yes

The door to the changing room swung shut behind you, the scent of baby powder and sanitizer filling the air. Your eyes darted around, taking in the four adult-sized changing tables. Two were covered with simple blue pads, practical and unassuming. The other two, though, those were something else. One was draped in a soft, pastel yellow blanket, adorned with cartoon animals. The other had a frilly pink cover, the edges trimmed with lace.

On that second table lay a woman, her pacifier bobbing in her mouth as she clutched a stuffed animal, a floppy-eared bunny, to her chest. A man stood beside her, methodically cleaning her with wipes. Neither of them so much as glanced your way.

The man’s voice was soft but teasing, the kind of tone reserved for toddlers back on Earth. “There we go, all clean! Did my little girl make a big mess again?” he cooed, wiping her with practiced ease.

The woman giggled, kicking her legs playfully. “Silly Daddy! It’s not that big!”

You stood frozen in the doorway, your wet diaper suddenly feeling heavier, more real. This wasn’t just a rule, it was a way of life. A normal, everyday moment for them.