This world is full of very young mamas. From the very beginning, since we are just a baby girl, we are trained to take care of babies, even when we are still one. We want them for Christmas, that’s what we tell Santa. And he brings us one, sometimes even two. We wash their plastic bodies, brush and comb, their blond artificial hair –if they happen to have some-, pretend to feed them and pretend they stained their diapers. We talk to them just like our parents and relatives and some random person in the street used to talk to us, with that patronizing tone reserved for puppies –animal or human. We love them because they never grow up and they never will. And once they do, we get bored and leave them hidden somewhere. They starve, they get dirty, and they die. Just at the same time we discover dolls. We go shopping, clean the house, bake cookies for the boys. And then someone buys us a husband for our doll. We make love with our absent genitals and meanwhile, our baby dies, the one in the deepest part of the wardrobe and the one inside us.
Text by the author of the blog
Photo by Stanley Kubrik
