Although I have been known to forget where I placed my shoes, my cup of coffee, and my car keys, actually, I can admit that my long-term memory reaches back to my toddler years. Granted: these toddler memories are simple, base even. The neural pathways were developing into intricate networks inside my tiny brain to modulate such standard infantile functions as crying, laughing and nose picking.
But, my son, Seb, already having mastered on demand crying, being silly and pinching his nostrils closed with his thumb and forefinger, seems to be gifted with an astonishing memory. He surprises us by reminding us of birthdays, like those of his mom, Grandpa, and Carl, the tall black man we met once in the storage container aisle at Target. Along with the birthdays of his dad, unborn sister and all his cousins, Seb claims even to remember his own birthday.
One afternoon last summer, Seb was listening in on a discussion between Elia and me about his baby sister. Elia’s pregnancy had reached Week No. 26, and a pronounced round overhang was just becoming obvious. Elia and I were priming Seb to become a big brother, and Seb understood that a baby was forming in his mom’s belly. Elia pointed to her belly and told Seb that his baby sister was looking forward to playing with him and would be coming out soon.
Then, turning to Seb, Elia asked, “Seb, do you remember when you were a tiny little baby in Mama’s belly?”
“Yes,” said Seb.
“What was it like?”
“It was dark… and red,” said Seb. “It was too warm.”
“What did you do in there?”
“I waited so long.”
Seb was a week overdue when Elia’s water broke. At the hospital, Elia waited on a thin bed in discomfort. As the nurse berated Elia for crying while she administered pitocin to force contractions, Elia’s labor pains became unbearable, and she began to scream, “No puedo! No puedo mas!”
Ten hours later, after two failed epidural attempts, Dr. Steven hoisted Seb by his neck from the incision of Elia’s belly.
Elia continued to probe Seb’s birthday memory, “Who did you see first when you were born, Mama or Papa?”
“First, Papa. Then, you,” recounted Seb.
After Seb was dried off, Dr. Steven handed him to me. I cradled my baby boy, and Seb wailed. I carefully brought him to Elia, whose head was cordoned off from the rest of her body by a giant curtain. I held him down close by her smiling face.
“Mi precioso, mi ninyo, mi corazon, mi bebe,” Elia said.
Suddenly, Seb stopped crying, opened and blinked his eyes, furled his brow and listened to the sweet voice of his mother.
Seb did not share much more of his recollection of his first moments post-womb, though we have questioned him a bit further. We are skeptical that we are treading into the familiar parental territory of unjustified pride, yet we remain intrigued by this novelty. Visual, kinesthetic and auditory memories, or a wild fantasy, what do you think: is it possible that Seb’s recollections of his birthday moments are true, or are they simply travails of his developing toddler imagination?
The Meandering Sidewalk 