Nothing is unimportant to a little child. He might cry if the wrong person peels an orange. On some level this makes sense: When your model of the world is paper thin, a tenuous thing that startles you endlessly, the few experiences that become routine carry a lot of weight. If someone else peels the orange then you might as well change the rules of gravity, too. This may be part of why they enjoy reading the same book over and over: knowing what is going to happen (in the story, or just on the next page) is some of the first mastery they can engage in, and there is always a satisfaction to mastery.

...you shouldn’t be dismayed if a sadness rises up in front of you, greater than any you have ever seen before; or if a disquiet plays over your hands and over all your doings like light and cloud-shadow. You must think that something is happening with you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand; it will not let you fall. Why should you want to exclude from your life all unsettling, all pain, all depression of spirit, when you don’t know what work it is these states are performing within you? Why do you want to persecute yourself with the question of where it all comes from and where it is leading? You well know you are in a period of transition and want nothing more than to be transformed. If there is something ailing in the way you go about things, then remember that sickness is the means by which an organism rids itself of something foreign to it. All one has to do is help it to be ill, to have its whole illness and let it break out, for that is how it mends itself.

Letters to a Young Poet
Rainer Maria Rilke