Playing Mummy

“You can play Mommy right now with Ideal’s Betsy Wetsy. . . ask your Mommy to get you Betsy Wetsy and then you can be a Mommy, too!” –1970 television advertisement

The ad begins with a girl dreaming she’d like to be a “Mommy” when she grows up. It ends by letting us know the doll and wardrobe (naturally, including diapers) is available from $5.95.

Is that what my Mum* had in mind for me the Christmas she gave me my Betsy Wetsy (long before 1970—Betsy’s been around since the 1930s), that I would grow up and become a Mum, too? I took that eight-inch doll with me everywhere: to school, to Sunday School, to my friends’ houses. We bottle-fed them (Beverly made the mistake of giving hers Orange Crush—the doll never recovered), changed the diapers, washed and ironed the wardrobe (and diapers) and shampooed the “soft Saran curls.” If I didn’t wear out that doll, the three sisters who followed me must have, practicing to be Mums.

I know I’m not alone in keeping a few dolls in the house. Quite a few people make proper collections of them. The reasons we do so are complex, but common to all humankind: “Among royalty, dolls have been given as gifts since ancient times as tokens of goodwill.”

Clarrissa Pinkola Estés**, Jungian psychoanalyst and cantadora, says of them: “The doll is related to the symbols of leprechaun, elf, pixie, fairy and dwarf. In fairy tales, these represent the deep throb of wisdom within the culture of the psyche. They are the creatures which go on with the canny and interior work, who are tireless.”

Maybe there was Estés’ kind of magic in that doll. Its patience was never exhausted with practice. There was nothing so complicated about Betsy, at five years old, my own hands couldn’t deal with it. The circle of life as experienced by mothers - feeding and cleansing - was simply and endlessly refreshed.

My babies are grown tall and independent now, but it seemed a joyous thing to care for them when they were itsy-bitsy. Getting an opportunity to care for a baby these days brings as much pleasure. Whatever else I was going to be, I remember always being sure I wanted to be a Mum.

Five years ago, I found Betsy in a bin at Frenchie’s. Her blue eyes are clouded, but still open and close. Each thumb and finger was individually poised and each tiny toe, dimpled and curled - just the way a real baby’s are! The mouth, nose and ears were delicately sculpted. A flood of memories poured over me. Of course, I brought her home. In secret, I go on E-Bay now and again to check out what vintage fashions are available for her.

Thanks for the lessons - and Baby Betsy, Mum! *My family always used the title “Mum.” Where did “Mommy” come from? **Women Who Run With the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype, 1992