Cinderella is differently-abled.

The toddler got a Cinderella doll for her birthday. She saw it in the grocery store a week before the big day and immediately glommed onto it. We were in the baby aisle; I was deciding which was cheapest - brand-name diapers with doubled coupon or store-brand diapers with no coupon. Having decided in favor of the store-brand, I turned to see my little one, stacking boxes of Disney princess dolls in the middle of the aisle. (Diabolical store, to place the toys next to the diapers!) It was an impressive stack, almost as tall as her, and she's extremely tall for her age. Unfortunately, although I was pleased with her stacking prowess, I had visions of the pile crashing down and having to pay for every one of the $10 dolls.

I hustled back to her and hurriedly started to put the dolls away. Naturally, she protested. Loudly. Very loudly. We finally compromised by letting her carry a Cinderella doll around the store while I finished our shopping. Then I spent several minutes explaining how Cinderella lived in the store and couldn't possibly go home with us. That's when I made my fatal mistake. I told her if she was very good and left Cinderella there without any tantrums, then maybe Cinderella would come to live with us on the toddler's birthday.

I thought she'd forget about it. She didn't. Every morning she'd wake up talking about Cinderella and birthday presents. She told Daddy, she told big brother, she told her friends at church and the little boy next door. She even told Grandma all about Cinderella and birthdays. What else could I do? I got her Cinderella.

Of course, Cinderella came with various accessories. A bracelet, three charms, removable clothing, long gloves and two clear-with-silver-glitter plastic shoes. Inevitably, the shoes wouldn't stay on. No problem. Neither did anything else. I redressed Cinderella about once every 5 minutes the first day we had her. At least her hair was styled with some kind of plastic substance that made the hair impossible to brush, wash or cut. (Yes, all things I did to my own Barbies at one point or another.)

One day, Cinderella disappeared. The toddler didn't say anything or even seem to notice Cinderella was missing. I wasn't sure whether to be relieved she hadn't made an outcry, or peeved that the doll had gotten old so fast. I decided to be relieved. I had a bad feeling about where that doll might be.

Sure enough, I found Cinderella today, when I was moving the living room furniture to clean out the toys underneath them. The dog had gotten to her. Her face was intact, which was a relief, but alas, she was not unscathed. He'd amputated her left arm, gnawing it off just below the elbow.

I tried to hide it, but the toddler caught a glimpse of that blue dress and got all excited. At first I pretended I didn't know what she was talking about, but in the end, I had to return Cinderella to my darling daughter.

There was a shriek of horror, then ...

Nothing.

I was turned away, too cowardly to face the grief I anticipated, but I turned back around at this. The toddler wasn't standing there in shock, she was heading for her bedroom to play with Cinderella. In no time at all, Cinderella had stripped and was being walked down the hall in all her bizarrely-dimensioned glory.

The toddler knows Cinderella is damaged and she understands that the dog did it. She just doesn't care. The husband wants to get her a new Cinderella; The armless doll creeps him out just a little. Since the dog chewed up the shoes, too, we need to at least get those. I don't know that we need a new doll, though.

The toddler has a port wine stain on her cheek. It covers her ear, down her neck to the top of her shoulder, then up to the middle of her jaw, up to her cheek, and over in a straight line to her ear again. At the best of times it's pale pink; when she's throwing a tantrum or is outside in the cold it turns dark purple. She doesn't know yet that she has it, but she's reached an age now where she soon will start to realize she's different from the other kids. I hope the people she meets won't care anymore than she cares about Cinderella's arm. Since that won't happen, I mostly hope that I can teach her not to care about the cruel words, and to know her own value.