Hit me baby one more time...

I have two baby dolls leftover from childhood. One, a cabbage patch red-head doll that my Dad's hard work earned after he installed a bunch of fans in a Sears manager's home. They were in high demand in the 80s. The second doll, is a little more life-like, with a bald head, eyes that close when she lays down, and a soft body. This one is Riley's favorite.

And when I say favorite, I mean it's her favorite for me to carry around.

At first, Riley will walk around and hold the baby and give her kisses. She will hide with the baby doll, play with her shoes, and use her as a pillow.

Then, she gets tired of all that nonsense and expects ME to carry around the baby. She doesn't want me to put the baby down, oh no, she wants me to hold it. So, in my insane mind and to prevent the 20th meltdown of the day, I stupidly oblige. So, there I am, making dinner, with a baby doll slung over my shoulder. The neighbors must think I'm nuts.