Aurora

Having spent the bulk of my childhood in the 80's, I was the proud owner of a few Cabbage Patch Kids. Of course the first one came in the year that everyone's did, the year that people were attacking each other at Christmastime in the stores to get the beloved scrunchy-faced doll for their kids. My parents are lovers, not fighters, so they did what normal people do and ordered one through the Sears catalog to be shipped when stock was replenished. It was an awesome spring evening when my sister and I arrived at the dinner table to find our new babies in an extra chair next to our own.

My baby was like so many other firstborns - highly anticipated, so special and well-loved - but I didn't love her name. What kind of name is Aurora?! I considered officially renaming her but life kept moving and I fell in love with her just the way she was. I dressed her, talked to her and tucked her in with me every night. She made me so happy. But like so many things in childhood, she eventually fell by the wayside as my attention was bestowed upon other things. But now, thirty-some years later I find myself wondering if that first doll was meant to teach me that any Aurora is always worth the wait.

These nights I find myself checking on Aurora again before bed; I always hope she's out if only to give me a little bit of excitement as I tuck in for the night. She's elusive, but sometimes she'll come out of hiding for my camera. Only a couple of times has she been so out in the open at bedtime that I feel compelled to go outside and say hello. A few nights ago she rewarded me with a brief show that made me as excited as a little girl with a new toy.

She was sweet enough to take a selfie with me.