I smell you.
No, no, no, not that way don't worry. I mean, I like to smell you.
You see, I have worked with very small people enough to know that sometime between your first and second birthday, something happens. You babies turn into...bigger kids. I will steal the word I saw someone use -- Waddlers. I like that. And as you make that transition, somewhere during that time, you lose that magical scent. You might not know what I'm talking about, but oh it's magnificent. That baby smell that can turn any woman into a bloodhound inhaling every inch of you like your very being was euphoria. It's that milky breath, sweaty neck, magical freshness that babies just exude. But then, somehow, it starts to disappear. So you see, Clara, I keep smelling you. You might think it's part of your cuddling routine that you dictate so regularly. You might think that I'm just enjoying nuzzling that soft skin on your neck and under your ears, but really, I'm sniffing you. I just can't get enough. I mean, I really think that if that scent could be bottle it could give Chanel no. 5 a run for its money.
I'm so glad you still smell. I always enjoy hugging you and snuggling, but right now I'm savoring every moment a little bit longer, so I can remember that magical scent. I know before long, one day I'll lean in for a hug and you'll push me away too busy to hug anymore when there are other things to do. Or I'll go for that nuzzle and realize, that while that skin is still soft and your arms are grabbing me a little more purposely for a hug, that smell is just not the same. And I'll realize that right then is the moment when you go from baby to child.
Thank you for being so SCENTsational, Clara, and for letting me smell you just a little bit longer.
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