Someone told me that when a baby puts something in their mouth for the first time, they log it away for future reference. So you still know what sand tastes like, even though you only tried it once and however many years ago it was (no need to specify).
Henry won’t be trying it again, I assume.
I love these firsts. I love how they feel so exciting to us, trivial as they seem. What I can’t get my head around is how we’re creating a childhood between us. His hazy first memories will be made up of our normal lives. The stories he’ll tell his friends about the exasperating quirks of his parents will be woven from our personalities. I feel the weight of it when he has a problem that only I can fix, when he cries and cries until I lift him up, and he buries chubby hands in my hair and quietens himself, I feel it: I am the mother, I am the quiet in his baby storm, and this is a childhood we are forming together.
I know we are destined to be desperately uncool to him one day. I’m so glad that it’s not quite yet.