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I remember two dreams from when I was a year and a half old. The first is when I run around the room, the sun is shining very brightly and very gently through the window, and my mother catches me and takes me in her arms. At that moment, I open my eyes and my mother is actually standing over my crib, laughing.�
The second is that I am hiding in our yard in a thicket of bushes, because I am a hunter and I urgently need to catch Sasha, my aunt's classmate. I'm wearing my favorite T-shirt, a white one with blue fish on it, light sandals on my feet, I'm equipped like in the best houses in London and Paris, and Sasha is about to come out. I remember the joyful impatience, uhhh, that's how I'll catch it! Why I should do this, I somehow didn't think of in that dream.
As for not dreaming, I remember crawling on the floor, I can't be more than eight months old. One of my relatives wants to take me in his arms, I have a flash of irritation-what kind of people are these adults! I turn under the coffee table and chuckle to myself: try scratching me out of here! Not in such words, of course, but the emotions are exactly like that. So if someone says that young children do not understand anything, you should know that this statement is very controversial.
I remember exactly two dreams that I had around the age of 3. The first is how I am being driven in a carriage, some passers-by come up and look at my face, and then suddenly one day-and I am being driven along the wall of a house that bends in a strange way, the carriage drives on the roof. I don't remember any more. The second dream was like this-in the room, my grandmother dresses me in a silver suit like overalls and launches me into a long pipe like those in children's play areas. Inside the pipe are boxes of toys. I was very happy to go and play with all the toys, I met some other children there and they played with me. That's it.