Her first doll was Annie Laurie, her first teddy was Bar. Bar had a squeaky ear, back in the day.
They’ve done a better job of hiding her same age and will both go wherever she does, the rest of the way — the full distance of her life if she lasts as long as they.
Sometimes she wishes that her mother hadn’t said, “Be sure to wash your hands, Girls, before you play. And when you’re through with playing with them for this day, put them all back in the cupboard just the right way.”
Some other children’s mothers didn’t care at all, if their brothers lopped the head off all their dolls.
If she had had a mother, more like they, she wouldn’t have to worry now and it wouldn’t be so sad, to wonder who will care about them, once she’s gone.
If she had had a daughter, she would have called her Annie. And Annie would have had a teddy just like Bar.