“How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.” – Annie Dillard
One of the first stories I remember my husband telling me when we first met was how, as a baby, he was incredibly frustrated that he couldn’t reach the mobile above his crib. His memory is unusually long, at least compared to mine, and that’s just one example. Fast forward a few years (despite my husband’s vow not to subject his children to similar frustration), our son has a mobile. Although perhaps in solidarity with his father, he’s never really taken to it.
When my husband recounts an early childhood memory (which is rather frequent), I often wonder what our son’s earliest memories will be. If he takes after me, he likely won’t remember anything from now at 14 months. But I do like to imagine he’ll have some inklings from his time as a toddler. Warm and fuzzy feelings, I hope. Maybe snippets of early autumn days like this, when the weather is still warm enough to enjoy the first leaves that fall.
Maybe he’ll remember the sun on his skin and the colors of the leaves.
He’s so much fun to watch at this age. I’m sure I’ll say that at every age, as I have all along, but it’s so rewarding to watch him collect new information and then see what he does with it.
We may not be able to spend every day like this, but I hope of his childhood memories, days like this rise to the top.
Prompted by the Daily Post – Reverse Shot.
The View Inside 