Memory Development

Over the past two days, I think I've figured out why long term memory doesn't develop in humans well past age two. I, personally, only have very vague memories of anything that happened before about the time I started kindergarten--just a few glimpses of events or special occasions that obviously made a significant impact. I imagine it's the same way for most people.

And I've been keeping pretty close tabs on the things that Gabe remembers--because approaching the raising of my children from an observational standpoint, so that I can at least pretend that I'm learning about the development of the human brain, is one of the things I tell myself I'm doing to help keep myself sane. Periodically, I ask him about events or people that he experienced or met in the increasingly distant past, just to see if he still remembers. And I can say with moderate certainty that he really only started storing things long-term about last Christmas (so at about two and a half). He can still vividly remember the Christmas parade that Libby took him to, where Santa was saved by a fire engine from the top of the old movie theater here in town. Other memorable events--Halloween, our vacation last August, that sort of thing--he doesn't seem to recall well if at all (not surprisingly, the only aspect of Halloween that he seems to brighten up at the mention of is the candy, because the boy has a one track mind when it comes to sweeties).

I imagine the exact period when a child starts to remember things probably coincides with other notable cognitive developments, with language development probably playing the most major role since it's probably difficult to remember something if you don't have a way to describe it, even if it's in your own head and you're only trying to explain it to yourself.

I think the reason we don't remember much before age two is something that evolved in us along with our abnormally slow developmental processes. I think it's a self-defense mechanism. If we remembered all the trauma that we went through before we gained substantial control of our motor skills, I think there is a good chance that every person in the world would suffer from some form of post traumatic stress disorder.

I say this because I've been watching Norah the past few days and reflecting on what this stage was like when Gabe went through it, too (though, being tough as hell, he really never cried unless he smashed a finger, and Norah cries if her hair hits the ground too hard). She is to the point now where she is crawling freely, and she is trying her best to climb up on just about everything she can--which usually ends in disaster since she doesn't have the balance or leg strength to keep herself from toppling over one direction or the other (which is why I also haven't gotten a picture of her standing yet, because, by the time I get the camera, she's already crying from whatever she hit on her way down). In addition to this, infants approach the world face and fingers first. Anything that they can do to hurt their hands or faces, they will. She hasn't managed to slam her finger in any cabinet doors yet, but she has managed to catch them in the toy box lid and pinch them in the accordion gates. And everywhere she crawls, her face is the first thing that lets her know she's reached her destination.

In the last two days, she has injured herself in the following ways: she has fallen from her leaning-stand position at least a half dozen times, usually knocking into something; she has high centered herself on one of Gabe's big trucks, ending up with her face planting on the other side of it with her hands trapped underneath it so she was effectively trapped; she has thrown her head back--while sitting, thus throwing herself onto her back--in one of her little mini-tantrums twice, both times landing on something hard that was lying on the floor behind her; and she has pulled one of our living room lamps down on herself (if you're reading this before you come home tonight, Libby, yeah, she busted the shade on the lamp by pulling on the table behind her activity saucer)--she mostly missed herself with the lamp, but the shade bounced off her head on the way down.

And then there is the damage that Gabe has helped to inflict on her. Though we try to keep a pretty close eye on them when they're playing together (because Gabe tends to treat her either like she's as coordinated and tough as he is, or like she's just another one of his toys that can be messed with however he sees fit), I also think it's important that they have moderately unstructured playtime--I want them to work as much out about the best ways to get along as possible since they are bound to remember more if they are learning it themselves than if I'm just lecturing them endlessly. Since yesterday, he helped her meet the entertainment center face first while they were playing with some pillows (yeah, it sounds harmless enough, doesn't it? What could be safer to play with than a few pillows?) and he's bonked her on the head while tossing his toys around. The good news is that, whenever she starts to cry from being hurt, Gabe invariably starts to cry too, which I consider an encouraging sign that he feels bad that he's done something to hurt her.

None of her bonkings and thunkings were anything like severe, mind you, though you'd certainly never believe it if you heard the way she wailed. She had two light bruises last night and both seem to be gone today already (before anyone thinks about calling child services for neglect or something). Realistically, with the way she's getting around now, the only way I could conceivably prevent her from hurting herself would be to either follow her, six inches behind, the entire day so that I could catch her instantly, or for me to wrap her in bubble wrap and strap a helmet to her head. Neither of those options seems particularly workable to my way of thinking, though.

Anyway, back to my point. Now, imagine that YOU had been put through such a physical ringer in just the past two days (well, 32 hours, really), and imagine how that would affect you. Now imagine doing that for a solid six months or so straight. There's no way you'd come out of that unscathed emotionally or mentally. Thus the need for our mind to develop long-term memory skills that much more slowly. I'm sure this isn't groundbreaking news to anyone who's spent some time thinking about how the brain develops and why, but, since I hadn't, at least about the early childhood aspects of it, I thought I'd share.