Okay, so years ago I bought a cloth raggedy doll as part of a healing exercise after miscarriage #1. Wierd I know.
Recently I located said doll in a closet where I had stuffed it away. Now that I have a daughter of course, dolls are somewhat appropriate. But have you seen the dolls that they have these days? There's Barbie of course, who can't actually hold her 42 inch bust up with her 13 inch waist, the Bratz which are basically gansta slut dolls and then a whole slew of dolls that can walk, chew bubble gum and declare their undying love for YOUR CHILDS NAME HERE.
So I dusted little forlorn raggedy doll off, dressed in some of Rowan's clothes and gave her to Rowan, who was cautious but delighted at this new creature in her small world.
Naturally, Dear Son at 5 was also delighted since the doll made an excellent sidekick for all those 5 year old adventures as various comic book superheros involving tights, masks and fighting injustice in the living room.
But finally I got motivated and spiffed Rowan Too as she has been monikered up a bit more than her blue moon button eyes and bearded stuffing hair.
I present to you Rowan Too: (drum roll)
