One thing blogging is good for is reminding me about reality.
I said last night, with all sincerity, “My babies don’t cry!”
I was thinking of my little babies, and how they were worn babies and very content little ones.
But I wasn’t thinking of the teething, and long car trips, and not-sleeping, and times when I had to leave them behind for something.
They most certainly can and do cry, and like any other babies they had no other way to let me know they had a need.
It’s funny, really, how my brain works.
I begin to understand how my Grandmother (who actively– intentionally– blocked out the unhappy memories of her childhood) could genuinely forget most of her early years because she tried.
My memory of the negative is quite patchy, and I’m not even trying to forget.