We women know. Once you start to suspect the signs are all apparent, his late night working hours, the flushed look on his cheeks when he received a text, strange perfume on his collar and then the random gifts for me, obviously driven by guilt. So after 14 years of pretty happy marriage, I was convinced hubby was conducting an affair. I only hoped it was an ego fling, maybe with a graduate in marketing and nothing too serious, oh and that she would have the strength to pick herself up at the end of it and get on with her life.

I had been trying to pretend this wasn't happening to me (Alex, just 40 something, intelligent, caring, reasonably adventurous and with my tits still pointing north) for about 4 months when hubby, so preoccupied with a suddenly scheduled  breakfast meeting (yeah right) rushed off to work one day leaving his iPhone abandoned and unlocked on the granite topped  work-surface of the kitchen.  Feeling like a naughty child I took my opportunity to snoop. Sure enough I found all the evidence I needed, texts from “N”. But when I opened one up I was in for a shock. “Milk and blankey waiting – C U soon” then “Have you got a nice wet nappy?” and finally “U  were due 15mins ago, naught boys who stay out late get a sore bot bot.” What the... having been prepared for all manner of smutty sex talk, the drivel N was sending my husband made no sense to me. I quickly scribbled down the number, before I heard the front door slam, and hubby's return for his phone.

Later I was able to google the phone  number and get my first insight into what exactly hubby's secret was. Up flashed a website for Nanny Mac Wee-Wee, and I was greeted with a  picture of a mature, tall, thin lady, with strong cheekbones and a trim figure, dressed in a short starched blue nursing uniform, somewhat ignominiously teamed with stockings a high heels, tapping a wooden spoon in her palm. Even more astonishing was the figure at her feet. A big hairy man, who could have stepped from the rugby field, but dressed only in knitted white booties and what must have been an incontinence nappy for the elderly, his pixilated face framed by a lemon yellow bonnet. I scanned though the site, it was another world, water sports, hard sports, sissy training, enforced CD. The detail may have been obscure to me but the idea was plain. Men were apparently going to this woman to be treated like babies and toddlers. More astonishingly my husband was one of them. I clicked to the gallery page and there was conformation. A photo of my strong, successful husband, proud father of our darling 12 year old daughter, sitting in a nappy, his face obscured by the big teddy bear he hugged. I of course recognised him at once. We women know? Well maybe not as much as we think. Before I could talk myself out of it I picked up my phone and dialled the number “Hi I'm Alex –  David's wife – please do NOT hang up.”

An hour later and I was on the train into London, following the same route as hubby (who it turned out really did  have a breakfast meeting.) for my own date with Nanny Mc Wee-Wee over coffee in Covent Garden. My braveness in contacting her, and not slagging her off instantly as the disgusting pervert I thought her to be had amazed us both and a pow wow on mutual ground was quickly arranged. Struggling though the shoppers I saw her at a table. Cool, serene, well cut two piece and a bit less slap than in the photos. Nanny turned out to be from Scotland and called Heather, “clients like the puritanical accent” she joked. It took two skinny Mochas and a Belgium bun to get through her story, I tried to ask 16 questions at once, but slowly and calmly she guided through this new world of 'adult babies' and where my husband fitted in. My the end I was as docile and attentive as one of her charges. My fears calmed and imagination intrigued.

Heather explained that very often it is the strong, successful, macho men, working stressful lives that come to the AB scene. The attraction was the total lack of responsibility, having choice taken away from them and knowing they are cared for. This made sense as I thought of David's chaotic work schedule, his kind, but distant childhood and of his mother, now sadly in a nursing home with  Parkinson's. No two  AB's were ever completely alike she said, some wanted to be forced into frilly, girly dresses as a punishment while other wanted to experience the babyhood of their sisters, complete with doll sets and prams.

“And David?” I asked, wondering if there was a bag of oversized taffeta party dresses hidden in our loft or shed.

“Oh no, Davy's a very much a baby boy.” she cooed and smiled at me “loves his Bob the Builder hat and Rory Racing car!” She spoke so naturally that I felt momentarily proud of David, until the subtle use of Davy, registered and I couldn't stop the giggle.

“Why you,” I asked, “Why not a....”

“Younger girl with her tits out and no skirt?” Heather finished for me. “Because Davy likes it to be real and most of those tarts don't have the gravitas. Davy has to know I'm in charge and there are limits to what he can do. If he plays with his toys too long, or doesn't eat his greens out comes my wooden spoon, or the famous Scottish tawse.” It was then I remembered that one time when we were having sex, about 2 days after  David had gone AWOL for the afternoon, my nails had dug into his buttocks and he had screamed out while shooting his load vigorously into me.” I went red and giggled again.

“But what about the sex?” I asked timidly.

“Good grief no” chuckled Heather, “I never have sex with a client, they are babies to me. Some like to make a sticky mess in their nappy but not your Davy. He told me once he saves it for you, and if I ever catch him playing with his naught pee pee then he gets a severe spanking, and extra cod liver oil.”

Heather asked me if I had any idea about the AB side until today. The answer was no, David and I enjoyed an active sex life and I'd dressed up in silks and PVC, even a maids uniform for new years eve fancy dress (totally unwearable again by Jan 2.)  I'd sometimes even tie him up with my tights but never had he given me the slightest indication of this side of him. Heather sounded genuinely upset that her Davy had not felt he could trust me. “As I see it, the way forward is to play a little trick on our disobedient baby. I'm seeing him Thursday evening, could you arrange to be there too?”

I gulped, and then the sensible, practical woman kicked in, I knew for sure I would never loose David to Heather, but if I were happy to share in this world with him I could understand my hubby more. I may even get to try some things of my own invention in the future. David clearly needed time-out form the outside world and Davy needed a Mummy. “Let's find out.” I said.

Thursday afternoon, and with our daughter Becky staying with friends after school I caught the same train into town. This time I would be going to Nanny's 'nursery' and she wanted to give me a guided tour before hand. As I walked towards the building I wondered if any of the ordinary looking men I passed were clients of Nanny, just having enjoyed a session. It gave me quite a buzz. Nanny let me in and passing through a very standard looking front room led me upstairs to another world. The nursery  was big and  white. Teddy bare wallpaper with a picture rail, deliberately placed high, to enhance the feeling of size. In one corner a single bed, wrapped by oversized wooden bars to create a cot large enough for an adult. In another an large armless easy chair for Nanny to sit in and against the wall a kitchen carvery chair raised on a wooden platform to make an adult baby high chair, complete with detachable wooden tray. Like the cot this too was painted gloss white with stickers of cartoon characters. Festooned across the floor were large cuddly toys, bears, rabbits and Barney the Dinosaur. Finally I could see a plastic crate full of diggers, cars and a  push along train set. The whole room had been created to make the uninitiated feel very small, childlike and vulnerable, therefore completely dependant on Nanny.

“The room is neutral white so that boys and girls feel equally at home” Heather explained. “I've another crate of girly toys I can bring out for different clients. But as girl toddlers tend to be more fashion concious than boys, I have a second room just for them.” She led me to the box room of the house, decked out as a princess's boudoir, glittery and pink, with gauze and dream catchers hanging from above the single bed. There was a Barbie house below the window, complementing the shocking pink carpet to perfection. It was the kind of room my 7 year old self would have adored and Becky was slowly growing out of. “Yesterday I had a client here who runs his own company.” Heather told me. “Because of this recession he had just had to make someone redundant, absolutely nothing he could do about it. He came to me feeling really guilty and just spend 3 hours in this room, wearing pink PJs and playing with Barbie. After I gave him a glass a hot milk he said felt far more relaxed, and left in his designer suit, ready to work hard the next day.”

Heather suggested I wait in this room until Davy arrived and also to change my shoes. Amazing this completely transformed me. Having arrived in my flat ballet pumps and seeing Nanny Heather in her full blue uniform I realised the design of the nursery and Heather's kind, but no nonsense attitude had subtly sunk in. For two pins I could have laid in that bed at let her read me a story. Now as I slipped on my highest, most shiny black heels (reserved for bedroom wear) I felt the elongation of my leg push me back into adulthood and being in charge. I checked my make up in the Barbie mirror and brushed my hair. Bar the shoes I wasn't wearing anything that sexy, but Heather had stressed I should look normal, “You're the Mummy, here to observe and smile sweetly.”

Eventually I heard voices on the stairs. “Come on Davy, don't you look lovely in your yellow romper suit, just like a big friendly dog.”

“Thank you Nanny.” God it was David all right, but his voice higher, weaker, unsure of himself.

“Can you bark like a dog for me?”

“I'll try Nanny, er woof.”

“Now that's not very good is it, come on Davy, be a good boy for  Nanny and do it properly?”

“woof, Woof, WOOOOOF!”

“Ha ha, much better. Now into the nursery we go, first stop the high chair, juice time.”

The door closed behind them and the sound were more muffled. I imaged the strong willed Scottish Nanny administering squash from the big feeding bottle she had shown me earlier to my now babyfied husband. If anyone had told me this a week ago I'd have run a mile, but Heather's talks and some internet research had prepared me for most things or so I hopped.

Heather's face appeared around my door. “Ready for you now Mummy!” she whispered. Into the nursery I went, and the strong-minded executive who had left our house that morning was transformed into a malleable puppet of a baby boy. There he sat dressed in his romper suit, arms and legs securely tightened to the high chair, a blindfold around his eyes. I was pleased he had taken the trouble to shave, because any stubble would have looked so out of keeping with the persona.

“Now baby Davy I have  BIG surprise for you.” Said Nanny.

“Oh, me like surprises, most of the time.”

“That's very good, because I have a friend with me, who really, really wants to help look after you.”

This was my moment and in a flash of inspiration I recalled how much my husband secretly enjoyed watching Dr Who, when it was supposed to be Becky's programme. I pulled the blindfold from him and leaned into his line of vision. “Hello Sweety” I said.  Had he not been bound to the highchair hubby would have probably jumped three foot into the air. A growl of protest began to form on his lips and Nanny quickly inserted a dummy, making him splutter.

“Now listen to me Davy boy,” Nanny said, “you've been a very silly little baby not trusting your Mummy here about what you need. Because I know she is a kind and understanding  person who loves you and you love her. Since you were not a big enough boy to tell her on your own, you are just going to have to show her today what a baby you sometime are. Do I make myself clear?” Baby nodded ruefully. “Now I am going to get Mummy and me some coffee and I don't expect you to make a sound.” With that she was gone. Baby looked at me, glowered, shrugged as far as his bonds would allow, shook his head and thought about spitting out the dummy. I simply put a finger to my lips and went Shh. There was nothing else for it, baby smiled weekly.

“Good boy” said Nanny as she came back into the room. Nanny removed the dummy and untied baby's arms before giving him a colouring book and some pencils to play with. Carefully he begun to  colour in Mother Goose, as Nanny explained that babies who did not do a neat job, received smacked  backsides. Nanny and I sipped our coffee as if this was the most normal thing in the world. Eventually baby began to wiggle in his chair. “Please Nanny can I go to the toilet?”

Nanny just laughed, “Don't be silly baby, only big boys go there, you will have to wet your nappy.”

“But I can't! She's there!” and he pointed at me.

Nanny got up and lightly slapped baby's cheek.” Don't you dare speak about Mummy like that. If you truly are a big boy then you must hold it in, but if you wet your nappy now I will punish you for telling fibs.”

Mental anguish went over baby's face and I turned a giggle into a strict cough. Somewhere inside of him I knew my husband was fighting to stay on top, but there could be only one winner and we all knew it. It took fifteen minutes before a very small voice piped up, “Nanny, I've gone and wet my nappy.”

“And now you will face the consequence.” Down came the romper suite, off went the sodden nappy to plastic bag and crack went Nanny's wooden spoon across the shiny  damp backside. “Oh, unfair,” cried baby.

“Can I help?” came a voice from the corner that I suddenly realised was my own!

“Of course you should Mummy,” laughed Heather. Now it wasn't that I had thought about wanting to punish my hubby before then, but just that Nanny Heather had been so good to both of us that I was genuinely incensed by baby's rudeness. I took up Heather's wooden spoon and brought it down smartly onto the now pink rump. It took a couple of goes to get my aim in, but once I did and heard the satisfying crack and yelp of pain I was pleased with myself. “And let that be a lesson to you Davy,” I scowled.

“Yes Mummy, I'm very sorry.” and Heather nodded approvingly.

Once changed baby was allowed to play with his toys at our feet. Nanny made him sing his 3 times table and then run through animals for all the letters of the alphabet. A was for Antelope and B for Bear but I had no admit to being impressed when Davy claimed Q was for Queen Bee and X for Xyloplankton! As he was starting to look a bit smug at this I looked for a reason to bring him back down to earth. Salvation came from my shoes, for he never could resist what they did to my legs.

“Davy!” I cried in mock horror, “are you trying to look up my skirt you naughty boy. I think Nanny better use her tawse on the back of your legs.” There was no way Davy could pretend he had not been ogling me and slowly, reluctantly he got to his feet and let Nanny undo the romper suite one more time.

“He hates this.” Whispered Heather.

“Though he might” I chortled. “Do him good.”

Before we concluded Davy went back into the high chair to be spoon fed real baby food that looked disgusting, but that Nanny assured me many ABs genuinely enjoyed. Nanny's technique was to deliberately use an oversized spoon so some of the goo went all over baby's face and bib.

It was calmer, tired baby we eventually let go to wash and a sheepish husband I meant again downstairs. David and I left Nanny and went for a stiff drink and long talk. Humbly he expressed  his love for me and I explained that seeing another side of his personality brought us closer together. We agreed he could keep on seeing Nanny Heather, with or without me, as long as I could have my own pampering at the beauty centre or clothes shops.

We drove back from the station to our house and he was just about to unbuckle his seatbelt, when I     laid a hand across his groin. “Davy,” I whispered softly.

“Yes Mummy.”

“Becky has a party and sleep over this weekend and that gives me lots of time to see just how good a boy you really are. So if you want to make that new nappy sticky you had best do so tonight because you wont get another chance for a while.” Well after the week I've had can you blame me for being a bit wicked?