I wish I loved anything in life as much as my 7-year-old niece, Lola, loves her dolls.
Well, “Babies” is actually the proper term to describe them- which she will remind you of time, and time again when you inevitably make the mistake of suggesting that they are in some way inanimate.
The child has been obsessed with dolls since she was in diapers. She is never without a baby tucked under one (or both) arms, or a stroller overflowing with counterfeit infants and their corresponding accessories. If there’s one thing I can say, it’s that she takes her role as a “mother” extremely seriously at all times.
When it comes to grade- she prefers the old-school, stuffed-body/plastic limbed, variety (yeah- the ones with the creepy glass eyes); eschewing both Barbie and her posse, and the suggestively dressed Bratz dolls (one time I gave her one of these for her birthday.. I think she regifted it).
She has moved through her young life collecting new babies the way Paris Hilton collects boyfriends… only unlike Paris, she doesn’t purge one when a new one enters the picture- she keeps them all, and attempts, honorably, to pay equal attention to all of them. Currently, her “children” include (in order of appearance):
- Baby (the original- and though she vehemently denies it- I think her favourite)
- Jo-Jo (who curiously is half the size of Baby, although according to her adoption papers, exactly the same age)
- Liam (soon to be canonized for his having to deal with so much estrogen)
- Elizabeth; and
- Alive (her unimaginatively named Baby Alive doll… hey, cut the kid some slack- she must be running out of steam at this point)
In case you lost track- that’s 8- Count ’em- 8 babies.
She is basically the Octomom.
Like with Nadia herself, my sister and other members of my family have subtly (and not so subtly) tried to suggest that perhaps 8 children were enough. But driven by some unidentifiable force, she continues to long for another child… placing it atop every Christmas & birthday wishlist.
I’m reserving my god-given right as an Aunt to be worried about this for now. She’s only 7 after all, and when I was 7 I was spending more time with my imaginary friends and imposing arbitrary bedtimes than actually living.
For now I’ll just laugh about it… especially if my sister keeps sending me pictures like this one: