For those of you creeped out by dolls, this post is not for you. For all the rest of you sane people who don't watch Chucky, ignore the first sentence. This is about innocent childhood memories. My dolly, whose name is Baby Janie, has been in my possession since pretty much my birth. She has seen her fair share of good and bad days. Both her arms have been ripped off at points, but thanks to my grandma, she never lost them forever. I tried putting makeup on her with gel pen and pierced her ears with sewing pins, both in elementary school. It's amazing she is in as good of condition as she is. My dolly was there to comfort me when I was sad, and she also helped me become that weird girl at sleepovers because I couldn't sleep without her and my favorite baby blanket. I still have the blanket too. I packed her in (carefully) with my belongings when I moved up here. I wouldn't leave her for the world even now.
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