picture found here
Yesterday, I was talking to my husband about our earliest memories. He doesn't actually believe you can have memories until you're five or so, but I'm pretty sure I have actual memories from before that. I think my earliest memories are from around ages two or three. My brother was born two weeks before I turned three, and I remember the night he was born...going to a friend's house in the middle of the night, lying in a bed that as far too big for me, and waiting for my parents to come back. I also remember my mother taking me out to lunch after an ultrasound, when she was pregnant with him. I suppose that means I was about two and a half.
Growing up, it was a bit of a family joke that I'd traveled the world. I don't remember any of it, but the autumn I turned two, my parents moved to London for my dad's work. They traveled around during that time, taking me places like Paris and Rome and Vienna. When I grew up, and talked about wanting to visit cities like that, they'd always tell me, "you already have!" It was pretty annoying. I wish I could actually remember that trip.
When Sam and I were back in Boston two months ago, it was obvious my youngest cousin didn't really remember us. All my older cousins were old enough when we moved away that they know us well enough, but he was only about two then, and had no memories of the hours I spent babysitting him. (I once had him on my own for a week, but of course, he doesn't know that.) It's sort-of sad how we don't remember much at all from our first few years alive. But I also think it's fun to recall my childhood memories; most of them are pretty happy and sweet. I know several people who don't like to talk about their childhood at all, though, so obviously not everyone has good memories.
(This is my 100th post! I'll pretend like that's some sort of accomplishment, but I know it isn't really.)