Lately I've been trying to find a new normal in the aftermath of our family's calamitous 2023. I was able to find the perfect job with the perfect amount of hours. And I began to relist stuff in my eBay store. Things that I'd bought at estate sales for several months leading up to the dreadful day when everything fell apart.
For the last few weeks, I've been going at it full throttle trying to get everything posted before training begins at Clincierge.
This morning I pulled some things out of the closet including a lovely handmade vintage babydoll that I bought at an estate sale before I became ill.
She wore a faded, slightly discolored light blue dotted swiss dress trimmed in old lace. There was a lovely little bonnet on her head that was tied under the chin. And her shoes. Sweet tan colored fleece moccasins embroidered with flowers. She even had a slip under her dress and was wearing diapers fastened with a pearl pin.
From the moment I bought her, I felt an immediate attachment to her. But I kept telling myself that she was meant for someone else to enjoy. This was business. I couldn't keep everything that I bought.
Yet I'd been putting off taking her out of the closet to list her.
This morning I told myself that I needed to get my head back in the game.
So out she came along with a few other items.
Geez, I forgot that she had jointed limbs so she could extend her arms and look like she wanted a hug.
I snapped some pictures of the other stuff first, saving the doll for last.
I tried to detach and pose her. Snap, snap, snap. Pictures from different angles. As I moved her around, I noticed once again how careful the person was that created her. The care that turned her into such a sweet baby.
Next, I turned her around so I could get pictures from the back. To do so, I had to place her face in the corner.
Then after a few pictures, I put the camera down.
She looked so pitiful, like I'd sent her to the corner for being naughty when she'd done nothing wrong.
Suddenly I began to cry, and clutched her to my chest like a seven year old.
My grandmother was the same way. She would see a doll that grabbed at her heart and she simply had to have it. And keep it. When she moved to a nursing facility, I inherited two of them.
Daisy is going to live with us in our home, propped up with Grandma's antique dolls in the living room.
I wish I understood these things better. Hubs did. He insisted that she belonged with us and I didn't need an explanation for why I wanted to keep her.
I feel rather foolish. I'm 64 years old and she's a DOLL for crying out loud.
Though maybe in a way she really isn't, as my heart has attached itself to her like she is real. Grandma told me once that she believed that some dolls have souls, like humans do. I laughed it off at the time but after today I’m not so sure.
I wouldn't be surprised if Grandma was the one that planted the seed so I couldn't part with her. Daisy looks like the kind of doll that she'd have loved too.
Welcome home Daisy Mae!
Love,
Mommy
Michelle Close Mills ©
