My Doll

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I cut Miss5’s hair tonight and I’m a little worried about how it’s going to look in the cold light of day.

We have so many Barbie dolls in the house they virtually have their own room. Oh, sure, Miss5 and Miss9 sleep in there as well, but it’s hardly their room when they’re outnumbered some fifty or sixty to one. And that’s just the Barbies! There’s a half dozen Dora’s, Tinkerbells and other assorted fairies, dolls with gray skin and scars and all manner of babies and soft toys.

So naturally, with Miss5’s birthday looming, Tracey has decided we will be buying her a doll.

“Not just any doll,” she assured me. “It’s a doll made to look like her.”

Mini Me
A doll made to look just like my daughter – this was sounding like a great plot for a movie.

Which I must admit somehow made it all better. She showed me the pictures online and I agreed it was a fun idea. Then she showed me the forms which had arrived in the mail to fill out with all Miss5’s details.

“Have fun,” I said, leaving the room.

“You have to help me!” Tracey called out, and I slunk back in.

“There’s only half a dozen questions,” I said, looking over her shoulder. “How hard can it be?”

Very.

“What colour are Molly’s eyes?” Tracey asked me.

I opened my mouth to say brown but then hesitated. “You know what? I have no idea. I know they’re not blue.” None of our kids have blue eyes, despite my father and Tracey’s mum having sky blue pearlers. “Brown? Hazel? Green? Molly. She’s the blonder one, right? Bossy? Won’t take no for an answer?”

Tracey ignored me. “Are they more like your eyes or mine.”

“I’d say mine. So she’s hazel,” I told Trace.

“So you think your eyes are…?”

I may have scoffed at her a bit here. “My eyes are hazel.”

She may have scoffed a me a bit here. “Your eyes are brown.”

“What? No, they’re not. They’re hazel,” I insisted, although I was feeling less confident now. I went over to the mirror. “Ah, crap. You know I look at myself in the mirror every day to shave. You think I’d know.”

“What colour are my eyes?” Tracey challenged me from across the room.

I recognize a trap when I hear it, although naturally I stepped right in. “Brown,” I said with fake confidence. I figured I had a fifty fifty chance.

“Hazel,” corrected Tracey.

“Really?” I looked. She was right.

In the end we decided Miss5 needed to go to the bathroom and I went in and woke her up and carried her to the toilet.

“Look at me, darling,” I cooed as she sat on the loo, nearly toppling off. All I got was squinting.

“Let me have a go,” said Tracey. She’d gone and grabbed a torch.

It took five minutes but we finally got there.

“Brown,” we both agreed.

Then we got into a discussion about how blond or brown her hair is.

“We can send a sample,” suggested Tracey.

We sneaked in to take a snip, giggling and shhing the whole time.

“Not from the front!” said Tracey.

“Well roll her head to the side,” I whispered.

“Not too much.”

“But between scalp to dead ends, it changes colour.”

“What’s going on?” Miss9 whispered from the other bed in the room.

“Nothing,” I told her. “We’re just giving your sister a haircut.”

Miss9 went back to sleep, but not before she pulled the sheet over her head.

Finally we finished the form and we’re good to go. I think Miss5 will really love this.

Although we may have to take a wedge of hair out of the doll’s head so it matches our lovely little daughter.

 

Here’s a link to the site we’re using – My Doll

 

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 ‘raising a family on little more than laughs’

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