Today we parted ways, by no fault of your own. And I owe you an apology.
From the bottom of my heart, I am sorry. Sincerely sorry.
I am sorry I gifted you to the cold & demonic hands of my three year old. In my defence, I had no idea what you were going to be in for.
What either of us were going to be in for!
I wished for a better life for you. For us!
This was not the vision I had when I plucked you from the shelves at our local toy store.
You were the chosen one. Unlucky, I know!
The day I found out I was finally housing a vagina in my uterus I could not wait to buy her first baby to watch her love and nurture. After forcing one upon my youngest son, when I was solely surrounded by scrotums & had a deep daughter desire to fill, he ended up using it as a football.
Decapitation may or may not of taken place.
The remains were never found.
So unfortunately this is not the first plastic baby that has been neglected under my care.
I admit, I am a repeat offender. The shame is very real.
I was nervous to revisit you, but I was certain this time would be different. I had visions of watching my daughter bathe you. Bubbles floating from the warm bath into the air, setting the mood of love. I would watch her maternal, motherly instincts kick in while I lovingly looked at her loving you.
Instead, she liked to push you under the water until you’d fill up & then she would gleefully watch as the water drained from your plastic asshole. I cannot imagine how degrading this must of been for you.
I had visions of listening to her sweetly talk to you & cuddle you like the warm hearted soul I also visioned she would be.
Fuck, I was wrong.
The other day I heard her say to you “Shut up stupid baby. Go to timeout” and then she threw a play doh container at your head.
I know you didn’t ask for it or retaliate.
You were the better person.
The better plastic baby.
I ask that you please remember she is also now solely surrounded by scrotums & the bastards teach her bad shit.
I’m working on this. I don’t believe all hope is lost.
This will be your legacy.
She de-clothed you straight away, in the midst of winter, purely so she could see if you had boobies. When she discovered that you did, she broke out into fits of laughter. Your tiny, pink, plastic nipples provided entertainment for my small minded children for an uncomfortably long time.
No one should be subjected to such demoralisation. I am sure there are laws against it.
Again, I am sorry.
I truly believed she would look after you.
Enjoy you. Protect you.
Instead, you are her go-to for therapeutic release when the world becomes all to much.
I enquired, but unfortunately there are no anger management classes for threenagers.
I did try, I promise. For both of our sakes.
When I filled her request of making a peanut butter sandwich the other day & then copped her abuse because she decided in that 4 minutes that she actually hates peanut butter, I didn’t realise you would brunt the backlash.
I admit, I was to busy protecting myself.
I let you down.
I believe this is around the time you went missing.
I knew things were bad, but I didn’t realise how bad. When I found you on the curb, naked & alone, I knew it was time for me to intervene.
Your expressionless face said it all.
Today I dropped you off in the big, yellow bin of opportunity.
The bin that will hopefully take you to a second chance at life.
The second hand bin of pre loved goods.
I know you probably feel like you were unloved. Understandable, you were. But I hope you are not scared. This is an exciting time for you.
I hope you find the love that I so desperately wanted my daughter to give you.
I hope you can push past the trauma you experienced at her hands. I hope I can too.
Truthfully, I’m jealous that you’ve escaped her clutches.
Wish me luck!
And please remember, it’s not you, it’s her.
She’s a bitch.