I Asked Santa for a Doll, But Got A Baby Instead!
Richmond, Indiana. December 2013.
Despite the chilly temperatures, Wally and I decided to take the kids to meet Santa and see what this “Old Fashioned Christmas” that I kept seeing advertised was actually like. We bundled up and headed down to the Historic Depot District of town, where we were greeted with lights, a horse drawn carriage, a snowman on a Segway, some people on stilts, carolers, and the local radio station.
I wasn’t too keen on taking my 4 month old son out in the winter weather, but I also didn’t want to deprive my 2 year old daughter of some holiday fun. I did what any over-protective mother would do. I carefully placed my son in his Boba Wrap against my chest, where he was cozy and warm. I put a replica Santa hat (obviously the real one belongs to the Big Guy) on his little head to keep it warm, and then I put my coat on over both of us and buttoned it in the front. You actually wouldn’t know I was carrying a baby at all.
The furniture gallery housed the always popular Mr. And Mrs. Claus, but before making our way inside, we stopped to see the ice carvings and live reindeer. Rory was having a blast.
We finally decided to seek some warmth and headed towards the building. Once inside, nestled amongst the dining room sets and cozy sofa sets, a Christmas Wonderland awaited us. Festivities as far as the eye could see! Two floors to be exact.
We decided to check out the second level, and even though nothing seemed more fun then walking a two year old up a narrow set of stairs at a speed of half a mile per hour, we took the elevator. It was a freight elevator, (we were in a furniture gallery, after all) and had to be operated by an employee of the store.
It had become warm, and I didn’t want the baby to get too warm, so I had unbuttoned my coat and exposed him, wrapped up tightly against my belly. As the elevator starts moving, another patron looks over at me.
“Oh my gosh! Is that a real baby?”
Thankfully, I have been blessed with a filter, probably a result of my ten plus years in customer service, that springs into action when asked a dumb question. Like a computer firewall, the filter blocks whatever I’m really thinking, and instead grants me the ability to respond politely.
I smiled and said: “Yep. He’s real.” As if there was any other response.
“He’s so cute. I thought he was a doll.” the lady said.
I thanked her and the elevator came to a stop. We departed the box of doom and each went our separate ways. There was something I just couldn’t get out of my head though.
“Why would I be carrying a doll around like this?” I asked Wally.
I really couldn’t come to terms with concept of finding an acceptable one of Rory’s dolls, putting clothes on it (since all of hers are naked), and then going through the process of wrapping it up, bundling it up, and then taking it to a Christmas event.
I guess I haven’t watched enough My Strange Addiction. Even when I did see the one on people who treat dolls like children, I still couldn’t really understand what I was looking at. I guess it’s a compliment that my son can pass for a perfect doll, but I also thought it meant I looked crazy enough to be one of “those” people.
Maybe Ill try walking around with a doll. I’d like to see how many people stop and tell me it looks real. I’ll let you know.