Amber and the Diaper Dimension

The digital clock on my nightstand glowed, stark against the pre-dawn gloom: 2:00 AM. I blinked, confused. I usually woke around noon. It had to be the new diaper, the one Noah from the Diaper Dimension had given me. It felt like a cloud, perfectly snug, perfectly absorbent.
And the pacifier. My old one had always been a 'maybe it helps' kind of thing. This new one, the adult-sized one, was a 'definitely helps, maybe too much' kind of thing. I pulled it from my mouth, the soft silicone still holding the warmth of my sleep.
My phone lay beside me, a portal to my own world. I had to test something. A theory had been forming, a desperate hope, ever since I'd realized the other dimension's phone calls didn't connect to my dad in my reality.
Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the staff, its smooth wood familiar in my hand. One spin, and the familiar wave of light enveloped me. When it cleared, the room was exactly the same, but I knew. I was in the Diaper Dimension.
