A Thousand Miles From The Place I Was Born

This morning, I was awakened by two very small dogs with very large bladders who were licking my face in a desperate attempt to get outside and relieve said bladders. Reluctantly, (my bed was uber-cozy at the time) I got up and shuffled toward the back door. On my way, I stopped briefly at Lauren’s door and opened it so she could hear the “morning sounds” as she calls it, and wake up. As soon as the door opened, I was overpowered by a sweet, fragrant aroma coming from her room. Any Mom will tell you, their baby has a delicious smell all their own. And this smell was distinctively Lauren. It’s the smell of the curve of her neck and the smell of the inside of her elbow. It’s the smell of her hair and her juicy kisses on my cheek. I can be a hundred miles away from her and still be able to smell her soft skin because it has been imprinted so deeply into my brain. It is, I think, how animals identify their offspring and how mothers can instinctively pick out their child blindfolded. It’s just how it is.

So as I opened the door, the scent drifted out and made me smile. I quickly let the dogs out and then rushed back in to her room to inhale it some more. As I climbed into her bed to cuddle her, she stretched and opened her eyes with a few frantic blinks. Then as my face came into focus, she smiled a sleepy smile and stretched out her arms to me. I love when she wants to hold me in HER arms, because there is nothing more comforting than having your baby’s arms around your neck and your ear against their chest, listening to the constant sound of their heartbeat, reminding you that they are safe and they are well.

I pressed my nose to Lauren’s neck and took a deep breath in, then said, “Oh, Lauren. Momma loves how yummy you smell.” This made her giggle, of course, and she said, “What do I smell like?” I couldn’t put it into words, but I tried. “It smells a little like cinnamon rolls and vanilla and sweet flowers,” I said, and Lauren rolled her eyes dramatically and said, “Ewww, that’s stinky!” We cuddled a little bit more and then Lauren decided that her full bladder was more important than Mommy-time, so she got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. I stayed in her bed and called out to her, “See? Your room still smells like you even when you’re gone!”

At that point, Lauren returned to the bedroom and began to sniff around like a bloodhound. Her face crinkled up and she said, “I don’t smell anything that smells like me, Mom. All I smell is celery!” I laughed, but she was quite serious. She nodded and said, “Ever since I was a little kid, my room has always smelled like celery.”

Oh, so THAT’S what it is!