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You start your life by forgetting your past. All the times you fell over, were hungry or overtired, or shat your pants as a baby or toddler. You don't remember that time unless something happened that's traumatizing in the extreme. Somewhere between that age and when you start school you start retaining memories. Not all of them but enough to reminisce. You're growing still so every day is a new experience and not everything makes the cut. And then you age. Once you cross 40 you'll notice a lot more that you cannot remember why you went to the garage but you can remember all the teachers from your elementary school days. Most of your classmates too but that guy's name in Accounting who you talk to every other day is nowhere to be found. And when you reach an age where death is becoming likely every day, you reminisce and you remember lots of stuff from ages ago but not what you had for breakfast. Dementia fucks with you but they remember their moody teenage music tastes and react more to that than their own offspring.
Memory retention is not a linear thing.
I remember breastfeeding, learning to crawl and walk, the intense frustration I felt while trying to communicate before I learned how to speak.
While I’m a bit skeptical about your memories of learning to crawl, I’ll accept those pre-speaking memories, because I have those too. My two earliest memories I wasn’t speaking real words yet, just babbling, and I remember the frustration; both with being understood as well as with anyone actually trying to figure out what the hell I was saying. I remember it was especially frustrating as I could understand others around me, I just couldn’t be understood myself.
I also remember how big I was; in the one memory I was standing beside a chair, and it was the perfect height for me to lay my head down in the seat while standing up. So, standing but not yet talking. That would put me in the range of 10-14 months old, give or take
Sorry for the late response, I missed your comment.
I can tell you my specific motivation for learning to crawl.
Before I was born, my father had a hobby of brewing beer, which he attempted to keep with a baby in the house. With each batch, there was a glass carboy on the floor beneath the telephone nook in our kitchen. Full of a bubbling brown liquid, with a water airlock on top letting the CO2 escape, this was, by far, the most interesting object in the house to baby me. I would stare at it from my high chair, and I wanted to get closer to it. So I learned to crawl, sat next to it, and poked at the rubber stopper until I shoved it into the carboy and ruined that batch of beer. My father was very upset.
My father never brewed another batch of beer after that. A couple decades later, I took that carboy out of my parents’ garage, crushed up the dried rubber stopper and fished it out of the carboy, and used it to brew my own batches of beer.