and, goodness, it’s sad what you forget. You think you’ll memorize every tiny thing because every tiny bit about it consumes you—what they eat, the noises they make, the balled-up fists and flapping arms, the wispy hair at the back of the neck and the soft, rounded shoulders at bath time . . . But you don’t. You can’t. Every week your child gets replaced by a new one, a bigger, more advanced one, and I don’t think it’s possible to retain all the personalities faithfully. It’s like knowing ten different people in the space of two years.
