My mum’s cousin who was born in 1928 said that for her thirteenth birthday she received a toy pram with a life-sized dolly. She paraded it proudly up and down the village high street.
Thirteen! I kid you not. In later life she couldn’t believe it herself. Nowadays, it’s more likely she would have a real one.
It reminds me of a joke about the much-parodied detergent ad:
now hands that do dishes can feel as soft as your face
with mild green Fairy Liquid
Mummy, why are your hands so soft?
Because I’m only fifteen.