I bought a doll for my daughter for her first christmas, a beautiful blond one I named Amydoll. My daughter never played with it once, even though I handed it to her on many occasions. She would push it off her bed onto the floor to get burned by the radiators.My friends who knew me from that period in my life will tell you that Amydoll was the safest place to hide my contraband cigarettes in the car, because my daughter never touched her.
I still kept that black-footed doll and 13 years later she lives in the very back of my daughter’s closet. She is no longer dressed in the $50.00 dress that I bought for her in a children’s store, she is all tarted up with nailpolish for eyeshadow and an outfit I sewed for another doll. Her hair, which I used to condition and brush, is now cut off. I used to pack her everyday along with my daughter’s diaper bag when she went to mom-mom’s house. My daughter never touched her until she entered her experimental phase with makeup and scissors. As you can see, she is missing some hair now.
Amydoll was the doll I always would have wanted as a little girl. My daughter enjoyed stuffing legos into the VCR.
Now my 13-year-old daughter is my Amydoll, I enjoy taking her shopping, messing with her hair, and taking her to the salon for pedicures. She is so much more fun to play with than Amydoll, who never actually thanked me.