Babydoll Dress

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Free People does not actually call this dress, “babydoll,” however the shape that this is could not be anything else, in my humble little gnome opinion.

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I was on the fence about keeping this dress, because I had also gotten the dress in this post and I try, oh how I try, not to be a glutton. But I kept taking it out of the return box and caressing it until finally it felt weird to send back a dress that I had touched so many times. I’m not that kind of girl.

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Speaking of baby dolls, I have to admit to being terrified of them (ahem, gnomes being completely different). When I was a child of eight years old, I had a Cabbage Patch Doll I named Mary. I had begged Santa for a Cabbage Patch Doll that year, the ones I had seen on t.v…. With hair. And clothes… And chubby cuteness.

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I was rather surprised when I opened up Mary on Christmas day to find a withered up little thing staring at me from the box. She was a premie Cabbage Patch Kid. She was ugly. She was scary. However, she was the only one that I had and so I loved her. I played with her for years, but always in the back of my mind, was sorrow over not having a “real” Cabbage Patch Kid. Always she was not perfect. Regret swallowed her strange little head.

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I do not know what happened to Mary. Perhaps this is for the best. Otherwise I would have felt obligated to give her to my own daughter and the generational Mary duty would have continued. In fact, my daughter had no interest in baby dolls. It was not a fad while she was growing up. She did have every single Kelly doll ever made (thanks to an aunt who loved Barbie) which I regret donating many years ago.

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There was one doll I purchased for my daughter… It was a cute little baby. A sweet face… Whose body was made from some sort of water vessel. This meant she weighed one trillion pounds. She was dressed in… Wait for this. It is a doozy. She was dressed in an Eeyore suit from Winnie The Pooh and even had the hoodie with donkey ears attached. I do not know what I must have been thinking the day I purchased that doll.

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She played with it for a bit… And then it disappeared. I know. It could be anywhere. I am worried I will open up her closet one day to find the Eeyore baby staring at me from the depths of the closet. Its water body having slowly oozed out of the Eeyore suit to form a wretched smell. A gooey film clinging to its body as it stares at me accusingly.

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Aaaaaahhhh!

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How do I always manage to get so off track?

Do you own any babydoll dresses? Or baby dolls? Or warped Eeyore water babies languishing in your closet plotting your doom? I am hoping I can only answer “yes” to one of those questions.

13 thoughts on “Babydoll Dress

  1. I can’t believe how many ways you can wear that necklace. I am really bummed I did not pick it up! Macy has a few baby dolls, but she doesn’t do much with them. An occasional pat or kiss…but that is about it. She is still so little, so who knows what will happen. She did get a singing, shaking monkey with sunglasses for Christmas. It is semi cute, semi creepy. Thanks brother in law….

    • Thank you! I wore it again on Monday and did some reviews in it so it will be in tons more photos soon. I will watch it and if I see a popback, I will email you! It should definitely Popback soon!

      Too funny about the singing clapping monkey! I think I would prefer the doll! At least it would be quiet… Hopefully! ; )

      Have a fabulous Friday!

      Jenni

  2. I really like this dress & it’s exactly your style I think! It really looks flattering, comfy, & really pretty on you! You know sometimes comfy can mean frumpy & not flattering?! Well, this is the opposite, still pretty & flattering, & non frumpy! Definitely pretty on you! Did that just sound like a total circle of sentences?

    I too longed for a real cabbage patch doll on the commercials like you did! the one I received for Christmas that year was a preemie too, but I still loved her as well. She’s in a box in our garage, along w/ my great grandmother’s cabbage patch doll too. I can’t part w/ them bc I donated & threw away so, so, so much stuff from my childhood bc my parents downsized & didn’t have room & neither did I!

    Happy week to you! :)rebecca

    • Thank you Rebecca! I don’t know that I have much from my childhood either. I have a small handmade red box from a little trainset my “Uncle” Rusty made for me. And my childhood rocking chair. I think that is it. Did Grace ever play with dolls?

      Happy New Year!

      Jenni

  3. I know exactly what you mean about stroking the dresses and letting them talk you out of a return! This is very you and a wonderful print.

    I remember picking up my cabbage patch doll back in the day- due to the demand we had to take numbers in order to pick them up. I was number 98 and they had received a shipment of 104 dolls. Fortunately I got exactly the one I wanted- she had curly beige hair and two pigtails and her name was Petula Nadia. Sigh….

    • Thank you! Oh my goodness! I forgot all about the Cabbage Patch lottery! Which is probably how I ended up with a premie. The name of your doll is perfection! I love it so much. And it is so very “you.” It sounds like an old movie star name. I don’t remember how the craze with the Cabbage Patch Kids even started especially without the internet but everyone wanted one. The poor kid who was #105! Thank you for sharing and bringing back memories!

      Have a super weekend!

      Jenni

    • Ha! I wouldn’t doubt it. Of course, it could also be that I am the world’s worst closet cleaner.

      I hope you are having an awesome Saturday!

      Jenni

    • That is so cool that you still have them! And THEM! More than one! You lucky girl! And lucky Lulu! I am telling you that every time I see Lulu’s smiling face on Instagram, I smile too. She is so adorable!

      Have a happy weekend!

      Jenni

  4. I have a silly story to share with you. And I think, given the nature of this post, now is the time to do it.
    Based on a combination of my son’s autism and sensory processing disorder, I chose to hold him back from entering kindergarten for year. At the time, he was just beginning to speak and it didn’t seem to me that he would be successful if I enrolled him then. So I spent that year homeschooling him and felt confident the next year in his potential for success. I knew he would go in having learned the academics and feeling confident in them so he would then be able to focus on the social aspects and sensory challenges of a classroom.
    Anyhow, getting back on track…
    One day, early in the year, he came home and told me that all the girls really liked him. But he was not as fond of them. Because all they talked about were Barbies. All day, every day…according to this little heartthrob…
    Now, I grew up in a very rigid, religiously fettered household. A house in which Barbie and her suggestive figure, garments and lifestyle were not welcome. And moreover, the household in which any hint of desire for trendy toys was viewed as grounds for punishment via extra bible study.
    So I thoughtlessly told my son that I had never been allowed to have Barbies growing up. But that I was quite sure that, to little girls, Barbie was quite interesting…perhaps even the female equivalent of his Transformers.
    I remember quite distinctly that he nodded gravely at that suggestion, before saying “Mami, aren’t we lucky that you aren’t a girl?”
    Yes. Dear. So. Lucky.
    In the interest of time, let’s fast-forward…
    Christmas, that year. A dear friend helped him do his Christmas shopping. A dear friend who no doubt chortled as the cashier rang up the sale. Because waiting under the tree for me that Christmas… A beautifully thoughtful gift from my darling boy… Was my very first Barbie doll. Wide blue eyes-flowing blonde dresses-impossible figure and trashy ensemble… In all her glory!
    I was confused. Until the caffeine kicked in and I recalled our conversation of months ago. And burst into tears.
    Apparently those tears left quite the impression, because two more Barbies found their way home for Valentine’s Day and Mother’s Day that same year.
    Near the end of that school year I went in for my son’s IEP meeting. His teacher brought out several examples of his work from the past months including a “book “about Mami. My greedy little fingers couldn’t open that fast enough! Oh yes, there I was in all my Crayola glory. Long dark locks rendered in black and purple. A tall slim figure of chocolate brown. Giant purple eyes and a gorgeously wide fuschia smile. Me. Totally me.
    And on the next page with the fill-in the blank. I pored over every scribbled misspelled word. There it was, in black and white (and red). I loved coffee. And I was huggable but not smooshy. (Oh, the guilt of not being smooshy…) I was a hard-werker (werker, not twerker!) and…oh…
    I collect…
    Barbies.
    I collect Barbies?!?!?
    Imagine if you will, my face. My chocolate brown face framed in purple hair. Turning fuchsia like that wide smile. As I scrambled to explain that I was not some deviant strain of non-adult female who collected Barbies instead of cooking and baking and home working and mothering and….
    The Barbies-all three of them-sit in a box buried in the back of my closet. My collection. My collection of Barbies. My secret shame. And a reminder of the sweetest little boy I ever did know.

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