It’s no secret that I have an adorable, funny, sweet little two-year old boy. He’s also, dare I say it, empathetic. I know, crazy, right? Since meeting my friend’s newborn baby a few weeks ago, he kept asking about “Baby Kieran”. Every day or so, he’d ask where Baby Kieran was or what Baby Kieran was doing.
I’d tell other friends this and they’d say, “Must be time to have another baby!” with a sly grin. Um, yes, that’s a great reason to have another baby.
Until one of my wonderfully childless friends said, “You should get him a doll.”
Yeah, that’s totally easier than having another real live baby.
So the other day when I came home from work on lunch, he again asked about Baby Kieran and said he couldn’t find him anywhere. It was a sign.
So I ventured into our basement, searched through a few Rubbermaid bins and found her. My Cabbage Patch Kid. Circa, oh, probably 1984. I think her name was Ellie Jean. They all had really weird ole tyme names. I think I changed her name every couple months. Whatever name I liked at the time. I know at some point her name was Rebecca, Alexandra and Stephanie. Ah, the 80s.
So as soon as I brought her up, his eyes lit up.
“My hold it!” he yelled. I gave him the doll and it. was. the. cutest.
He hugged her. He talked to her in a quiet voice. He carried her “like a baby” (the way I hold him across my arms when I call him my baby and he laughs). He gave her a ride on his bike. He asked me for a Kleenex and used it to wipe her nose. “All clean, Babydoll.”
That’s what he calls her – Babydoll. I die.
When I had to leave to go back to work, he was tucking her into his little toddler rocker and telling her they were going to watch Sesame Street.
My man’s man of a dad will not be happy that his first grandchild-a boy!- is playing with his daughter’s Cabbage Patch Kid. Oh well!