More memories from my own childhood. Our recent pictures of blueberry picking reminded me of this series of little me picking raspberries. My father took these photos in the garden that my mother planted at my aunt's farm. Great memories... except I don't actually remember anything about that time at all. I look back at the photographs of the gorgeous lush garden and listen to the stories of long days spent making mud pies and the disaster of my eating a red hot pepper, but I don't have my own memories of any of it.
I don't know how old I am here (because I know nothing about children older than my own), maybe two, three, four? I have read that children start forming memories around three and as much as I know that the work I am doing now with Little Smith will lead to a healthy kid, it's kind of sad that he won't remember any of our daily adventures. Of course he will have the photos (boy will he have photos!), but I do have the illogical wish that he could hold onto this time.
Last year I kept waiting for him to learn to sit and eat and crawl and walk... and then suddenly he wasn't a baby anymore and I panicked and wanted it all to slow down. The last few months I've been very good about appreciating the moment and stage that we're in, not pushing forward and also not pining for the past. I won't know when he starts to form memories so it isn't something that I can even chart, I just have to let it happen naturally. I get all of that, but I still occasionally have the crazy thought that I'm doing all this work and the kid won't even remember it! Then I come back to my senses.
These are fun and exhausting times for our little family and someday we will remind Little Smith of our garden this summer, berry picking, millions of temper tantrums and giggles... and he won't remember a thing (and probably won't care!). I know Big Smith and I will enjoy these memories, and I have to admit that I am eagerly waiting for the day that Little Smith can hold on to a few too.