30.5 years ago I was born.
20.5 years ago I had my first real kiss. Her name was Jules.
18 years ago I smoked my first cigarette.
17 years ago I got drunk for the first time.
16 years ago I met my husband and basically told him to get lost.
16 years ago I got my first non-babysitting job; paid under the table as a barista.
14 years (almost) ago I attended my first homebirth.
12 years ago I moved out of my parents house.
11 years ago I married my husband.
9 years ago I gave birth to my son, E.
7.5 years ago My family and I moved 1200 miles from Oklahoma City, OK to Pittsburgh, PA.
2.5 years ago I found out that it was okay that I hated Friends, because so did William and now we could both stop watching that horrid show — yes, we were both convinced that the other one liked it, so we watched it just to be supportive.
1.5 years ago I broke my leg or more specifically, I shattered my left tibial plateau (that sucked and still does).
I’ve been thinking a lot about time recently. How our lives are just collections of little moments. The irony of which moments we remember and which ones we have forgotten is often quite humorous and always revealing. It’s interesting which memories we seem to never forget, especially if they come from a time when we were so young that most people assume we can’t really be remembering them, but rather remembering someone else talking about events from our past.
I have a distinct memory of climbing out of my crib and walking around the corner from the room my crib was in and looking at my father sitting at a kitchen table and then him looking up at me. This was from when I wasn’t even one year old yet and my parents lived in a tiny little apartment on the cusp of Edmond, OK and Oklahoma City, OK. I don’t know why I remember this moment or why I can’t remember anything else from my surroundings in this memory nor can I remember anything that happened after my father looked up at me. Did I get reprimanded for climbing out of my crib (because I preformed the act like I was a pro at it)? Was my father happy to see my face peeking at him from around the corner? I was probably avoiding a nap that I didn’t want or need; I hated napping or sleeping when I wasn’t actually tired, like all children (like all people). Why this memory? It’s the oldest definite memory that I have of this lifetime to date.
What’s your oldest memory? Leave me a comment; I’d like to hear what you can remember and why you think you can remember that moment in particular.