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Friday, December 30, 2011

.Real Babies.

Her name was Beulah Cora. She had chubby cheeks, round, bright eyes, long yellow piggy tails, and adorable dimples. I thought she was beautiful, and I loved her. She was my beloved Cabbage Patch doll. I slept with her, ate with her, and played with her. In the summer I would tag along with my mom to various yard sales, and I would spend my allowance on newborn clothing for her.

There were others, Heather, being one. She was my 1980's Real Baby doll. I saved up my birthday money for her. I still remember the way she smelled, and how she came with a hospital id bracelet. She spent countless hours being pushed in my little plastic buggy, tucked under the cozy dolly quilt a sweet neighbor had made for me. Her plastic cheeks were smothered in kisses, and her little rose bud mouth was often subject to my homemade "baby food" - a mixture of warm water and flour.

Carrie Beth had curly hair - blond - I do not remember where she came from. I do remember dressing her tiny body, whispering love notes into her ear, and tucking her in between my sister and I each night. My last dolly of childhood was unlikely. It was a troll baby, and she smelled like baby powder and wore a shock of bright pink hair. I received this doll on my thirteenth birthday, and I remember, even then, knowing it would be my last ever baby doll. I think the gift was meant to be a part of my miniature troll collection not really a "doll", but I loved her like every other baby doll that had preceded her. She was only loved for a short time, before she retired to a shelf in my room towering over the miniature trolls. I remember feeling sad about that, and once in awhile in my younger teen years taking her off of the shelf and giving her a quick hug, breathing in that baby powder scent, and reluctantly putting her back. I had outgrown her too quickly.

When I was the age that my daughter is now, my greatest desire in all of the world was to be a mommy and to have babies. Not quite knowing how the baby thing all worked, I would lay in bed at night and pray and pray that God would make my baby dolls come alive. Sometimes for extra measure, I would start the night out hiding my baby dolls behind the couch in our living room. I would then run back to my room, squeeze my eyes closed and beg God to make them real. Disappointment choked me every time I ran back to the couch to peek on those dolls. But I always believed that one day, I would run to the couch or wake up and find that my dolls had become real babies.

They never did become real babies, but I never stopped believing that one day I would be a real mommy with real babies of my own. I could not imagine anything better then taking care of and loving my own babies.

It's a silly memory that I have tucked away, but I am realizing that my childhood dream came true. I am a mommy to three beautiful babies. My little six year old self intrinsically knew that she was created to mommy. I wish I could go back and tell her how truly wonderful, amazing, and even better it would be than she had dreamed.


Me with my real babies.



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