Just like the rest of us. Except that apparently they forget more. Which is why folks don’t remember much about being little. Most only remember highly emotionally charged events.
I remember falling off the rocking horse outside and cutting my head open on the stones. I would have been 18 months old then.
Sometime between age 1 and age 2.5, I rolled down the stairs of the church. I remembered it all my life and about twenty years ago, was in that church again and saw the stairs and thought, “Oh, so this is where that happened.”
I remember rolling down the hill in Austin, in a car, being alone with my brother. The oldest he could have been was 18 months, which would have made me two and a half.
My niece, when she was seven months old, said, “You scared me!” when one of my son’s popped up around her and she wasn’t expecting it. Now, at nine months, she just says “no” and “momma” and “dadda.”
My son, at age eight months, said, “I love you, Mother.” when I came home from work. He didn’t say another full sentence till he was one.
But I am pleased to know that they may be forgetting these things because they have so many other things they need to remember.