Did you have Lego Hero Factory when you were a little girl? – JD, 4

We’re having a clear out at the moment and one thing that definitely isn’t going to the skip is my favourite toy from childhood (I’ll tell you about him in a minute).

We all have one, don’t we? A toy that meant and means more to us that all the others.

It’s a meme

1. Take a snap of your toy (or find an old pic)
2. Post it on your blog with the story behind it
3. Add the badge to your post (the code is below – scroll!)
4. Come back here and add your post to the Linky so we can all have a peek into your childhood!


<div align="center"><a href="http://www.amummytoo.co.uk/2012/04/childhood-toy/"><img src="http://www.amummytoo.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/my-favourite-childhood-toy.png" alt="My favourite childhood toy" title="My favourite childhood toy" width="150" height="150" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-4415" /></a></div>

And now, meet Stevie…

This little fellow at the top of the page is Stevie. He is 25 and three quarters.

I’m not a girly girl, I never was. I spent most of my time either buried in a book or riding my bike. I didn’t own a barbie and I hated pink, but I loved Stevie.

I got Stevie for my fourth birthday from a toyshop that isn’t there anymore. A toyshop at the back of a shop otherwise filled with boring things like kitchen gadgets and food. At the back, down some stairs was a world full of games – what seemed like acres of shelves, stuffed to bursting point with toys. In reality, it was probably a fraction of the size of the local Toys R Us we have today, but back then it seemed huge.

I chose Stevie carefully. I didn’t want a cutesy doll with bleach blonde curls that weed on command, I wanted as close to a real baby as possible. And so I chose Stevie and named him after the son of one of my mum’s friends, who I guess I must’ve had a teeny crush on.

Stevie had his own pushchair and regularly came on outings with us. Of course, I’d soon grow bored and leave my mum carrying the lot, but Stevie had to be shown respect at all times.

That’s probably why my brothers took such pleasure in ripping off his arms, leg and head and chucking them down the stairs in an avalalanche of plastic limbs, with me tearing after them. It’s comical looking back now but oh, how I wailed at the time!

Once I started school, I still carried Stevie with me on occasion, but grew less protective of him. I’ll never forget the day I handed him to my mum, who stuffed him into a carrier bag on the back of my brother’s pushchair. I wasn’t bothered, but the woman who came over and hollered at my mum for mistreating a baby clearly was.

Mum groaned, laughed and I was secretly delighted that my little Stevie could still pass as real, even despite the multiple trips down the stairs in pieces, the smudges of felt tip pen on his face, and the various grazes that come from spending too long in a messy toy box.

Stevie is the only toy I’ve held on to and kept safe. Through university, through city living, through house moves, through parenthood thus far. He lives in a box most of the time, but he’s special. And yes, I know he’s just a doll!