Frances Friday: Baby Eloise, Take Two

Once upon a time Frances received a doll from her father's family. Her father's family is very fond of giving Frances dolls (and barbies), incidentally, most of which currently reside at her father's house. There was one exception: a small doll which, when you squeezed it, would alternately cry and ask for mama, or laugh. This was Baby Eloise.

Frances loved this doll. She loved to dress it and carry it around (correction: she liked to ask me to dress it and then carry it around), she liked to put her down for naps, but most of all, she liked to pick her up when she cried, put her plastic head on her shoulder, pat her back and whisper "shh, shh, it's all right, it's all right!" Her face would fairly glow with the holy light of the nascent maternal impulse (the kind that dries up and goes away when you end up with a real baby--one that doesn't lie quietly under the table when you ignore it for a few days).

Then Baby Eloise returned from a weekend at Daddy's house possessed by a dark spirit. I can account for her transformation in no other way: now, when you squeezed her, instead of crying or laughing she would growl demoniacally. And yes, I did consider the battery issue, but upon examination there proved to be no way to even demonstrate that she had batteries, let alone any which could be replaced.

I endured this (explained away by Frances as "sleeping noises") for some weeks before I squeezed her accidentally while cleaning up one night and had her satanic snarls follow me around the living room for ten minutes. "That's it!" I said, and packaged her off in a plastic bag, and dumped her down the garbage shoot. Her hellish cohorts did nothing to save her.

For a few days I basked in the glow of righteous vengeance.

Then I cowered in fear of discovery.

Then I bought Frances a new one. Unfortunately, this company does not appear to make this model of doll anymore, and faced with a wall of dolls that perform a variety of tricks (talking! drinking! peeing! cooing!) I knew only one thing: it had to cry. If it could not be lovingly cradled against Frances's shoulder while she stroked its plastic back, it would be no good. There was one type that would cry; it would also drink, tear, laugh, and fall asleep. Good enough.

The replacement went off without a hitch. Frances feeds her and takes off her clothes and pats her little back and lays her down tenderly under the kitchen table for naps, which Baby Eloise II obligingly takes for a day or two at a time.

Yesterday, Frances sat beside Baby Eloise II in the overstuffed armchair while Baby Eloise II had a nice, long drink from her bottle.

"Do you see this heart on her bib?" asked Frances.

"Yes."

"That's because I love her. There is a heart on her bib because I love her. Because I am her mommy."

"Oh, that's sweet."

"I know. I am her mommy, and I take good care of her. She is my baby, and I love her. That is why there is a heart on her bib."

How did the manufacturer know?

Posted by Andrea at March 21, 2008 9:10 AM under Frances Friday

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