I was a tomboy growing up. Loved playing outside, loved getting dirty, loved following my older brother around and whining and crying until he included me, or chased me away.
Barbies were fun, but I had the Barbie Catamaran and RV, as well as taking them on expeditions to my various forts.
But for whatever reason, I became, how should I say this, girly! Girly later in my childhood, probably 9 or 10. And inexplicably started carrying around my large antique bald doll named Diane.
Diane was bald, I didn't make her bald, someone else did, before I owned her. So my mom put a baby bonnet on her and called it good. I wasn't embarrassed that I brought my doll with me at an age when most girls have stopped, but I'm not sure why it happened either.
Most of my childhood I can remember always wanting and waiting to be older. In a hurry to be 8, in a big hurry to be 10, and quite excited when it became 1980 instead of 1979.
So why I started to play with dolls instead is beyond me, but I'm sure it makes for a fascinating study into my mental health!