Wherever my daughter and I go these days, we are always accompanied by a baby doll called Abby.
People love to see little girls with baby dolls. They always smile at The Pixie and say “Is that your little baby you’ve got there?”
The Pixie tends to frown when asked this question. After all, it’s a bit obvious she’s too young to have a baby of her own.
“No, she’s not my baby. She’s my little sister,” she replies solemnly.
“Which makes her my baby!” I then exclaim, perhaps a little too brightly because the people’s smiles tend to fade at this point of the conversation and, more often than not, they take a little step backwards.
Yes, I am now officially – or at least according to The Pixie – a mother of four.
Luckily, Abby sleeps a lot. Like a lot a lot. And she never cries. Not even a little bit. After having had three babies who did lots of crying and precious little sleeping, the universe owes me an easy one, even if it is a plastic doll.
The Pixie is growing suspicious about my parenting skills, however. When she gets home from school, the first thing she usually asks is “Where’s Abby?”
“Uh, Abby’s still in the pram…” I had to admit one day.
“Still? Didn’t you get her out all day?” she asked, outraged.
“No,” I replied. “She was, uh, sleeping soundly. Very very soundly. I didn’t want to disturb her.”
“Well, aren’t you going to get her up?” she demanded .
“Could you do it, sweetheart? I’m cooking dinner for my other (real) children,” I said, careful to swallow the word “real” so as not to upset her (see below).
“She’s your baby!” she replied, her finger no doubt poised over the speed dial button for the Department of Health and Services.
“She’s not a baby, she’s a doll!” Mr Justice suddenly weighed in from nowhere.
“NO! SHE’S NOT A DOLL. SHE’S MY SISTTTTTEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!” The Pixie wailed, running from the room with her fist held dramatically to her mouth.
We have had many variations on this conversation over the past couple of months, inevitably ending in The Pixie’s tears.
For example:
PIXIE: How many people in our family?
NDM: (distracted) Five…
PIXIE: No! There’s six! You forgot Abby!
MR JUSTICE: Yes, [Pixie] there are six in our family. Five people and one stupid doll.
PIXIE: SHE’S NOT A DOLL! SHE’S MY SISSSSTTTERRRRRRRRRRR!
Or:
PIXIE: Abby’s enjoying her water soup, Mummy!
NDM: (distracted) That’s nice, dear.
MR JUSTICE: Water soup isn’t soup, it’s just water and Abby can’t even swallow it because she’s a doll.
PIXIE: SHE’S NOT A DOLL! SHE’S MY SISSSSTTTERRRRRRRRRRR!
And even:
PIXIE: Abby!
MR JUSTICE: Doll!
PIXIE: SISSSSSTTTTTTTTTTERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
But I have to hand it to The Pixie. She’s obviously spending a lot of time wondering how she can argue against Mr Justice’s claims that Abby is “just a doll”.
“Human beings aren’t real,” she announced in the car the other day. “We are all dolls.”
Mr Justice didn’t even pause for breath with his rebuttal. “Well, [Pixie], since you are always telling us Abby is not a doll, you’re only proving that she is not One Of Us.”
“You’re a doll! YOU’RE! A! DOLL!” The Pixie screamed back at him.
Although technically correct, Mr Justice should probably be careful at this point. His sister may well end up like Joy from Psychoville or Abby is going to go all Bride of Chucky. Either way, it’s not going to end well.
Were you peeking in my windows and writing about us?? The Girl Minion drove me bonkers with her (I kid you not) Abby. I thought she couldn’t pronounce ‘baby’ but maybe there’s a Physco Fake Mothering for Little Girls 101 class we don’t know about? Rule No. 1: You must name her Abby…but I digress! According to TGM it is also unacceptable to hold Abby by an appendage, shake her roughly,and after the incident with the washing machine TGM cried for 4 hours. Abby now resides in a little pink box in my closet. RIP.
Oh dear. Poor poor Abby. Unfortunately for our Abby, The Pixie is a little less careful about how she is held. When I refused to carry her in the supermarket recently, The Pixie got grumpy with me (“She’s your baby”) and held her by the foot. I found myself getting all upset that she would hold a baby like that, before realising exactly how far I’d been sucked into her world.
We have a Lucy at our house. She scares the life out of me – she is life size you see. If Top Ender goes away for the night to my Mums she puts Lucy in her bed… I put Lucy in the wardrobe.
I don’t blame you.
I think I freaked my sons out the other day by making Abby look at them while they eat. Every time they tried to move, I’d move Abby’s head to look at them. Her eyes are freakishly all-seeing, despite being made of plastic.
We have a cat called… wait for it…. Catty.
I have to talk and sing in meows.
Ouch.
HAHAHA, oh man. This is pretty funny. Poor Abby.
Oh, Abby has it good – mark my words! I would give anything to sleep all day in the pram, but probably could do with something a bit more nourishing than ‘water soup’.
I miss the living dolly years. It’s been too long, and I wish that I’d had more foresight back then and written down stories about these dollies that I could tell the children.
“What did Mandy and Sandy do all day, Mommy?”
“Oh, honey, you’ll never believe it! First we went…..”
*sigh* Then the kids could draw pictures of these adventures, we’d put them together and make a book.
Treasure these times, because all too often, they get lost in the growing-up process. And we never get the camera out quickly enough.
Funnily enough, The Pixie asked me why I haven’t got a special photo album for Abby, like I have for the other kids. I should really get that camera out…
Better hope Abbey never catches on fire or something!
I may be many things but I am no doll arsonist.
At least yours is vaguely human form. Ours is a Bear. I am her Mummy. Mr6 is her Daddy. As is Big Ted. Yep, it’s quite the set-up we got goin’ on over here.
Two daddies? That’s really progressive. Kudos to you and your modern-day lattice family.
At least you get to be Abby’s mother – I always have to be the dolls’ grandma.
Double ouch!
My DD (now 12) would line all the dolls in a row down the hallway…every day. I have a couple of funny pics. One of “Lisa” wearing a dress made from playdoh, and another of 2 nameless life size dolls who tragically went away after being suffocated with nappy rash cream… all over their faces.
Oh! I could wear a dress made of playdough to my fashionista friend GT’s 40th! Shit… where’s the cream of tartar when you need it…
Hilarious!
Or it would be if it wasn’t all too familiar….
My blog is all too often like holding a mirror up to people’s lives. I don’t know if I should be happy or very frightened about this…
I actually tracked down the original retailer of our little Mika when it appeared she had been carelessly lost at a public swimming pool in Perth, and had them all lined up to ship a replacement across the nation before Mika’s “sleep over” had gone on unfeasibly long…. when thankfully she was found safely sunning herself on a friend’s back verandah.
Never thought I’d find myself doing such a thing, and it would only be for this one particular “toy” ….of whom I am, apparently, Granny.
You were lucky. It would have been like that film where the kid returns after having disappeared mysteriously years beforehand and the mother knows – *KNOWS* – he’s not the original kid even though the authorities insist he is. I think that film starred Chevy Chase and Dolly Parton.
The Pixie is actually quite strategic I think. A little ‘sister’ to take her side against her brothers but who won’t borrow her clothes, her friends, her makeup, her toys or provide any meaningful competition for parent-time attention.
She’s one smart little girl, that’s for sure.
Mr T (2 .5 yrs) has a creepy dolly called “Polly” with eyes that open and close. I got her at an op shop because she was *creepy* and she lived in a wooden bird cage with 2 Russian dolls for ages until I got her out one day and it was love at first site.
Polly gets her head bashed on the floor and the bed regularly, then cuddled while T says, “She’s happy now…” and sings “Polly put the kettle on… / Pussy take it off again…”. it’s quite funny but also disconcerting :\ You mentioned Joy from Psychoville, I’m thinking Papa Lazaru here – at least he didn’t call her Dave…
I love it that Polly was living in a bird cage. Was it the one with the canary mirror with “RED RUM” written on it in blood?
You made me laugh. Now I am going to go hide all the dolls.
You’d be well-advised to hide them. Sometimes Abby has slept with me and I’ve woken up to find her looking at me… looking… looking… looking.
This was hilarious — my dd has some that are sisters and some that are her babies. I don’t seem to be under quite so much survellience as you with actually parenitng them however! Interestingly, all the ones that are her babies are different species — an Eeyore in a dress, a penguin hot water bottle, etc.
When we lived in China, baby dolls were always referred to as ‘little brothers/sisters’ (or ‘foreign babies’ – they are blonde and blue-eyed
It kinda makes more sense, as you said… my DD also emphatically assures me that she is much too young to have babies (i’m not sure how the donkey and penguin babies were born, but I guess she feels its obvious she didn’t birth them?)
Man, I’d give anything for Abby to be a penguin hot water bottle. She’d be quite useful in winter and when the Silent Red Ninja pays a visit.
The movie “The Changling”? I’ve never seen the original but there’s a remake with Angelina Jolie. Didn’t Brad mention it during the interview?
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