"Goodbye, sweetie," she says, placing the doll into the seat and fastening the seat belt across her body. "I have to go to work now. I'll see you soon."

The doll's name is Natalie, and to the average observer, she is nothing special. But to Abby, she is a prop in a wonderful imaginary world of motherhood — a world I love to look in on and am occasionally permitted to join.

Natalie is about a foot tall, with a mass of matted, shoulder-length, dirty-blond hair, often adorned with plastic barrettes or pulled up in a purple scrunchie. Her blue eyes close when she lies down and pop open when she stands up. She has a white, cloth torso, and her face, arms and legs are made of plastic. She wears the same maroon dress with white, pink and yellow flowers every day. Her lips are parted in an angelic half-smile.

Everywhere Abby goes, Natalie goes. She dresses the doll each morning and brings her in the car to school. She straps her into the top of the cart at the grocery store, reads her books and takes her for long walks around the back yard in a white, wicker carriage.

Natalie watches Abby draw pictures, sits on her lap when she swings, joins us at the dinner table and listens to bedtime stories. When I tuck Abby in each night, Natalie is always snuggled tightly in her arms.

At first I thought this would be a phase, like the one before it, when a small, brown, stuffed dog named Tom seemed to sneak into Abby's backpack every day. But the obsession with Natalie has lasted for weeks. After dinner one night, I asked Abby why she likes being a mother so much.

"I like it because I get to like, mostly have, a child," she said. "It's mostly because I love her."

I find it oddly comforting that in an era of electronic pets and 24-hour cartoon channels, Abby's favorite toy is a $10 doll. And unlike most of the dolls on the market, Natalie doesn't "do" anything. Indeed, she is a rare breed in a world where the toy-store shelves are lined with dolls that eat, drink, pee, talk, walk, sing, say prayers, do gymnastics and ride remote-controlled scooters.

And then, of course, there is Barbie. I'm not a big fan of the blond bombshell, but when Abby begged for a Barbie doll last year, I figured it would be best not to add to Barbie's allure by banning her from the house. Abby was thrilled when she got several Barbie dolls for her fifth birthday.

A year later, they are piled on top of each other in a toy box, a jumble of arms and legs, glossy blond hair, tiny clothes and hot-pink high heels.

The other day, I asked Abby what she thinks is the most important thing about being a mother. "Making sure he or she is OK," she said without hesitation. "That's the importantest thing."

To be sure, Natalie has had more than her share of trips to the doctor, for shots, sore throats, fevers and the chicken pox. After school the other day, she got a lecture on her eating habits. "Oh sweetie, you're so hyper. You shouldn't have had ice cream for breakfast. You better have something healthy."

I have a feeling this Mother's Day will be extra-special, because I'll get the best of both worlds — real and pretend. I'll celebrate the day with my mother and my daughter, and I'll fulfill my duties as "Grandma" by making sure that Natalie remembers to give her mom a card.

And, much as I will try to seize the moment, I know I will also envy the little mother at our house. She can keep her "sweetie" the same age forever, if she wants.

Mine, meanwhile, seems to grow up a little more every time I turn my back.

——

Lisa Miller is The Daily Star's community editor. She can be reached at lmiller@thedailystar.com or (607) 441-7216.