“It’s a girl!” Well, I did want a girl, but it didn’t look like a girl. It barely had hair enough to cover its big wobbly head and eyes that were big enough to jump out of its face. Its body was small, still it was heavier than my baby doll back home and its disproportionate head kept falling everywhere. In the beginning it’s eyes were barely open, later when they were they didn’t do much. They glanced at me creepily as I walked through my own house. It blinked too often; its eyes weren’t open long enough to make eye contact. 

         We took it home the day I held it, which must’ve been a momentous one considering my parents wouldn’t stop taking pictures. I had always been my parents’ perfect princess, but this was extreme even for them. Its name was Sritha- meaning well nothing as important as mine. It was so adorable, and still very useless: I couldn’t throw it around to play catch. Or ask it to play catch with me. I was told it was to be my playmate, so I decided to ensure I got my playtime with the new doll.          

         It slept-all day and cried all night. It always took up all of my parents’ attention. Leaving me all alone with nothing but my dolls: Molly and Piggy and a few others, but they aren’t all that important. I realized I would no longer reign in my household. Instead, I would have to plot for an opportunity to be my parents’ princess once again. 

         My mom ran to attend an on-call meeting upstairs and left me, the responsible one, in charge. This was the perfect time for me to get to know this little creature that had dethroned me. I talked to her slowly at first, then I lured her in looking deep into her beady bug-like eyes. Quietly, I stepped onto the couch next to the crib elevating myself for my next move. 

         I gathered all of my strength and pulled her out of the cage that trapped my playmate and dragged her out. She was heavy, I won’t deny it. Well, the following series of events will explain just how heavy. It was okay at first, but then her stupid, stupid wobbly head threw off my balance and pushed both of us onto the floor. The stupid doll kept wailing, not understanding the secrecy of our mission. And my mom rushed down worried that I had hurt it, shrugging off my injuries she scolded me for being adventurous. 

         The store had lied to my parents, you know, when they told him that this new toy was supposed to be my playmate. Instead, my parents were sold a broken doll with a wobbly head and a loud, annoying overly used crying button that I seemed to trigger a lot. 

         I realized that my parents were right this wasn’t like my other toys, this one grew: it grew more hair, more teeth, and it grew bigger- more proportional. I liked that it was growing, once we were the same size my parents would no longer be able to say, “Let it go, she is smaller than you.” It was much later that I realized they meant younger, and that was a nearly impossible task to accomplish, but I couldn’t give up without trying. 

         On my 6^thbirthday my parents bought me a massive cake enough to feed all of my hungry munchkin friends, but they forgot to buy candles. Sritha was turning 3 that year, but I no longer wanted to be older, so I pulled out an old candle from my dad’s birthday that said 32. The knife was not accessible, but after acquiring all of the materials I happily sawed off the ‘2’ and shoved the ‘3’ into the cake in the very center. It was a beautiful sight to see, now the doll and I were twins. That’s exactly what I always wanted. My parents didn’t understand the gesture, but decided I maybe going through a mid-single digit crisis, and didn’t question it. 

         That’s the same year I met Divya and Deepika, these two twin girls in my grade. It’s also when I learned the twins had to be born on the same day. That was something even I couldn’t change, so instead I went home, and with much patience I finally was able to convince this new toy to agree to a peace treaty. Only and agreement without documentation doesn’t stick, so I crafted a contract using my grape purple crayon I drew two lines. I was sure to switch the colors-forest green-before chicken-scratching my name on one of them, and I handed another color to Sritha. I don’t think she had learned to color in the lines at that time, much less write on one, still the contract was as valid as any other and it hung up on our fridge as a reminder. 

         This peace treaty did not put out the flames that rose form our constant disputes over who looked more like a princess, who got to choose the channel afterschool, and the most heated topic: who got to sit on the tractor as my dad mowed our massive yard. But, the doll never stopped growing even taller than me, making it easy for me to refute my parents when they now say, “Let it go, she is smaller than you.” This crayoned treaty may not have held much value when it was created, but it definitely foreshadowed the peace we would have in the future.