The Mechanical Baby

My daughter took a child development class her junior year in high school. One of her assignments was to take care of a mechanical baby as though it were real.

It occurred to me that this would be an excellent opportunity to drive home some lessons about abstinence. As a Christian parent, my message about waiting for sex is certainly much more than "just say no." It's also about saying yes to God's good plan for marriage and child rearing. So before the baby's "arrival," I sat down with my daughter for a heart-to-heart conversation.

I explained that her school assignment just might show her how challenging it can be to care for a baby. I wanted her to know that although children bring great joy, they also require sacrifices that unwed teen girls are not prepared for.

"But remember," I added, "a mechanical baby is not quite the real world of babies."

"Yes, it is, Daddy," Nicole assured me. "The teacher told us it's just like a real baby. You have to treat it like a real baby, or you'll lose points."

Ah, losing points. One of the big motivators for a girl in high school.

Welcome home!

When Nicole finally came home with the baby one afternoon, I commented on how cute it was.

"Yes, everyone thinks it looks like Alex," she informed me. Alex was her boyfriend; he was Italian. To me, the baby looked acutely Asian.

I decided not to press the point.

She finished the first day with things going well. "It's so easy, Daddy," she said. "I don't even have a tilt yet."

For a second I thought she must be talking about a pinball machine. She explained, "If you don't hold the baby right, you get a tilt. If you let its head flop, you get a tilt. If you don't change its diaper right away . . . "

"You get a tilt?"

"Right."

This struck me as slightly nuts. "It's not the real world of babies, Honey."

She disagreed. "It's just like a real baby, Dad. Exactly."

I bided my time.

Surprisingly real

The second day I heard her come in from school with the baby crying. It had this cut-straight-to-your-soul cry that was remarkably like a real baby. I heard her downstairs in her bedroom where the baby continued wailing. Finally, Nicole trod upstairs.

"Daddy, there is something wrong with this baby," Nicole screamed, almost in a panic. "It's been crying for over an hour, and I can't make it stop."

"Welcome to the real world of babies."

"No, you don't understand. There's something terribly wrong with this baby."

I grinned. "That's what we said about you."

"Daddy," she shrieked, "the baby is not supposed to do this. It's . . . it's . . . defective."

I did my best to keep a straight face. "Do you realize what damage you're doing to this baby, Honey? When she grows up, she'll tell the psychiatrist, 'When I was just born, my mommy said I was defective. It scarred me for life.' "

"Daddy," Nicole screamed, "stop making jokes. This baby shouldn't have colic. It's not programmed for colic."

I sighed. I had thought this crying was a rather nice development. "OK, what do you want me to do?"

"Take me to the teacher, and let's turn this one in for another baby."

"You know, we never thought of that with you. If only someone had told us we could take you back to the hospital for an exchange . . ."

"I can't believe this! You're trying to be funny, and I'm having a . . . a . . . a family crisis."

Abstinence achieved

When Nicole finally calmed down, we drove to school, and her teacher reprogrammed the baby. Back at home, Nicole told me, "I'm never having a baby, Daddy. Never. Never. Never."

"Whoa! Yes, you are," I said. I knew she would someday have the maturity to handle the blessings of marriage and parenthood. "You're going to get married and produce two or three grandchildren when I say I'm ready."

"No, I'm not! Get someone else to do it."

Her reaction wasn't quite what I expected, but I was grateful nonetheless that she had learned an important life lesson. I learned something, too: Even when it seems my parental lectures have fallen on deaf ears, God has a remarkable way of fixing these lessons in my daughter's heart.

Nicole is now 24, married, and talking about having a baby. I have decided not to mention the mechanical baby incident until I have a real grandchild in my arms.