I wouldn't say my aversion to dolls is a phobia or anything. Most of the time the don't bug me. By now, Baby Child has developed a keen fondness for little baby dolls of her own, so we have several. They often get strewn around the house like any other toy. They aren't real babies or anything. It's no big deal.
Except when I walk into my hallway and see this:
Ignore the mess and take a closer look at the far right corner:
There, that's it. A doll, casually tossed aside and in a very odd position on the floor. Seeing it made me do a double take, with that sort of heart in the mouth feeling that I get whenever I see a young child in trouble (Usually on tv shows that I've seen recently like House or Battlestar Galactica. I need to stop watching stuff like that.) and then I realise that it's "just a doll."
Which should, you know, in theory, make me feel better. Somehow it doesn't, so instead of walking towards this tiny, helpless, inanimate object and put it away where it belongs, I leave it there. I rush quickly past, on more important errands. And it stays there, waiting to startle me the next time I walk past -- which I do -- and the cycle continues.
I am reminded of when I was still pregnant with Baby Child, and we had our bedroom set up with a lovely little bassinet for the new baby-to-be. Eldest Child used it as a doll bed for a while, so every single time I walked into my bedroom and saw that blasted doll in the bassinet, I thought it was a newborn. I felt a little shock every time. I'm such a maroon.
So, no, I don't think it's a phobia, and not a single one of their dolls have turned into this creature, but I'm still suspicious. And I still don't like them.