Doll Baby

She stood barefoot in front of the right side of the couch, her toenails freshly painted purple. She had her back turned to the television which played some child's show in electronic pulses in the background. She stood slightly turned toward me so that I became a witness to what was taking place. She looked intently at the soft plastic blob which had been shaped into the form of a baby doll. This baby doll seemed more lucky than some of the other baby dolls around our house as this one had at least had some clothing unlike others she has who live day-to-day without the clothes they once had. She spoke soothing, soft words to the baby doll. Her voice, barely audible, rose just a half notch above a whisper. She was in her own little world at that moment. It was a world where she was caregiver, protector, mother to that precious baby doll at the end of her own little fingertips.

She gathered a large blue-and-white-checked blanket from the couch. Moments earlier, she had wrapped that blanket around herself so that the blanket became one with her into a wad of skin, muscle, bone and fleece not much larger than a basketball as she watched a show on television. Now, she reached for that blanket so that her growing arms could pull it to her body. This blanket had been a gift from the most recent Christmas season. I had placed it in my car one morning to have it at our ready in case we somehow ended up stranded on the side of the road and needed it as emergency cover while we waited for rescue. It was destined to have a nice quiet life. Destiny lasted until the moment she noticed it. She took note of that blanket on the first day it rode with us and almost immediately became attached to it then, so much so that it often became the cover she used when she closed her blue eyes for sleep in her bed at the end of a day. On this day the blanket rested on the couch until she pulled it to herself. She then worked to wrap her tiny baby in that over-sized blanket covering her baby doll with care and concern.

She spoke more comforting words to her baby doll. Words meant to convince the doll that things would be all right. Words that reassured the doll that she would be there for her if needed. She then urged the doll to close her eyes and rest. Her eyes remained locked on the baby doll, never once looking to the right or to the left, just straight into that doll’s face as if she were attempting to convince the doll that she was as serious as she could be, not only with her words but just as serious down deep into her bones, her marrow and her heart. Then, she reached up and took a small rebel strand of her own hair which had fallen out of place and was partially covering her right eye and pulled it back into place with the rest of her hair, a move I suspect I will see many more times in my life and a move I suspect will become part of what she does every day as she grows older.

She hovered over the baby doll much like her Mom and I have hovered over her. We have carefully wrapped her in a blanket or in some cover and spoke soft, soothing words to her. We have looked deeply, intently at her trying to communicate to her not just with the words we were speaking but with the very fiber of who we are. Now, she was emulating what she has experienced.

It is sobering to realize how children mirror what they become familiar with through how they are treated. It's so simple yet so complex. It's easy to talk about but it's difficult to implement successfully. Sometimes I find it staring me in the eyes cutting into my bones, my marrow, my heart and into every fiber of who I am.

She looked up at me. I smiled and said, “Hannah, I love you.” She smiled back at me, just enough to acknowledge she had heard my words before she reached up and pushed that small rebel strand of hair back into place and continued to take care her of her baby doll.