The Christmas my middle daughter was about 4 years old, she received the most adorable, soft-bodied baby doll. We called it “Laughing Baby,” because when the doll’s tummy was pressed, she’d let loose an infectious giggle that would set my daughter into giggle fits galore. It was precious—the first 320 times
. Then it was simply obnoxious and in need of silencing.
One night while my daughter slept, I carefully ripped open Laughing Baby’s seam, ripped out her laughing box, and quickly sewed her shut. I simply had to. Laughing Baby’s laughter was driving me mad.