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I'm Maggie Smith and this is the Slow Down When I was a baby, the first doll I received was really more of a stuffed animal than a doll. She was meant to look like a baby, swaddled and bunting a hooded sleeper, so the only part of her that was plastic was her face. The rest of her was soft and plush. I called her Pink Baby because she was, well, pink. I received Pink Baby on my first Christmas when I was 10 months old, and I slept with her every night from then on until I was a teenager. Yes, I'm admitting to sleeping with a ratty baby doll way past the age that I probably should have been sleeping with a ratty baby doll. But we love what we love and we get comfort where we get comfort. I told myself that Linus from the Peanuts comic strip carried his blue security blanket everywhere, but I only slept with Pink Baby. It could have been worse. Now I have teens of my own, both of whom have stuffies they don't exactly sleep with but still like to have around. In fact, Pink Baby was adopted by my son when he was small, and for years he slept with her. He liked the smooth coolness of her plastic face, and I remember telling him that I always loved that part of her too. My son grew out of that bedtime necessity years ago, probably when he grew out of wanting stories and songs from mom before bed. But she's still around. Pink Baby is part of the family. I rarely see her. She's in his bedroom somewhere, but I know she's there. That gives me comfort. I'd be so sad to lose her after all of these years. Today's poem brought me right back to being a young girl with a beloved doll. Back then it would have been unbearable to be separated. Lamb by Richie Hoffman I had a lamb I brought everywhere who only had one eye. At the train stations all the grown ups would say, be mindful of your things, little boy. Someone will steal right out of your pocket or Take the watch off your wrist. My dad had a beautiful overcoat. The lamb's white fur got smudged. My brother was a baby and in the restaurants the old waiters would pick him up and kiss him again and again on the cheek with their mustaches and tell my parents that they promised they would bring him back in a minute, but now they needed to show the chef. I don't remember when the eye became unglued and who knows where it went on long train rides. I remember falling asleep putting my finger in the hole where it used to be. Once he had to go in an overhead bin and he was freezing when I kissed him again. The Slowdown is a production of American Public Media in partnership with the Poetry Foundation. To get a poem delivered to you daily, go to slowdownshow.org and sign up for our newsletter and find us on Instagram @downdownshow and blueskylowdownshow.org Maggie here, host of the Slowdown Listening to and reading poetry helps us find our footing in an uncertain world, especially during challenging times. You can help keep these moments of poetry and reflection going by making a gift today. Visit slowdownshow.org donate.