Back in the ‘90s, Middleton Dolls were all the rage in my hometown. The Middleton Doll Factory was in Belpre, right across the Ohio River from Parkersburg. Daughter #2 was little so every time we went home for a visit in the summer, we had to go over and pick out a new baby.

The dolls were very lifelike. The did sell some porcelain dolls, but most of their babies were a soft, velvety vinyl that felt lifelike. Their little bottoms were filled with plastic beads to give them some weight and they were dressed in real baby clothes. Some had eyes opened, most were sleeping. There were even babies with little tears on their cheeks. You picked out your baby in the nursery, right from a bassinet, and were given a birth certificate. The baby had a real newborn diaper on, and tucked into the back was a tiny New Testament…the designer’s way of spreading the Gospel.

I loved these babies. I was at the in between stage of my life. My oldest was married and lived on Long Island with no thoughts of babies in the near future. And my youngest was pretty much past the “snuggle on mom’s lap” stage. I was adamant that I was not going to rag at my older daughter to give me grandchildren till they were ready. But my arms felt empty. I was going through a rocky marriage that was slipping away from me and I just flat out felt sad.

This weekend, Daughter #1 texted and said she was going through a shed at her in-law’s house. There were boxes of things they put in there when they bought their house…seventeen years ago…and it was past time to get rid of stuff. She found two Middleton dolls and she wondered what she should do with them. One was well loved and went in the donate pile. The other was brand new, in the box. 

Try as I might, I could not remember how she got those dolls…until she sent me a picture of the one in the box. I sat and stared at that picture, puzzling over it when, it all came back. I knew that someday, Daughter #1 and her sweet husband would have babies and I would have the grandchildren I longed for. So, on my next trip to Parkersburg, I went to the Middleton factory and picked out a baby that looked like it could be theirs. 

When I got the baby back to Colorado, I put it on the top shelf in one of the closets. And, when my arms felt particularly empty and I longed to rock a tiny baby again, I would carefully take the box down, gently unwrap the tissue paper, and rock that little bundle…holding it close…remembering the feeling of holding my own babies…dreaming of the day I would hold the child of my child.

The day came when they broke the news. They were selling my son-in-law’s truck. When I asked why, they said, “Because it isn’t big enough for a car seat.” The gears turned. Their eyes sparkled. And I squealed with delight. I was so happy when they had a girl and the little blonde baby went to live at their house. When they moved into the new place, a bunch of things got stored in the shed at Ben and Sue’s. And that’s how a perfectly pristine baby in a box was found. 

Memories are funny things as we get older. There was a large stretch in late ‘90s to the early ‘00s that I have very little memory of. I call those my Prozac years. I lost most of my late 30’s and early 40’s to depression and drugs and alcohol. I had grief brain after losing Mr. Virgo. Then, in 2017 I had a bad car accident and had a subdural hematoma. That wiped out much of the first couple of years I was dating Mr. FixIt. He still asks me if I remember dining here or going there and maybe I have a tiny memory…like looking at a photo. Or, maybe I have no memory of it at all. And now, hyperparathyroidism messes with my memory. Add aging and well, let’s just say I have a very patient husband. And a blog with lots and lots of stories I can go back and read to remind me if I forget.

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“But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you.”

John 14:26 ESV