I loved my first born's hair. I loved to touch it, but more than that, I loved to smell it. It was an intoxicating primal connection. I probably could've identified my baby in a room full of babies based on the smell of her head alone.
As she grew, I always managed to get a good long sniff in whenever I caught her in my arms. And then one day ... it was gone. Though she'd always be my baby, her head lost that baby-smell. But I almost didn't notice the transition because, at the same time, I had another baby. A new baby with her own new baby smell.
I coveted that smell. While feeding her, cuddling her, reading to her, I'd take liberal opportunities to breath in the soft scent of her baby hair. For two years I reveled in it.
But yesterday .... it was gone. She no longer smells like a baby, with that unique baby-head-smell. She smells, well, like a little girl. It's still a wonderful smell, I miss the baby scent.
She runs. She jumps (sort of.) She talks, (sort of.) She's starting to potty-train. She takes off her own pants and shirt and socks. The last vestiges of babyhood are gone.
I do love when my kids start the next phase in life. It's exciting, and their own pride when they master a new skill matches my own pride in their accomplishment.
But with my youngest growing up, I do miss my littlest baby. When you become a mother, everyone tells you to enjoy your children, they grow up too fast.
I guess I just didn't realize just how fast that was.
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Dear readers: I've been feeling a little down lately, so I'm using my blog to sort through the feelings that are bringing me down. I'll return to my usual snark when I feel like it. Thank you for understanding.