Making Dolls

It took 48 hours of hard work and sweating to give birth to our newest family members. His name is Reuben and he has a perfect head of toffe-colored hair. Surprisingly, he was born wearing a blue overal and shirt with the shape of a small animal. She is a handmade doll.

I can not imagine how much I would love this little boy or what impact it would have on our family life. As his arrival drew near, I struggled to keep him at bay. Oh, the work of giving birth to a baby just slumped in my chair thinking about it. Weekdays arrive and all I want to do is run away, away from the boundary of the sewing room. Typically, a guilty need to honor boneka promosi my commitment calls me to duty and I feel surrounded by another mother, in the labor ward, also known as the Birgit craft room. We work tirelessly.

We share the pain of slicing our fingers and our faces become red, hot and sweaty with Birgit’s midwifery advice. Seriously, one business day is not enough and we are sent home to recover. After several puffs and deep sleep, labor begins in earnest. Reuben, when our little boy was soon baptized, came quickly on the second day. His body was so round and beautiful, the bottom was soft and juicy, his pink mouth that formed very sweet.

I can never predict the excitement of making a doll with my own two hands. While I lost two full days in my life to give birth, I got more. Includes persistence lessons, and getting pain. My hands hurt and cramped from working on woolen hair into a tight ball to form his head. My fingers are raw red and cut from the pulling of linen threads used to bind the shape. There is further insight. A wave of deep courage pushed me toward the classroom entrance and the realization of a teacher’s life with all my heart. Mother Nature’s harvest harvest is provided for Ruben raw materials, from freshly laundered linen and linen threads in natural cotton clothing worn by Reuben. There is beauty that can be seen in every hand-stitched suture. Love is proven in the work of gold thread. We women work together in an atmosphere of support and friendliness. The story of our past overshadows us until now. On the last day, we ate off plates of food, each piece roasted and boiled and baked in a warm kitchen and brought in the car to be shared.

Our newest children are dressed, caressed and hugged; Mom reluctantly passed through their newborn baby to hold. Each kid’s cloth is positioned for group photographs, memories of our shared experience, before everyone goes to the new house. Each of us leaves some of our souls in the walls of Birgit’s sewing room but is left with an abundant heart in its place. Reuben came home to live with us. My eleven-year-old daughter Henrietta, a self-proclaimed tomboy, claims to be her own bed and Ruben’s Ruben wood, once the home of a Cabbage Patch Kid, now stands in a corner of her room. And then, he gave her talent to his new younger brother, Ned. She loves him to this day.