On the Ninth Day of a Feminine Christmas

The traditional Christmas gift of a dolly under the tree has delighted little girls for centuries.  I remember the plastic smell of some of my dolls to this day.  Most notable were my Barbies of course, Chatty Cathy, and one doll I never really forgot.  Her name was Had-To-Get-Better.

Had-To-Get-Better had three faces that lived inside one hooded coat and by turning the knob on the top of her head, you could change her face.  One was a “sick” face and I know one wasn’t but I can’t recall the third – perhaps it was a face with measles.   I loved that doll…

The last doll I got for Christmas was when I was sixteen.  My mother was sad that year not to be buying dolls and knowing her daughters would soon be off to college, she gave us each one last packaged doll.  I have a photo of the moment I opened that old-fashioned box with the cellophane window and saw that I was receiving a doll.  I was surprised but I understood, I understood.

No one played as fiercely with dolls as my daughter.  In fact I will tell you a story in the new year about a doll she lost once and the lessons we both learned in that.  And now my daughter is a mother with a real live doll – a sweet and vivacious little girl-doll.   And she is expecting another in the new year.

Dolls…fondly remembered at Christmastime…