I was a Reborn Baby

This feels suspiciously like real human hair...

Don’t ask me why, while browsing online, I stumbled across some footage from a British news channel depicting a national obsession with Reborn babies—dolls so lifelike that if placed next to an actual child, you might not be able to tell the difference aside from the rise and fall of the real infant’s chest. The deadpan news reporter gently rocked a doll in the nursery of a woman who had “adopted” 20 or so such babies, treating them as real children and even taking them for walks in the stroller, er, perambulator. “If I could have had more children, I would have,” the woman said sadly, as she passed snacks to her four live offspring while jiggling a Reborn baby at her hip. The location then shifted to the home of a doll artist, who removed a baby’s head and forearms from her kitchen oven before beginning to paint the scalp with lifelike veins.

Sure, all of this was pretty funny. But these dolls, which are popular in the US too, can sell for thousands of dollars. And suddenly, I stopped laughing. Because I remembered that I owned one. Sort of.

About 20 years ago when I was a toddler, my grandmother had a baby doll made to look like me, and she saved it to give me when I was old enough to appreciate it. The day never came. Dolls were boring, and somewhere along the line, they became creepy. After that, they became sad. When a friend and I sold our childhood dolls at a joint yard sale (all of them in un-played with condition) the somewhat manic woman who purchased them assured us she would give them “a good home” in her doll room which was “stacked floor to ceiling with precious angels.” It was none of my concern what she did with them—I had made five bucks on each doll, and that was enough for me. But she was so earnest that I thanked her for letting me know they would be in good hands. And I was filled with a wave of pity for her, for caring. At this same yard sale, a scandalized customer scolded me for selling my First Communion jewelry, but then she bought it all from me. I can give a pretty convincing sales pitch, and I am very mercenary.

Eventually my grandmother did turn the Shannon doll over to me, though with less ceremony than might have taken place had I liked getting such things, and I packed it away carefully in a box. But which box? I tore apart every storage space in my house looking for it. Perhaps I was sitting on a gold mine! I came across boxes of other toys that were potentially valuable, yet not my style anymore—for example, a bunch of Breyers—they are collectible plastic horses with realistic paint jobs and in-scale miniature saddles. Do you want some? They’re for sale. When I finally found the doll, it turned out to be not quite as realistic as a Reborn baby, though still probably worth something to a doll collector. If I could find that woman from the yard sale again, she’d be perfect—after all, this doll is ME, author of this blog, and I can’t just let it go to some sicko. Maybe I’ll keep it for sentimental value. It may seem out of place in the minimalist décor of my future super-cool apartment, but perhaps I can display it ironically next to a salvaged neon sign that says Live Girls! On one of those floating shelves.

That settles it, the Shannon doll is not for sale. But the following items ARE. See pics below. If you are interested, please submit a sealed bid.

1. A plastic cannon from Barnum and Bailey Circus that shoots out a little man. I expect this to appreciate in value, as Water for Elephants has ruined the circus forever, and soon we’ll be talking about the Ringling Brothers like we talk about Dr. Walter Freeman, originator of the ice pick lobotomy.

2. A turtle finger puppet.

3. A Breyer model of Roy Rogers’ horse, Trigger. Did you know that when the real Trigger died, Roy Rogers had the horse embalmed and placed in his living room? You didn’t?

4. Assorted Star Wars PEZ dispensers. Note: the candy has been eaten.

I'm not the man they think I am at home, no no no nooo, I'm a Rocket Man!

Yoda appears to be unhappy with the sleeping arrangements. "Chewie, I didn't know YOU carried a lightsaber."