able to keep Tommy and his blood around for the rest of time. He’d never have to lose the bright spark deep inside him, yet he’d never have to die.)

That was right. Dream might have to do bad things to survive, but he could rest easily knowing he was a good person. A good shepherd to his little flock of mortals, his beloved little siblings.

It was reluctant, but Dream let go of Tommy’s wrist. He’d gotten pretty good at calculating exactly the best time to stop, right before it got dangerous but still in the zone where Tommy was adorably exhausted afterwards, like a sick toddler.

(He remembered getting so scared back when his siblings got sick, all those years ago, but looking back on it, seeing them so dizzy and loopy was the sweetest little thing. He almost enjoyed looking after them more than playing with them, sometimes.)

He licked off the last droplets of blood from the wound, both out of a desperate need for more and to make sure the antiseptic of his saliva would prevent infection while it healed. Once, back in Pogtopia, he’d forgotten to do so, and the poor kid had gotten sick, which would have usually not been something Dream would have minded much except he was too ill to feed from, and he had to spend a few days choking down the donations Sapnap and George gave him, tasting like ash in his mouth.

Standing up, he pulled Tommy into his chest, letting him cry. There was something satisfying in that, that no matter how much Tommy always tried to keep his emotions hidden that he still cried from the pain every single time that Dream tore flesh from body. Not out of any cruelty, of course. It was simply fascinating.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay now; it’s over. It’s okay, Tommy.” Dream gently ruffled Tommy’s hair, holding him upright so he wouldn’t simply sink back onto the bed with the paralysis. “I’m so, so proud of you.”

Tommy mumbled something into Dream’s chest, and Dream laughed.

“Tommy, you’re gonna have to speak up if I’m going to hear you, y’know?”

“I said, I don’t fuckin’ want you to be proud of me.” Tommy’s voice was hoarse, and it strained so hard to even be heard.

“What, don’t you like me?” Dream flicked Tommy’s nose. He knew enough about his little bloodbag to know when he was just being difficult and when he actually needed correcting, and this wasn’t one of those times. It was best to keep the more physical side of discipline to a minimum, lest Dream accidentally spill any of the ambrosial blood in Tommy’s veins, when he was already on the edge of not having enough to function every time he fed. No use breaking your favourite toy.

(Metaphorically, of course. Tommy wasn’t his property or anything. Sure, they had a deal over his blood, but even if that belonged to Dream, Tommy himself was a friend. Dream wasn’t like any of those- those monsters that used to stand alongside him, chaining up humankind like they were less than cattle, breaking that spirit that made them so worthwhile. He wasn’t.)

Tommy looked him dead in the eyes, and Dream could see the milky, unfocused film over the usual electric blue. Despite all his efforts, they were only half-lidded, and the deep bags underneath only emphasised the almost corpse-like colour of his skin, tight enough against his flesh, you could see the bones where you couldn’t see the scarring. “No.”

Dream rolled his eyes. “Well, if that’s the case, why don’t I call off our little deal? If you hate it so much, surely-“

Tommy rapidly shook his head, eyes widening a fraction even as his head lolled. “No, no, no, no, no,” he mouthed over and over, even as it clearly strained him to so much as move his mouth. Dream chuckled at the sight. It was so endearing to see someone at their weakest.

“Okay, okay. Fine.” Dream tapped Tommy’s nose again. “Anything for family, I guess.”

“Family?” There was a tone of confusion in that hoarse whisper, no matter how many times Dream tried to explain. Now that he had Tommy somewhere safe, he’d tried his best to teach him the truth, of course, but he never seemed to quite get it. It had gone from genuine anger- harshly punished, of course, in a way perhaps more than Dream ever remembered having to do for his blood siblings- to this utter confusion that marked how Tommy approached most things, now.

That was the issue with taking all Tommy had, Dream supposed. Keeping him alive, his needs met, but no more. Not that he cared much. He couldn’t possibly be mad at his little brother for that, could he? It was almost sweet, really. It was almost like living.

He was so close to having a family again. He could feel it.

#whumptober2022 #no.5 #every whumpee's needs #dream smp #fic #biting #drugging #unhealthy coping mechanisms #dehumanisation #infantilisation #blood #bloos loss #forced codependency #primeboys (derogatory)

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womanofwords · 1 year

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Daddy’s Baby Boy (Villain’s POV)

Hero’s POV

CW: platonic yandere caretaker hero, whumpee villain, whumper supervillain, abduction, broken bones, infantilisation, Stockholm syndrome.

I woke up in searing pain. Everything hurt. My vision slowly came into focus, not that it helped clear anything up. I had never been here before. Wherever this was, this wasn’t my apartment.

It was far too nice.

The first thing I noticed was how . . . soft the room felt and was. For starters, I was on a hopelessly soft bed, surrounded by plush animals that I definitely didn’t own. The colours were warm and pale, baby blue walls with a white wardrobe and soft pink bedsheets. It was more like a nursery than a dungeon.

“Oh, Villain! I hope you’re awake, sweetie,” Hero cooed, bounding into the room like his name was Mary Poppins. I stared at him as he scooped me up in his arms and . . . smothered me in kisses? What was going on? “My darling precious, did you have a good sleep?”

I tried to speak, ask him what was going on, but Hero got a bottle and shoved it into my mouth. “Liquid diet for you, love. You got very hurt by Supervillain. Your jaw was punched really hard. How could you have ever gone into such a dangerous career?”

Then I started remembering bits of what I had been doing before Hero grabbed me. Supervillain was angry with me again, and she had doled out a really bad punishment this time. She had retired the whips that she normally used and beat me with chains until I couldn’t move. I had felt someone moving me, but I’d thought Supervillain had sent for someone to drag me back for more punishing. I didn’t think that a deranged hero had kidnapped me to have as a surrogate baby. Nobody thinks that.

“Whaa . . . ‘appe-” It was difficult to speak around the bottle. Some of the formula (if it could even be called formula) leaked out of my mouth, and Hero wiped it away.

“I found you on the floor of one of their dungeons. You were so hurt,” Hero replied, smoothing down my hair. That would not be easy; it hadn’t been brushed in a while and it had become matted. “But it’s OK, I have you now. You are going to spend the rest of your life being Daddy’s baby boy, and Daddy will protect you from bad people forever.”

“Daddy?” I freaked out. Who the hell would want to be a ‘daddy’ to a grown man? I didn’t realize the Hero’s League had forgotten to screen for maniacs.

“Sweetie, try not to move. You got hurt, OK?” Annoyingly, Hero was right; someone had put a cast on my leg and wrapped me in bandages. “And now Daddy needs to look after you fully. Your baths, your clothes, your food, everything. Daddy will love you to pieces.”

This was a nightmare. Hero couldn’t be seeing me without clothes! I had to maintain my dignity, and that involved keeping some space between myself and Hero. He was so creepy, staring at me with those huge, unhinged eyes and that giant smile. Hero walked towards me and sighed sadly.

“I understand, precious. I truly do. You’re scared of me because you don’t know what I’ll do to you.” Hero sighed and held my face so I looked him in the eyes. “But that isn’t going to happen, Villain. I have been watching you for some time, and I know that you won’t be taken care of properly if anyone else is trusted to take care of you. And because I love you so much, I will be looking after you. You will not need to worry about a single thing, and with time, you will call me Daddy, and I will call you my baby boy.”

“What?!” This was getting creepier and creepier. How was Hero going to expect me to call him Daddy? That was creepy as hell and just sounded dirty!

“It’s OK, precious, don’t be frightened, shh.” Hero was snuggling me nice and tight, and there was nothing I could do about it. “Nobody will ever hurt you again, understand? Hush, my love.”

“But Supervillain-”

“Is dead,” Hero interrupted. “You won’t be worrying about that any more. You just rest and focus on getting better.”

When I heard that, I sat in the strange new bed with my mouth hanging open. Supervillain was dead. How? Had Hero done it or had he just found her dead? Does this mean a deranged murderer had kidnapped me for his own fantasies of parenthood? Hero frantically rushed to soothe me, like I was a real baby.

“Sweetie, don’t be upset! I know you must have been really sad about your job going away, but this is for the best. Your daddy can look after you forever now, with no interruptions!” Hero scooped me up and snuggled next to me.

“You’re not my daddy!” I yelled.

“I am now. You’re adopted into my family, baby boo,” Hero cooed. “You’re just not used to having a daddy in your life. Well, that can change. You can practice calling me Daddy right now.”

“Hero, no!” I yelled. I yelled some other things too, but he didn’t care. He just waited until I was exhausted. He wrapped me in a blanket and rocked me to sleep.

“You’re going to love your daddy eventually,” he whispered.

_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

From that moment on, all of my days went the same. I would be woken up by Hero (still calling himself my daddy) for breakfast which would be fed to me in a bottle in bed. After that, I was bathed and my hair was slowly brushed. Hero loved making my hair all fluffy and soft, buying an exorbitant amount of hairbrushes for the task.

After the bath, my bandages were changed and I would be fed lunch by Hero, which was mostly various soups, because I couldn’t chew for quite some time. I would be put to bed for a nap and woken up later for physical therapy so I could move properly without pain. Part of that included massages, where scented oils and moisturisers were rubbed into my skin. Hero enjoyed being able to touch me, and I didn’t stop him because it felt like l was in heaven from the way the hands rubbed and kneaded.

The end of the day for us consisted of dinner in front of the TV as we watched a movie, before being placed into soft footed onesie pyjamas. I would be put to bed yet again, and Hero would climb into bed with me and hold me with a scarily strong grip.

Eventually, I became OK with all of it. This was safer than any place I’d ever lived in before. Hero had had many chances to hurt me, but hadn’t taken any of them. And the foods were actually filling and nutritious, unlike the greasy slop I’d been eating before. I’m not going to lie, I did miss chewing but my daddy promised me that when I was well enough, I could have solid foods to eat. Life was just better with Hero, or as I now called him, Daddy.

Admittedly, it wasn’t like I had much of a choice. Hero only responded to Daddy, so that was what I called him. Soon, I called Hero Daddy whenever I spoke to him.

“Daddy, I need my bandages changed.”

“Daddy, I’m hungry.”

“Daddy, I’m cold.”

“Daddy, it stings.”

It even got inside my thoughts.

I wonder what movie Daddy and I will be watching together.

I wonder if Daddy will bring the nice oil to rub me with.

I hope Daddy won’t pull at my hair when he brushes it.

Maybe Daddy will let me have solid food today.

Daddy loved looking after me. I would hear him humming as he brushed my hair, as he rubbed oils into my skin, as he prepared a smoothie for my breakfast.

In fact, Daddy didn’t seem to want me to leave. My room was painted in my favourite colour once Daddy knew what it was, and he even found several of my things from my old apartment. “I can’t let you go, honey,” Daddy smiled. “You’re far too sweet and innocent; you’ll get hurt again. Besides, you are my baby boy, and I can’t let you leave to a place that I know is unsafe. You are going to need a lot of looking after.” And then I got scooped up by Daddy and he kept me in his arms for the whole day. It felt so good.

This wouldn’t be the first time that Daddy would scoop me up and carry me places. Daddy didn’t like the walking therapy, because it stopped him from carrying me all the time, but he did it for me. I was carried whenever I looked tired, whenever I was cranky, anything so Daddy could ‘relieve me of the burden of walking’.

“Does my baby boy need anything else?” Daddy would ask, smiling. He always smiled, except for when I had physical therapy to do. Daddy didn’t like it when I had to walk for physical therapy, and was incensed when he was told that, for my benefit, I would have to walk for at least an hour every day, but he did it for me because he loves me so much.

For our new daily walk, Daddy took me to the safest places, keeping an eye on me so I wouldn’t stumble and hurt myself. It became our routine, and Daddy would congratulate me for doing so well with my walking. Even when I wasn’t doing very well at walking (sometimes, my legs would become weak and I would be unable to walk), Daddy would still be so nice to me, with kisses and bed rest and everything I would need.

I love my daddy so much.

And I know that my daddy loves me.

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