Babies

Obviously, yesterday was Easter. I went over my nana's house, as my family does every year, because all three of my aunts and my cousin live there with my nana. Every year around the holidays is when my aunts will typically let loose some story about me as a child, and last Christmas, I heard one from my aunt Teresa. Apparently, when I was a toddler, I didn't like anybody to touch my head, and for a good reason. I had gorgeous, curly, blond hair. Whenever it got wet or if anybody tried to play with it, I would yell, "DON'T. TOUCH. MY. HEAD." Naturally, this was pretty adorable. It's also kind of ironic that, now, not a day goes by that I don't braid somebody's hair.
The thing is, I don't remember any of this. I mean, I doubt that anybody can recall their infancy in great detail. After my aunt Teresa brought this up at Easter, she said that she had been talking about it with somebody that remembered me from that era. It was her ex-husband's cousin or something like that, and I don't remember ever meeting her. I think that's kind of unfair. As babies, or even as children, our parents show us off to everybody and tell embarrassing stories about us, and then, as teenagers or adults, when we meet those people again, all they know about us is that one embarrassing thing. And we don't remember, but we are expected to for some reason.
I realized recently that I'm turning into one of those people. I have three first cousins once removed, all five and under. There is Adela (5), Isla (3), and Jack (2 months). Adela and Isla live in Virginia and I only see them once or twice a year, and I already get the feeling that they don't remember me. I'm the one that taught Adela how to make dinosaur noises and played with them every day for a week when they stayed at my cabin, but I know they'll never remember any of that. It's a trap. You play with the cute baby but the adults are the only ones that remember, and when the baby grows up all of the adults talk about it. Nobody wins. I suggest that nobody plays with babies.