How time flies.
I bought this dolls house whilst we were living in London when my daughter was a baby. It cost too much but I didn't care. I was so excited when it arrived, I carefully assembled it, and couldn't wait for her and I to play make-believe with her tiny dolls and tiny dolls furniture.
She never played with it once. Turns out it was my romanticised view of playing together, not hers. It gathered dust and took up space. Instead she played with her plastic dolls pusher, up and down the hallway, all day every day but never the dolls house. We traipsed it across countries when we moved. It has sat in her room for the past few years out of place, especially now in her newly teenager bedroom.
It's beyond time I got rid of it, sold it or gave it away. So before I do, I immortalised it in a photo for memories. Truth is the pusher was more fun, it was noisy on the floorboards, filthy dirty, went everywhere with us (even in snow) and is with her in nearly every photo when she was little.
Time I let go of the dolls house and the idealised fantasies it represented to me... or maybe I'll just pop it in the attic.