but the first present she opened on Christmas Day was the Last Doll. I remember when I got mine; I was about her age and it was a pretty fancy one, in its own trunk with several changes of clothes. And I remember feeling pretty sad that it was the last one. That doll resides on a shelf, high up in my closet, and I can't remember the last time I took her out, but I'll take her out again, just to make sure she's all right.
Later that day, L told me she a bit disappointed at first when she opened the doll, but then decided she liked the idea of getting a doll, an unexpected toy, for Christmas, among all the CDs and clothes and other acoutrements of the teenaged.
It is just another step down the road, away from childhood, but that Last Doll seems to sum up so much that really shouldn't disappear into our grown up selves: pretending, playing, acting parts. Maybe it won't be the last, after all. And maybe I'd better take mine out soon, and check on her.