She had a wooden head with carved baby curls that teased her pink forehead. Her blue eyes opened and closed. She went with me everywhere. She wore real baby clothes, and I loved her.

            I was seven years old when I found her in a mail order catalogue. With my mother’s help, we ordered her. Every day, my brother and I walked to the post office hoping that the nice lady would say, “There is a package for you.” Days turned into weeks and finally, she reached our mailbox. I remember the cold winter day my brother Jim and I trudged through snow to the post office. A parcel was waiting. I knew it was Baby May. We plodded home, carrying my treasure. Through drifts of snow and across ice covered intersections, we finally stomped up the steps of our home. Mama stopped her kitchen chores to greet us at the back door. My father laid down his newspaper, and John, our older brother, closed his book. Daddy pulled out his pocketknife and carefully sliced through the wrapper. I lifted the lid of the box and gently gathered Baby May into my arms. The name was perfect. Our mother had been reading the Bobbsie Twins books to us. The Bobbsie family had adopted a baby, and they named her Baby May. Our last name was May, so I wanted my new doll to be named Baby May, as well.

            As the years passed, Baby May was always close by. She found a comfortable home in my bedroom, and I always made sure that she was covered with her blanket on cold nights. We moved to another town when I was a teenager. Baby May found a safe place in my box of treasures. During the early years of my marriage, she stayed at my parents’ home. Carefully wrapped in her blanket, she rested in a box on a shelf. I knew where she was, and often thought of my childhood years spent with her.

            The arrival of real-life babies captured my love, and my family took the number one spot in my heart. Two little boys, who were more interested in trucks and airplanes, became the center of my life.

            Baby May, by this time, had come to live with me. She now rested in her box on the top shelf of my closet. Years passed. In those days, dolls’ bodies’ were made of either cloth or rubber. Rubber, unless kept in a controlled climate, will deteriorate in time. Baby May was approaching 30 when I noticed that her rubber body was beginning to fade. Deciding to free her from her broken body, I gently wrapped her sweet head in her blanket and kissed her good night.

            Today she waits in my cedar chest. One day, I hope to have a doll hospital, yes there are such places, replace her body. Perhaps one day, a little girl will find her.