Family Daze

High-maintenance doll teaches Mom a lesson

By Debbie Farmer

This Christmas, I gave my daughter Amazing Amy, a popular talking doll equipped with electronic sensors that register when she's hungry, lonely or sick. My daughter had never enjoyed dolls, but I thought taking care of one would be an effective way to teach her about having responsibility, without endangering the animal kingdom.

My daughter opened the box and pulled Amy out by the hair.

"Thanks, Mom," she said, as she propped Amy against a table leg and poured the accessories onto the floor in a pile. There were several diapers, pajamas, a thermometer, a plastic Popsicle, a comb and brush set, applesauce, peas, cough syrup, a piece of pizza and a wardrobe larger than Ivana Trump's. The only thing missing was a birth certificate and a college savings plan.

"Plastic pizza," my daughter said. "Cool."

"You must be gentle with Amy," I said as I read the directions. "When Amy's happy, all five hearts light up on her chest. She will tell you when she's hungry, tired or sick. It's important for her to keep all of her hearts lit. Understand?"

She nodded and carried Amy around by the hair for a whole hour before propping her up on the sofa to watch television.

The next morning at breakfast, Amy only had four hearts lit up.

"I don't feel well," the doll said.

I couldn't believe how far technology had come since the invention of dolls that wet themselves.

My daughter tried burping her, changing her diaper and a feeding her a piece of plastic pizza, but nothing helped. I quickly pulled the directions out of her box and read that we needed to take Amy's temperature. My daughter inserted the thermometer into Amy's mouth, but she must've missed the electronic sensor because nothing registered.

The second time didn't go any better. On the third try she locked Amy under her knees, made a fist around the thermometer, and thrust it into her mouth with a forceful stabbing motion.

"Stop it!" I quickly snatched the doll away. "You need to be more careful."

I showed her how to insert the medicine dropper into her mouth and gently squeeze the button.

Amy was content for a whole 15 minutes before she asked for a hug. My daughter carefully picked up Amy and gave her body a slight squeeze. Nothing happened, so she took a deep breath and squeezed harder. Then she threw Amy on the floor and pressed both hands on her chest as if she were giving her CPR.

"That's not how to keep Amy healthy and happy," I said. "I'll baby-sit for awhile and show you how to do it."

After raising two children, I knew handling one electronic doll would be no problem. I picked her up off the floor and propped her in a chair. "See?" I said. "Amy's happier already."

She remained content for a whole five minutes before asking for another dose of medicine, followed by a diaper change, a piece of pizza, and a different dress--preferably pink. When she asked for another hug, I began to wonder what the person who invented her was doing now. They were probably sitting in an office in big toy corporation eating a leisurely lunch without interruptions while projecting an increased quarterly profit margin, while I spent my day catering to a miniature, blond, blue-eyed version of Howard Hughes dressed in a flowered pinafore.

After two hours of babysitting, I had bags under my eyes and I had developed a nervous twitch. I wondered how many years of therapy my daughter would need if I pried open Amy's back with a screwdriver and ripped out her battery pack.

"Mommy, where are you going?" She said.

"Out to the garage to find the toolbox."

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Readers can contact Debbie Farmer at familydaze@home.com.

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