Photograph courtesy of OAA, Inc.
When I was a toddler, my grandparents brought me to the original BabyLand General Hospital in Cleveland, Georgia, where Cabbage Patch “babies”—not dolls—are “born”—not produced—and “adopted”—not bought. The original “hospital,” located in a converted medical facility the size of a double-wide, captured the kitschy, uncanny-valley aesthetic of the classic ’80s toy.
Cabbage Patch Kids burrowed deep into the American psyche. Last year, for their 40th birthday, the dolls were inducted into the National Toy Hall of Fame, along with baseball cards, corn popper push toys, and the squishy-bullet company Nerf. BabyLand General Hospital moved to an expanded location in 2009. It had been many years since my last visit, and I wondered how the brand’s one-of-a-kind immersive birthing experience had fared.
On a recent Sunday morning, I arrived at the 600-acre estate, greeted by a welcome billboard surrounded by a garden of Cabbage Patch heads. The wraparound porch sported American flag bunting and was already buzzing: Little girls compared their babies’ new outfits, dads chain-smoked around the corner, and an unsettlingly modern cover of “Jack and Jill” played over the sound system.
Inside, I opted for the free self-guided tour, which took me past showrooms stocked with collectible babies and memorabilia, including two Andy Warhol originals. In the center stood the Magic Crystal Tree, the fertility goddess that sprang, Athena-like, from the mind of Cabbage Patch Kids creator Xavier Roberts. A staff member announced that Mother Cabbage was about to go into labor, and encouraged the crowd to observe.
Children gathered around the base of the stucco tree, which was covered in animatronic baby cabbage heads and colorful glowing geodes. They watched in raptured excitement as an aproned “nurse” explained that Mother Cabbage’s “leaves” were dilated and she’d been given “imagicillin” to help ease her pain. Everyone chanted “Push!” until a new Cabbage Patch baby—“a healthy girl!” the nurse said—appeared in her arms. Her name? Presley Charlotte, a combination of suggestions from the crowd, ultimately “decided” by the newborn herself. The nurse swaddled the doll and placed her in a basket, held by a discomfitingly large animatronic stork. A handful of young children lingered, staring longingly at Presley Charlotte; one parent whispered, “If we don’t leave here with that doll, she is gonna throw a fit.”
Cabbage Patch Kids appeared in 1983, perfectly timed with an economic resurgence. The mall riots that broke out over the dolls that Christmas were among the first recorded cases of a toy-induced holiday frenzy. For their National Toy Hall of Fame induction last year, Cabbage Patch Kids beat out Bop It!, Battleship, and Barbie’s Ken. Even with Barbie film star Ryan Gosling as spokesman, Ken couldn’t beat the thrill of adopting a Cabbage-born baby of one’s own.
On the way out, a family with three generations present gathered in front of the Roman columns to take a picture with their Cabbage Patch Kids, including Presley Charlotte, whose new mother had strong-armed her parents into cosigning adoption papers. The time-honored spectacle of BabyLand General Hospital had worked its magic yet again.
This article appears in our August 2024 issue.
