Tuesday, January 27, 2009
"I Need A Baby"
As I uttered the words, my husband stared at me with incredulity. When he was finally able to speak, he asked, "You do realize that there's at least a nine month waiting period?"
Well, clearly I don't want a real baby. I've never wanted a real baby. I just need a reasonable facsimile to try on hats, sweaters and booties. Butternut and acorn squash will do in a pinch, but they don't sit up straight, and the stem can have ill effects on the hat decreases. And, of course, I'd like to cook them, rendering them useless for modeling purposes.
Thus my plaintive wail. My husband continued to stare at me, then in his soft, practical tone of voice, he reminded me that I have a million dolls upstairs, and that surely one of them would be willing to pose for photos in one-of-a-kind knit- and crochet-wear.
Hits forehead with heel of hand! Of course I have plenty of babies available. How could I forget? Well, because I never play with them, because they weren't mine. My mother was the doll collector. She never stopped playing with them until she died. Porcelain, bisque, plastic, cloth, babies, children, and celebrity figures - all were welcome in her arms.
I've been keeping them safe, waiting for someone in the next generation to love them. In the meantime, they finally have someone to dress them up again.