A couple of weeks ago we went to an American Girl doll luncheon. This was outside the official realm of the American Girl doll store and restaurant. I have always loved plush animals of any sort but just never got into dolls; it didn’t matter if they were baby dolls, young girl dolls, or Barbie dolls. So when my mother-in-law suggested getting my daughter her own American Girl doll for Christmas I had no idea how it would go over. Like me, my child is in love with all types of animals. However, she seems to be more feminine than I was and I must confess I like seeing her in dresses … which I REFUSED to wear unless it was the first day of school or for church. My mother-in-law and I both studied the dolls at length and tried to get the one that most resembled my child. It has my daughter’s deep, dark brown eyes and auburnish hair, although it is straight and its skin is darker. Right before Christmas I was happy to be at the American Girl doll store where I had lunch with my grandmother-in-law and my mother-in-law, along with my daughter. We had four generations there plus the doll, whom my child named Paris. I could not believe all the things they sold: high chairs, travel packs, clothes, accessories, furniture, animal companions, jewelry, and so much more. The most jaw-dropping thing for me was the hair salon. They had actual people braiding, straightening, curling, and cutting the dolls’ hair; of course it was by appointment. Her grandmother bought Paris got her own special chair (which acts like a child’s high chair that attaches onto the sides of tables.) For dining there her doll received her own miniature gift bag containing a plate, cloth napkin, cardboard table setting, and (my personal favorite) a glass of sparkling pink lemonade in a goblet. Paris had already scored a tiny cell phone complete with an American Girl Doll “credit card,” a library card, and five very realistic looking dollars. In addition, the cell phone has a screen that can be manually changed from weather to games or calls. I was surprised to see a little boy eating there with his doll. He had straight blonde hair in a cut indicative of the ’70s, as did his doll. I covertly watched him love and nurture him and thought, wow, someone is going to be very lucky to have him as a father one day. F.H. Bradley, the British idealist philosopher, once said, “We say that a girl with her doll anticipates the mother. It is more true, perhaps, that most mothers are still but children with playthings.” I would disagree. Motherhood is very real. It is sobering, shocking, and straining, but — in my opinion — it is also life’s greatest joy. It is not without pain, hardship, sacrifice, doubt, and worry. When I see my baby doll buckle her doll in the car before herself I know she will be an incredibly loving mother. Maybe Bradley was right; I really do love playing with my very own American Girl Doll.
