My Baby Alive, we need to talk.

(Cue Psycho theme.)

I wish I didn’t hate you, My Baby Alive. But I do. I did from the moment I started to open your packaging. I had to use two different pairs of scissors and mess up my thumb. I finally got you out, but I was sweating and I was tired. So, so tired. And then I had to get all your accessories out too. And the whole time, my kids were waiting, waiting, waiting. And my blood pressure was just going up, up, up.

I wish you didn’t come with accessories. Your “food.” Your diapers. When we run out of these, we’re supposed to buy a whole new set. And your diapers are just like real diapers! It’s bad enough that my own babies have contributed to the landfills with all the diapers they’ve worn. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to add doll diapers to the pile!

And that “food.” What is that? Are my kids going to get sick if they sample it? And when it goes right through you so that you can make fake poop, is it all going to come out, or will a layer of crust form inside your body? Am I going to have to get in there with a bottle brush? Please, no. I cannot. I will not.

I wish you weren’t so freakishly large. You can’t be played with like the other dolls. You don’t fit into regular baby-doll equipment.

And I’m not saying this to hurt your feelings, but the other toys find you intimidating.

It’s not just your size. It’s your expression, too. In those eyes and that grin there is the suggestion of madness. (And the unkempt hair with prim bow doesn’t help.)

I wish you didn’t talk. You can say several phrases, and while it’s impressive that you speak so clearly and in two languages, to boot, well, how old are you? You take water from a baby bottle and eat baby food, which indicates you are somewhere between 6 and 12 months old. But I have never met an infant that could say “Te amo, mamá!”

My kids did play with you for a couple of days. They did. Ham especially enjoyed giving you your bottle. But I suspect he had other motives.

I don’t like toys being wasted, even the toys I hate. So, I hope the kids will play with you again. I’m sorry it didn’t work out the way we hoped. I wish things were different. And, um, sorry that I put a towel over you sometimes.

But I’m sure you understand.

One comment on “My Baby Alive, we need to talk.

  1. Elliott says:

    Too real isn’t any fun when you have two adorable real ones already. Either make it a bona fide toy or the real deal, not this strange pseudo person from the netherworld.

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