The Earliest of Times

I can only remember living in Waldorf, Maryland (apparently that's where the band Good Charlotte formed), but I can't remember ever living in California.
My parents tell me I was a quiet baby and toddler, I never threw fits in public, I liked to sing, and I didn't cry much.
My first word was "shit."
I remember I liked to play dress-up.
I hated role-playing especially family role-playing; Being a baby and a mother were the most unappealing things in the world.
I had a kitchen set, while the other kids played house, I took out all the colorful plastic silverware and dishes and organized them in different patterns.
My father jokingly referred to me as "The Freak Child" because I never built things with my blocks or Legos. He said I made 3-dimensional matrices with them by shape and color instead.
I remember I learned how to count to 100 by hearing it once and I annoyed my mother and father all the way down to Florida one car trip by repeating it over and over again.
I had a babysitter, a boy who lived in our neighborhood I'm guessing. I think I thought he was an asshole. He would throw his cat down the stairs and put me in time-out when he didn't want to play with me.
We had a cat, Boo-Boo, and a black lab, Chase. Boo-Boo hated me until I got much older. Chase loved the water, like any lab should, and I would wave the garden hose around and laugh as he jumped and chased after the water.
I remember my first lie. I had a pair of scissors and cut a sliver in the couch when my grandma wasn't looking. My parents came home and noticed it. I told them it was Chase. They bought it until who knows how they found out. I remember my father confronting me about it and told me what I did was very bad and not to do it again. I felt guilty about it. I washed my hands with soap and absent-mindedly sucked my thumb, which tasted like the soap. I unintentionally punished myself the old fashion way.
For some reason, I remember a lot from daycare. The lady who watched over us was a big black lady named Bertha, Big Bertha we called her. I remember Big Bertha scolding me one day for for playing with my food, when really I was flattening out my rice with my fork so I could eat it more easily (something I do to this day). I remember some little bitch tattling on me for singing a Barney song on the swing-set. I remember not really enjoying it, but I wasn't the kid to cry every time their mother dropped them off (I thought those kids were babies, despite being 2 or 3 years old myself).
I've always been independent. I never minded being alone. My parents said I was the hardest kid to punish because if I was sent to my room, I'd have too much fun. Even if I was put in the corner, I giggled as I played with the bugs that I found.
I learned how to swim when we took a family trip down to Palm City, Florida to visit my Nana and Papa when I was 2. They had a pool and I would cling to the edge until I dared to push myself off the edge and without panic, just dog paddled my way back to the steps. I didn't realize I actually swam until my dad praised me.
My parents say I only think I remember this one because I've heard it so many times, but I really do remember them locking me and the keys in the car on accident one trip. I remember them waving to me in my car-seat through the window. I remember it was at a gas station. I remember seeing the police car and getting excited.
There are so many things I remember, my first time eating "my favorite chicken" made by my uncle, getting angry at my dad for stealing food off my high chair, being spoiled to death by my aunts and grandma, Boo-Boo getting stuck in the street gutter and scratching my finger, and the gigantic Christmas tree at Baby Chuck's house. Most of these things are negligible.