They were my babies in every way but one: I did not name them. I owned the special CPK baby carrier, and put my dolls to bed each night on wooden doll-sized bunk beds made my great-grandfather (yes, I did fit all seven of them onto one set of bunk beds…and they slept just fine stacked on top of one another, thank you very much).
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I held them, clothed them, took them for walks in little doll strollers, bought them each pairs of handmade CPK-sized underwear from a local flea market, and I was even able to give one of them baths because she was a special variety of CPK made to go in water.
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They were, as the legend goes, born in a magical cabbage patch presumably located in some supernatural corner of America that is birthing plastic-headed, soft-bodied babies to this very day.Īs I said, my Cabbage Patch Kids (CPKs) were my babies, and I had seven. This American line of dolls has been going strong since the late 1970s, each one coming with a unique set of features, clothing, and best of all, birth certificates, complete with first names, middle names, and birth dates. Some of you international Berries may not know what I’m talking about, but you American Berries who were children of the ‘80s and ‘90s understand what I mean when I say that my Cabbage Patch Kids were my babies. They may not have actually walked or talked, but I loved them unconditionally in spite of these limitations. When I was a child, I had seven children…or so I believed.