white dolly

A few days ago I was going through my cedar chest and found, buried beneath baby blankets and other memorabilia, a long-loved treasure: White Dolly, a baby doll I used to play with when I was little.

Baby Lindsay and White Dolly, July 1982

She looked more than a little haggard. Her clothes and body were filthy, her hair was tangled, matted, and falling out in places, and she was missing a bootie. Despite how loved she was over the years, she looked so bad, I was tempted to just toss her. But before I did, I thought I'd try to clean her up a bit.

I added her clothes to my weekly laundry piles and scrubbed years of dirt out from in between the crevices of her plastic extremities. I sewed up a popped seam on her soft body. I researched how to untangle doll hair, rounded up the supplies, and brushed it smooth. (There's unfortunately nothing I can do about the bald spots or the fact that the original styling of it has long since fallen out, leaving her looking like she left the doll salon with a really bad haircut; thank goodness she has a bonnet to cover it.)

I redressed her in her now clean dress, pantaloons, sweater, and bonnet, borrowed my most current baby, and attempted to recreate history.

I think it's safe to say that Matthew likes White Dolly. And so does Caleb, for that matter, whose maternal instincts shifted into high gear the moment the doll resurfaced. He fought his brother for the adoption rights, welcomed her into his small dolly family, and just now tucked her in for a nap. Which means that, despite the sad state of her hair, White Dolly has been given new life, and we'll be keeping her around a little bit longer.