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Posts Tagged ‘Joy from Psychoville’

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.

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