I have my first tantrum today. Never in my forty years of life have I had one before. The cascade of relief was exhilarating from letting myself go--crying, screaming really, pounding, stamping, and a good bit of incoherent shouting. And even with the consequences, I can see myself needing to release in this way again.

Needless to say, my Daddy is not pleased.

It has been a couple of weeks since my birthday, and from the wonder of it, I have been your good girl for days now. I have only had one or two spankings when I came home from work grumpy, and you knew that would help me. But today was a totally different story.

Today is a really distressing day at work. My stress level is higher than it's ever been, and I'm just fuming with anger. That idiot boss-from-hell is at my office for half the morning, and by the time he finally leaves, I'm ready to lash out at anyone who comes within swinging distance.

Then the stupidity of the woman I am supposed to be training is off the charts. I can only sympathize with her as I realize that she is scared of the boss-from-hell, something I have never been. And it is probably a good thing that I only have a few more weeks here or I probably would be fired for taking a swing at him.

And understand, I am a very non-violent person, but him, grrr.

At five, I am calmer. Actually, almost skipping to your car when I see you waiting there. You stand by my door to help me in and buckle me. You give me a sweet kiss as you do and ask how my day was.

All I can reply is, “Don’t ask.”

You quickly gauge my mood, and get me home, undressed, and ready for my diaper. You have me lay on my changing mat, watching you as you undress yourself to just boxers. This is how we usually are dressed in the evenings at home--me in my diaper, with my boobs swinging free, and you in just your boxers. Easy access to each other, if the need arises. And it often does.

You have the house temperature set just warm enough that, dressed this way, we are not cold.

You come to the changing mat on the bed and place a fresh warm diaper under me. You begin with the baby lotion, rubbing it all over me, massaging it in, calming me from the stress that seems to be built up in me. Your light touch does compose me some and I can finally smile up at you.

“There’s my Baby Lizzy that I know,” you tell me, smiling back at me.

The smell and feel of the soft baby powder raining down on me quiets and unwinds me. And finally, you lean and just give a gentle little kiss to my clit before you pull the diaper over me. Then a raspberry on my belly button. I squeal with enjoyment like I always do.

You see the transition in me as I return to being your Baby Lizzy, not that work-worn Liz. It appears I am now relaxed and have thrown off the shackles from my work day. Your baby is home, safe and sound.

You carry me to the kitchen and feed me my dinner. Then to the couch for my bottle. You gauge that tonight it will be two baby bottles of wine, not formula first, that I will need after my day. And, for that matter, perhaps three.

After I suck down my first bottle and have been burped, you sit me on the couch next to you and tell me you have a surprise for me.

“What is it, Daddy?” I squeak.

You have your laptop open on the coffee table, but you go and bring some rolled up papers over to the table, too.

“Baby, the men have been working really hard on my house to make it our perfect new home. A lot has been done, but there's still a good bit to do. But it is at the point I can show you the layout planned and some pictures of your new furniture,” you explain as you open your laptop and begin to unroll a couple of floor plans.

“Oh, goody, Daddy,” I respond.

But it is only minutes before the shit hits the fan.

Afterward, you realize your mistake in starting with my nursery. You spread out the floor plan and begin to point to things, and as you do, you pull up the pictures on your computer. First, you point to my changing table by the window and near our bathroom. Seeing the picture of the wonderful table you will change me on, without having to bend over so much, fills me with glee.

You move on to my play area--the playpen, toy box, bookshelves and special rocking horse. I am getting excited to move to our new home. Then it happens, you point to a place on the plan and pull up a picture, telling me that this will be my crib.

I go wild, crying out, “No, no, no, no.” Stamping my feet and pounding my fists on the coffee table. You are caught completely off guard. What is the problem?

I won’t listen to you as you try to calm me and pull me to you. I lash out at you and pull away, just screaming the no, no, no over and over. I am working myself up to a real hissy fit. I thrust the table away from us, almost knocking the laptop off, and throw myself on the floor. I kick, scream, and slam my fists against the floor.

What you see happening before you, astounds you.

1. I am doing all this, I know in my mind that it is mostly from all the built-up stress from work, but no, how could my Daddy? I scream and cry so hard I am hiccupping and gasping for breath.

What is going on? What is making me so hysterical? You had just started to show me my new crib built just the right size for me, and I go off like a crazed lunatic.

I am still hurling myself onto the floor, I can’t even speak from my screaming; my voice is getting hoarse. But I do not stop.

You have had enough, and you know what you have to do. With one fell swoop, you grab me off the floor, over your lap, diapers down. You pick up the paddle which is still laying on the end table beside you and, holding my flailing arms above my head, you begin to spank me. Hard.

I gasp at the first spank. But I continue to scream for about the next five, then I finally just fall to crying hard. You hear me gasping for breath, so you slow and stop spanking me.

You rub my ass cheeks some and ask me, “Lizzy, what is wrong? What brought this all on?”

I just cry and gulp and gasp out, “No (sob), no (sob), I don’t (long sob) want it.”

“What don’t you want, baby?”

I just go back to yowling.

You spank me some more, which does start to calm me. When my legs stop kicking, and my hands and arms are no longer trying to break loose from you, you slow and stop spanking me.

As I continue to sob and gasp for breath, you again caress my cheeks, then pull my diaper back up and lift me so I am sitting on your lap.

The sight of tears streaming down my face is like a knife being stuck into you. You hold me tight, press my head to your chest and rock me for several minutes. Finally, I seem to have brought myself under control.

As you stroke my back and my sobbing slows, you ask me again, “Now, baby, tell me, what is the matter? What don’t you want?”

Between sobs, I choke out, “The crib.”

“Why, baby, I thought you would like a crib to take your naps in so you will be safe while Daddy works.”

I look into your eyes with wonder, “Just (sniff) for (sniff) naps?”

“Yes, baby, for your naps. You know you will always sleep with me at night.”

And a new wave of crying starts now. But the cries are cries of relief. You look at me in wonder and hug me tight. “Baby, what is it? What did you think the crib was for?”

My crying starts to end. I look down so as not to have to look in your eyes, and haltingly tell you, “I thought you were going to make me sleep there all the time. That you didn’t want me to sleep with you anymore.” I fling my arms around your neck and bury my tear-stained face into your chest.

You feel my tears drip down your chest and cling to your chest hair as they fall.

Oh, your poor baby. You know the outburst was really brought on from work distress and then a total misunderstanding. You really do need to do something about my work situation immediately. You know I am determined to stay on to the bitter end, both for my staff and to be assured the year's salary severance package. But is it all worth it if it is giving me this much inner torment?

You rock me some, and then when I have finally calmed, you lean me back and feed me my second bottle. I suck hard on it, trying to take it all in. You have to pull it from my lips so that I pace myself with it.

When it is done and you have burped me again, you ask me, “Do you want your pretty crib for your naps, baby? If you don’t, I will be so worried about you taking your naps and not being in a safe haven. But if it upsets you too much, we can make changes.”

“No, Daddy, just for naps. I will like it very much.”

“Well, baby, it will perhaps be for infrequent nights too, if you have been a bad, bad girl.”

I look at you, scared, and say, “No, Daddy, I will never be so bad as to have that happen.” Though time will only tell.

It is still not that late, so you ask me if I would look at the rest of the plans, without any more outbursts?

I tell you yes, and that I would be your good girl.

With me sitting on your lap now, leaning my head against your shoulder, though raising it some from time to time to get a better look, we return to looking at the new layout of the house. It's almost perfect.

I grumble a little when I see identical chairs in both the living room and nursery. Both face a corner in the rooms. both are painted pale pink and yellow. Each has “naughty chair” written on the back. Daddy has yet to make me take a timeout, even after a spanking. What are these for? Are you going to start making me, when I am bad?

I shake my head, no, no, no.

But before I can possibly start again, I feel your fingers massaging the back of my neck and you tell me, “Lizzy, after today’s episode, I think you show a real need for some corner time from time to time.”

Realizing that yes, some of my behavior of late might make this true, I just reach up and kiss you and say I will be such a good girl, they would never be used.

Again, only time will tell.