Why me got no dolly?

Since no-one read my blog while I was away in September (noooo, I’m not bitter) I’m going tell the “Why me got no Dolly” story again. It’s a bit long and self-indulgent, but isn’t that what blogs are for? As a special treat, I’m going to publish the original 2009 version, not the edited 2011 version. Excited? It’s set in New York – as all the best stories are …

Christmas can be confusing when you’re only two years old. Your parents take you to meet this scary guy in a red suit called Santa. You have to queue for ages, while people assure you there’s nothing to be afraid of (a sure sign there will be) and tell you to ask him for a present.

Your older sister has lots of things she wants, like Barbie dolls and toy boats and stuff, so you decide to ask for another dolly, because you really like dollies.

Finally, you are taken into a small room with the scary Santa man, who wants you to sit on his knee. There is no way you are going to sit on his knee. He is strange, and big and has all this white stuff on his chin. Your parents try to make you sit beside him instead, so a lady can take a photo. Mummy and Daddy expect to stand on the other side of the room while the photo is taken. There is no way that’s happening. You get a little hysterical at the mere suggestion.

Mummy and Daddy sit in the photo with you and your sister and the scary Santa man.

Eventually, after much coaxing, you tell Santa that you want a dolly.

A camera flashes a few times, you grudgingly agree to give the scary Santa man a high-five, and suddenly you are whisked outside into a dark corridor, while Mummy and Daddy negotiate to buy some very expensive photo of you looking petrified.

There’s just one problem – you don’t have a dolly. You were told to ask the scary Santa man for a present. You agreed to sit beside him. You asked him for the dolly. Where is the damn dolly?

You eventually settled for a half-priced snowman ornament. But you’d still like a dolly. Apparently you have to wait until something called “Christmas” comes, which sounds like an awfully long time away.

When we lived in New York (ooooh how I love to say those words) “Big Dolly” went everywhere with Sprog 2. We have photos of “Big Dolly” on a horse and carriage ride in Central Park. We have photos of “Big Dolly” at the Statue of Liberty. “Big Dolly” even accompanied us to Mexico on holiday, with her own little suitcase (and gave us quite a scare on the plane when the air pressure sucked half her head in). “Big Dolly” and her many accessories took up substantial luggage space when we returned to Sydney. (Sadly, “Big Dolly’s” smaller dolly friends went by boat and got lost in transit, like in Madagascar. Well, that was my story and I’m sticking to it). But, soon after arriving home, something happened. One minute Sprog 2 was obsessed with all things dolly, the next she wouldn’t give them the time of day. Dolly got ditched a month before Christmas 2010. I’d just purchased lots of new dolly paraphernalia to fill Sprog 2’s Christmas stocking. I waited a year for the fetish to return. When it didn’t, I wrapped up all the new dolly paraphernalia and put it under a charity Christmas tree. I also came thisclose to giving away all the old dolly prams, beds, clothes etc in our house. Then, two weeks ago, dolly suddenly returned to vogue. It started with an out-of-the-blue request to take “Swimming Dolly” to the beach for a swim. “Swimming dolly” had a lovely time and attracted lots of attention as she splashed around. Just the way Sprog 2 likes it. A little friend came over a few days later and they played with dolls for hours on end. Soon “Big Dolly” was accompanying Sprog 2 everywhere – friends’ houses, the pool, bed, the sofa to watch TV. Sprog 2 started begging for jet ski dolly, or windsurfer dolly, or crying & burping dolly (it’s amazing what toy shops run to these days) for her birthday. Still burned by the dolly paraphernalia debarcle of 2010, I’ve told Sprog 2 I want to see how long this rekindled enthusiasm lasts. More terrifying is the news that she wants four real babies of her own. I’m not sure how Nana Al’s going to cope. Especially since Sprog 2 assures me she’s going to live with me FOREVER.

PS I’m wondering if my own dolly obsession might enjoy a revival. I was all gung-ho a year ago to open a dolly version of Babies R Us. You know, prams, cots, carriers, bibs, clothes, bottles, shoes … Husband thought it was creepy, but I reckon four-year-old girls would think it rocked.