What A Doll!

My apologies for the teaser. The baby that arrived is not my grandson.

What was delivered to our house was a Baby Think It Over infant simulator for another daughter’s assignment in her Child Development class.

Have you seen these things? Life-sized, they cry, coo and scream at various pre-programmed intervals. When the crying starts, the “parent” waves a hospital bracelet at it and then has two minutes to determine what it needs, while the simulator records the everything from the response time to the initial cry to the care taken in handling the doll.

The dolls are available in both sexes, five ethnicities and there’s even a drug addicted model that comes complete with tremors. They arrive with a car seat, adorable clothing and a document requiring my signature that states if my child breaks or loses this thing, I agree to pay the school a mere $2,000.00. 

When I was a teen, without advanced technology and a school district believing my parents had such disposable income, we did a similarly themed project in health class, only it involved an egg and an ancient concept known an equally responsible partner. Custody issues were arranged prior to leaving class on Friday and we both carried the fragile sphere with care. The egg was marked and if it broke, my partner and I would both receive a failing grade.

Granted it didn’t cry all night, but I did sleep with one eye open in fear that the dog would knock it off the nightstand. None of my friends thought my egg to be super cool, nor were they volunteering to watch it for me and I certainly didn’t ask my mom to take me to the store to buy it a cuter outfit.  

The theory behind these dolls is to convince teens that they are not ready for the responsibilities of parenting. Why do teens these days even need convincing that they aren’t ready for parenthood? I didn’t need to carry around an egg for a weekend back in high school to realize that I wasn’t ready. My friends and I somehow already knew that, yet nearly one million teenage girls have babies each year and I've read estimates that 20 percent of these babies are planned.

Between my own four teens, we’ve had these dolls no less than six times. My opinions is that a five-year-old is capable of taking care of this doll for two days and the kids look too forward to having them. When I foolishly asked my daughter if she couldn’t just help care for the soon to arrive real baby, I was told that even the girls in her class who already have babies have to and want to take home the simulator. The nonchalantness of her answer only confirms my thoughts that these dolls are not realistic, nor are they serving their intended purpose.

Perhaps someone should invent Colic Simulator Baby, delivered with a kick to the groin and perhaps a little postpartum depression instead of cute outfits and a diaper bag. One that screams incessantly and inconsolably with such ear piercing force that you can do little more than sit on the couch and cry while your friends and family invent creative excuses as to why they can no longer visit.  

If that doesn’t work, perhaps the “I Bite Strange People At The Mall” or the “I Ate Dishwasher Detergent And Need My Stomach Pumped” toddler versions just might do the trick. 

If still more convincing is necessary, I suggest pairing the “Rock Eating Toddler” with the “While You Save my Brother From Choking On A Rock, I’m Going To Jump In Front Of Speed Racer On A Bike So The Handlebars Smash Into My Face And Break My Nose” preschool fabrication. 

Heck, give them a real glance into the future with the “I Need $450 For Driver’s Ed, $280 For Cheerleading Camp and a Prom Dress That Nobody Else Has By Monday. My Teacher’s Going To Call You Because I Stopped Doing My Homework, Oh, and Meet My New Boyfriend, Thug, Who Won’t Ever Bring Me Home On Time, But Aren’t His Bad Attitude, Criminal Record and Bull Nose Ring Just Awesome?” Teen Simulator. 

I’d gladly sign the $2,000.00 form for that one.