Eau De Baby

She had so much hair, it showed up on her ultrasound, a softly moving halo around her giant alien head.  Even after she was born, her hair never fell out.  It just got thicker and longer.

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.