My tattoo shall say ...

Well, I've decided to get a tattoo. I do have a birthday coming up, after all. I've decided what and where, and I think I've made a perfect choice. My tattoo is going to be smack-dab in the middle of my forehead, and here's what it will say:

SUCKER

Yes, I might as well admit it -- I am a huge sucker, as evidenced by today's shopping trip to Target. I went with Maggie after preschool. I didn't want to go with Maggie; I wanted to wait and go Wednesday while she's in school, but not knowing if the next 14 days will be filled with civic duty I also wanted to get the shopping out of the way today. We weren't buying for ourselves, we were buying other people's Christmas gifts. For Bobby, for my dad, for the adopt-a-family kids the Sunday School class is collecting for, and for the Room in the Inn kids the preschool is collecting for. "Be firm," I told myself. "The child does not need anything three weeks before Christmas."

We were doing fine until we reached the doll aisle. I was looking for a doll stroller for the Sunday School girl, and Maggie was enamoured, as usual, with the Little Mommy dolls that coo and gaga whenever someone walks past them. Her beloved Baby Caca is a Little Mommy doll, so it stands to reason that Maggie is always drawn to this line of dolls. She picked up one wearing purple and paced the aisle with it. She patted its head, rocked it, and talked to it. And it talked back.

"This one needs me," she said. "She wants me to be her Mommy." She was so genuine, so earnest. I didn't get the feeling of being played at all. This doll just kept cooing "Mama" over and over, and I think Maggie truly thought it wanted her to be its mom. I went through the lines I'd rehearsed: You don't need another doll. Christmas is three weeks away. Mammaw always buys you a doll for Christmas. We're not here to buy things for us. We're shopping for other people.

She wore me down.

And you want to know what exactly wore me down? It wasn't whining or nagging. It wasn't screaming and fit-throwing. It wasn't a tantrum. (It would have been easier if she'd had a tantrum -- they make it really easy to stick to my guns: No way are you getting this toy. This is not the way to get what you want. Tantrums will never, ever get you your way. )

That's easy.

What's not so easy is seeing your child meekly obey, putting the doll back on the shelf then dropping her head as she cries big, quiet tears. What's not so easy is trying to distract her by talking up a Christmas gift you've already bought ("Wow, look at this! Isn't this cool?") only to have her wander away, looking up every aisle until she finds the babbling doll in the purple sleeper. What's not easy is seeing those big, blue, tear-filled eyes looking up at you, simply saying, "Please."

"I'm supposed to be her Mommy."

I relented. And the payback has been that for the rest of the day, all day, I've gotten to witness the love and tenderness my daughter is capable of. To say Maggie has been sweet with this doll just might be the understatement of the year. She happily climbed back into the cart and held Baby Sally, as the doll soon became named, through the whole store, saying things like, "I love her so much. I'm her Mommy. I never, ever want to get rid of Baby Sally." And when we got home, it continued. She caressed her, fed her, talked to her, carried her, dressed and re-dressed her, played with her, and is now contentedly sleeping with her.

There's a sucker born every minute, so they say. My inner sucker was born on 10/19/04, but I try to stifle her as much as possible. Still, I think it's safe to say she rises up much more often around the holidays.