Imma, The Pregnant Paper Doll

I should probably start off with a disclaimer. No, I am NOT pregnant, nor do I plan to be any time in the immediate future.

But, I have been thinking a lot about kids in general and babies in particular lately. Then, because I’m me, I started thinking about the fact that you really don’t see pregnant paper dolls or really pregnant dolls of any sort. When I was a kid, one of my friends had a pregnant Barbie-esq doll that I thought was the coolest thing on planet earth. I don’t know how many time I tried to convince her that she should give me her doll. I was a regular lawyer of the absurd. Anyway, I remember reading that Midge, the pregnant Barbie, caused huge outrage from people that thought it would somehow encourage teen pregnancy. (

You know what I think is ironic about that? If we actually let kids play at being parents, they have more of a tendency to treat it like everything else they play at. It becomes a dream for someday, when they are grown up. We don’t worry about kids pretending to be carpenters or doctors or scientists or chefs, do we? I mean, scientists use explosive chemicals, carpenters use dangerous power tools, doctors see people naked, and chefs wield sharp knives… all things we don’t really want kids doing before they are mature enough to handle it. How is pregnancy and parenting any different from any of those other professions?

Okay, rant over. When I start monologuing to my computer, it’s usually a sign that I need sleep. My bed is calling my name.

Enjoy the paper doll!

Note: If you are planning to print this paper doll, be sure to click on the desired image first, in order to view it in it’s original large size, so it won’t come out all pixelated and blurry.

Imma In Outfits Imma PaperdollImma Paperdoll in Black and White

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My Life: The Short-short Version asked me to write one sentence that summarizes each year of my life so far…

Grow Wallpaper

Year One: Learning to walk is dangerous, as evidenced by my broken leg.

Year Two: Baby flatlander me becomes an “almost Vermonter”.

Year Three: A profound moment at the beach: I suddenly realize how small I am in the immensity of the universe.

Year Four: Headstart is an experience in socialization.

Year Five: Listening to lots of phonics tapes on my mom’s cassette tape Walkman equals homeschool kindergarten and we get our first foster care child.

Year Six: My first and only year in the school system.

Year Seven: My mom starts babysitting a girl my age so I wouldn’t be lonely and she becomes the bane of my existence.

Year Eight: My parents decide to rent out our house before securing another place for us to live, so we camp out in a field all summer.

Year Nine: My city slicker parents start farming with a how-to book in one hand and a roll of duct tape in the other.

Year Ten: Lots of tree climbing and running wild in the woods.

Year Eleven: I almost die of a ruptured appendix and then we take in two foster children who are to become my adopted brother and sister.

Year Twelve: My “official entrance into womanhood” and all the emotions and melodrama that go along with it…

Year Thirteen: I am NOT a teenager… I am NOT a teenager…

Year Fourteen: People die, I imagine myself an atheistic philosopher, and I meet my wonderful friend and mentor, who helps me back towards sanity and God…

Year Fifteen: More of the same…

Year Sixteen: I head off for the Middle East and return after two weeks of exploration and wonder, I also get my GED.

Year Seventeen: We move to a “big” city of 5,000 from our small town of 748 families.

Year Eighteen: I get two jobs and move out.

Year Nineteen: I meet an intriguing man named Lance.

Year Twenty: I marry aforementioned man.

Year Twenty-one: More of the same.

Year Twenty-two: I become the Sunday School Administrator at my local church.

Year Twenty-three: I get pregnant and we lose the baby after one trimester.

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All Grown Up… By Toni L.A. Cross


Foggy nose-print, cold wet window

Water streaming on the pane

Mommy, mommy when will I be

When will I be all grown up?


Thunder booming, lightning flashes

Years streaming down the drain

Mommy, mommy when will I be

When will I be all grown up?


High heels clopping, puddles splashing

Runny makeup leaves a stain

Mommy, mommy when will I be

When will I be all grown up?


Under blankets, mindless shivers

Waiting for the storm to wane

Mommy, mommy when will I be

When will I be all grown up?


Long day over, still apartment

Living in adult mundane

Mommy, mommy when will I be

When will I be all grown up?

Learning how to grow with my faith…

I keep looking for my faith to feel the way it did when I was younger. It isn’t happening.

Don’t get me wrong- this isn’t what I would  term a crisis of faith. I haven’t given up on God. I am not turning my back on Christianity.

 It’s just that my faith fits different than it used to. You know the feeling you get when you try on a favorite pair of jeans after you go on a diet? Suddenly they are looser and you almost feel like you are breaking them in all over again. It isn’t BAD, but it is uncomfortable and awkward. You still love your jeans, but you have to learn how to wear them again.

Okay, so maybe I’m stretching the analogy a bit far, but you get the idea.

I love God. I am serving Him the best that I know how. But now, I need to find that new place of relationship, a different level of intimacy, new territory, with harder rules.

…and that’s where I’m at, folks…

what babies know… by Toni L.A. Cross


whisper to me of the things I knew

before i crossed the great wide blue

coo the sound of heaven’s gates

and the mystery of our fates

tell me of the wordless thing

why God cries and angels sing