Stinky boys

Q used to be a tiny, sweet-smelling bundle. His fuzzy head emitted notes of baby powder and soap. Until of course, he spit up on himself. But, even that had the almost sickening sweet smell of sour milk.

Now, much has changed. Q went to two parks yesterday and ended the day covered in dust with dirt embedded under his tiny fingernails. Last night we plunged him into the bath and soaped him up from head to toe. We tried to distract him with bubbles, but he still squealed at the injustice of being washed.

Despite the struggle, he was soon glowing and sweet-smelling. T coated him in lotion and put some fresh pajamas on him. He was as good as new, clean and gleaming. But, by this evening, all evidence of cleanliness was gone.

When we came home, our childcare provider was just returning from a long day at the park with Q and her little boy. As I nuzzled in to give him a kiss, I got a strong whiff of dirty little boy. My mom calls it the puppy dog smell, and that is an apt description. Once again, his clothes are dusty and his fingernails grimy. We just can't make that fresh-from-the-bath smell stick.

Tonight, T reminded me I will have many, many years of stinky boys returning home, probably with scratches, scrapes, and other boo-boos and maybe even a jar of bugs or a dead frog. Lucky me. Why did the fates decide I would make a good mother to boys? Maybe my next son will be a neat freak and not like to get his shoes dirty. That would be nice.

--MM