My son is quite a chatterbox at bedtime. Sometimes he talks about things that happened that day while other times he tells me silly stories he makes up. Occasionally, Choo-choo will ask about sounds he hears outside, such as car doors closing and neighbor dogs barking.
Sometimes, though, he pulls out a memory I thought he’d long forgotten. We were rocking before bed one night. “In Choo-choo’s chair,” I said.
“Not Choo-choo’s chair,” he quickly replied. “Mommy’s chair.”
Since the glider is in his room, I was a bit surprised at his answer. According to him, everything in his room is his, even if the item is only in there temporarily. Then came another surprise. “Daddy bought chair for Mommy birthday. He brought it in the house. It was really heavy.” He then went on to describe the events of my new chair being put together by my husband, something I remember vividly.
Apparently, Choo-choo does, too. He was a year younger. He was also in his playpen the whole time the chair was being moved in to keep him from getting outside or getting hurt. I recall him watching with curiosity as Diesel and I assembled my new glider. I never imagined, though, that this memory would stick with him.
Diesel says that Choo-choo is only two and hasn’t lived a long enough life for memories to be replaced by others. I’m not sure about this. What I am sure of is that I love hearing my son describe our shared memories from a different viewpoint. His viewpoint, one more dear to me every day.