Life passed as a long series of impressions. Derrick was carried and hugged and kissed by many people, and his surroundings changed every now and then. He kept trying to remember the faces and places, but no matter how hard he tried, nothing seemed to stick in his mind. New 'mamas' and 'daddies' appeared, some for longer periods than others, all met with the same happy gurgles.
The crib and faces seemed familiar again. only now the infant was starting to retain things. Not only who was taking care of him, but other memories. Many, many families and cribs, and before that? Being able to walk and talk, going to school, being... Derrick.
He remembered it all now. And the restored mentality must have been evident, for he was returned to Hebe. The goddess smiled as she looked down into his crib. "My little Scottish infant! It's been so long I had almost forgotten you!" Derrick felt alarm, but could only wave his tiny fists. Hebe shook her head. "I can't make you older, but I suppose you can start growing up." She picked him up and placed him in a vaguely familiar stone basin of water. "Just a little loss so I can get you moving forward again."
Derrick wailed as he remembered how Hebe's magic worked, but could only squirm as he was dunked. As an infant, even the loss of a few weeks was scary. When she picked him back up and dried him off, Derrick felt weaker and less coordinated. "Maybe a month old. Only now you will age normally. And grow up into a handsome redhaired stud. I wonder if your Great-Grandmother might be interested. She was your sister before, and keeps asking about you."
Derrick's eyes widen. Great-grandmother? How long had he been an infant? Surely more than two weeks. Hebe guesses his thoughts. "About 60 years. You've been a very popular baby, but I figured you might want to eventually escape diapers."
"Now, what to do with you? I could send you back to a primitive Scottish family like the one you grew up with, find a new modern family, or even regress you back to a womb. And that womb wouldn't have to be human. Maybe a fine Highland calf, still Scottish and well endowed? Or a faun with red hair and freckles, using your great tool to pleasure nymphs and goats? And there are always the cherubs - you would grow up a few years, at least, then spend eternity as a flying toddler." She grins. "I could even turn you to a mass of fish eggs, your consciousness split into a hundred baby trout. Does that sound like fun?"
Derrick stares up, horrified by some of the prospects, and unable to do more than squirm as a baby. Hebe looks thoughtful, then nods to herself. "I suppose a decision has to be made. So I will make you..."