At my second birthday I was given an African American baby doll by my grandma, which I named Emily. It turns out that Emily is an American Girl Doll. The Doll’s actual name is Bitty Baby. I did not know this until my seventh birthday when my grandma gave my sister Alex a Bitty Baby Doll. She did not realize that it was the same doll she had given me.
Emily has brown eyes with eyelids that actually closed when the baby doll was laid down to sleep. She came in a white outfit. Emily has no actual hair, but the plastic in the area that was her hair was pitted and a darker color than the rest of the doll. The plastic on top of her head made it appear that she has curly black hair. Her hands were folded into little fists like a baby’s does so often. The dolls body was made out of brown cloth and cotton even though her limbs were plastic. Under her right arm there was a long tear that occurred after my childhood best friend, Carmen, and I played tug of war with the doll. Carmen wanted to take the doll to play with, but I was not that good at sharing Emily. The cloth under Emily’s right arm tore so that her arm was almost torn off. I did not play with her for a couple of years because I did not want to break her anymore than she already was.
On Easter morning when I was six I woke up early and went downstairs. Emily was placed in a chair by the kitchen table. My mom had taken the time to sew her arm up by hand. There was a neat brown cross under her arm where the rip had once been. All of these years an Emily still posses that “scar”, even though I have had the opportunity to take her to the American Girl Doll hospital. If I did this then they would replace her body and make it like new, but I find myself attached to the unique “scar” which my mom took the time to create out of a wound.
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