There is a question that comes up again and again when people talk about Adult Babies:
Why?
Why would an adult want to wear baby clothes, sleep in a cot, drink from a bottle, wear nappies, be cared for, or spend time being treated as a much younger version of themselves?
There are plenty of easy answers people sometimes reach for. They may say it is simply a fetish. Others might dismiss it as attention-seeking, immaturity, or an unusual hobby.
But perhaps the human mind is considerably more complicated than that.
For some Adult Babies, the answer may not begin in adulthood at all.
It may begin much earlier.
The first years of our lives
The first few years of childhood are an extraordinary period of development. We arrive in the world completely dependent upon other people. We cannot feed ourselves, protect ourselves, understand danger, or regulate our emotions independently.
We learn what the world is like through the people who care for us.
Is the world safe?
Will somebody come when we cry?
Can we trust the person holding us?
Will we be comforted when we are frightened?
Can we relax completely in somebody else’s care?
These experiences help shape our developing understanding of relationships, security and ourselves.
And that raises an uncomfortable but fascinating question.
What happens when those earliest experiences are disrupted?
My own story
For me, this question is not merely theoretical.
I was taken away from my mother when I was around 18 months old.
At an age when a child is still extraordinarily dependent upon their mother, that separation became part of the story of my life. I was subsequently adopted, and my experience with my adoptive parents included abuse.
I cannot honestly say that I can prove this is why I became an Adult Baby.
Nobody can look at another person’s life and neatly draw a line from one childhood event to one adult behaviour.
But I have spent a great deal of time wondering whether those early experiences left something behind.
Perhaps some part of me never stopped longing for the safety, nurturing and unconditional care that should have been present during those earliest years.
Perhaps the attraction to being small is not necessarily about wanting to escape adulthood forever.
Perhaps, for me, it is partly about finally experiencing something I needed when I actually was small.
That is a very different question from asking, “What’s wrong with me?”
Maybe the more useful question is:
“What was missing?”
Could age regression sometimes be about unmet needs?
Imagine a child who experiences fear, loss, neglect or abuse.
That child does not have the vocabulary or psychological understanding of an adult. They cannot sit down and analyse what is happening to them.
They simply experience it.
They may learn that being small is frightening.
They may learn that adults cannot always be trusted.
They may learn to suppress their needs.
They may learn that asking for comfort is dangerous or pointless.
And yet those needs do not necessarily disappear simply because the child grows up.
The adult develops. They learn, work, form relationships and build a life.
But human beings carry their histories with them.
For some people, returning psychologically to a younger state may provide a sense of safety, comfort or emotional release.
Being cared for can feel profoundly different when you are choosing it as an adult.
A bottle can become comforting.
A cot can feel secure.
Baby clothes can create a sense of identity.
Nappies can represent being looked after rather than having to look after everything yourself.
Being told, “You don’t have to worry. Mummy is here,” can reach a very different place inside someone who spent childhood learning that adults could not necessarily be trusted.
That doesn’t mean every Adult Baby has experienced trauma.
It means that for some people, there may be a story underneath the behaviour that deserves to be understood rather than judged.
But trauma cannot be the whole explanation
This is where we need to be careful.
It would be tempting to say:
“Adult Babies are Adult Babies because they were traumatised.”
But that would be far too simplistic.
People become interested in age play and Adult Baby experiences for many different reasons.
Some describe relaxation.
Some enjoy the clothing and activities.
Some enjoy being nurtured.
Some find freedom in temporarily putting aside adult responsibilities.
Some describe it as a deeply comforting emotional state.
Others may have childhood experiences that they believe are connected to their adult interests.
And some simply say:
“This is who I am, and I don’t know why.”
That answer is perfectly legitimate too.
Human psychology rarely comes with a single instruction manual.
Two people can behave in exactly the same way for completely different reasons.
Perhaps the important word is “safety”
One thing I find particularly interesting is how often Adult Baby experiences revolve around safety and care.
A nursery is deliberately designed to be different from the adult world.
There are soft things.
There are familiar routines.
There may be stories, toys, bottles, cuddles, naps, baby clothes and somebody else taking responsibility for the day.
The adult world asks us to make decisions constantly.
What should I do?
Where should I go?
How much money do I need?
What does everyone expect from me?
What happens next?
Adult Baby life can temporarily remove some of those questions.
Someone else is in charge.
Someone else prepares the bottle.
Someone else decides when it is time for a nap.
Someone else says that everything is going to be okay.
For a person who has spent much of their life carrying responsibility, that surrender can be extraordinarily powerful.
And for someone whose earliest experiences involved instability or a lack of safety, it may carry an even deeper emotional meaning.
Could we be recreating something, or repairing something?
This is perhaps the question I find most fascinating.
When an Adult Baby regresses, are they simply recreating an enjoyable version of infancy?
Or could they sometimes be attempting, consciously or unconsciously, to experience something that was missing the first time around?
Perhaps it can be both.
Human beings have an extraordinary capacity to revisit old emotional territory in new ways.
A person who was frightened as a child may seek safety as an adult.
A person who was never allowed to express vulnerability may finally permit themselves to be vulnerable.
A person who had to grow up too quickly may discover enormous relief in temporarily being allowed not to be grown up.
And perhaps a person who lost their mother very early in life may find something deeply meaningful in being cared for by a nurturing “Mummy” figure many decades later.
I cannot prove that this explains my own experience.
But I cannot ignore the possibility either.
Maybe “regression” isn’t always about going backwards
The word regression can make it sound as though someone is moving backwards.
But perhaps that isn’t always the best way to understand it.
Maybe sometimes going back allows a person to process something from the past with resources they didn’t possess as a child.
The adult has choices now.
The adult can establish boundaries.
The adult can choose who is trusted.
The adult can leave an unsafe situation.
The adult can say yes.
The adult can say no.
The adult can choose to be cared for.
That distinction matters enormously.
A frightened child has very little control.
An adult choosing to enter a safe, nurturing environment has considerably more.
Perhaps there is something healing in that difference.
The question we should be asking
Instead of asking:
“Why would an adult want to be a baby?”
perhaps we should ask:
“What does being a baby give this person that they are not getting elsewhere?”
Is it relaxation?
Safety?
Nurturing?
Freedom?
Permission to be vulnerable?
A chance to play?
A way of escaping relentless responsibility?
A connection with childhood?
Or perhaps something much more personal that only the individual themselves can understand?
There may be no universal answer.
And perhaps that is the point.
Understanding rather than judging
Adult Babies are often viewed through a very narrow lens.
People see the nappies, bottles, baby clothes and nursery equipment and immediately assume they understand the person.
They don’t.
Those outward signs tell us what someone does.
They don’t necessarily tell us why.
Behind every Adult Baby is an individual history.
Some histories may contain trauma.
Some may contain loneliness.
Some may contain perfectly ordinary childhoods.
Some may contain experiences that the person themselves doesn’t fully understand.
And some people may simply discover that being an Adult Baby brings them comfort and happiness without needing a dramatic explanation.
Perhaps we should allow room for all of those possibilities.
For me, my own history makes the question particularly personal.
I was separated from my mother at around 18 months old. I experienced abuse after being adopted. Those experiences shaped me, whether I fully understand all of their consequences or not.
When I look at my life today, I sometimes wonder whether the little boy who lost his mother so early is still somewhere inside the adult I became.
Perhaps he is.
Perhaps he simply wanted something very basic:
To feel safe.
To be cared for.
To be allowed to be little.
To know that someone would come when he needed them.
And perhaps that is why I find the Adult Baby world so interesting.
Not because I believe every Adult Baby has the same story.
But because I have learned that sometimes the strangest-looking parts of a person’s life can contain some of the most deeply human questions.
What happened to us?
What did we need?
What did we lose?
And perhaps most importantly:
What makes us feel safe now?
bABy Bunnykins
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