A couple of Sundays ago I volunteered to hold a friend's baby while she actually sat through the end of a meeting. Before I had children of my own, I was always kind of anxious around babies--adorable from afar, downright scary up close. I didn't really play with baby dolls when I was little, nor did I really want the kitchen set to use for playing house. The kitchen I did like was a Barbie kitchen, and we pretended it was the kitchen for the sorority house. I never wanted the Barbie with babies, only the one who had a career. And I loved my Rocker Barbies the most.
Coming back the point now . . .
Now that I've had my own kids, I like babies a lot better; probably because I feel more comfortable around them. My initial thought in picking up my friend's baby was to help her out, as my own Church-of-the-Hallway days are not that far past. But as I held his cherubic, chunky, five month-old self close, I inhaled deeply and thought my reasons for holding him were probably entirely selfish. I do love the smell of a baby.
Not that Baby Magic smell--my own kids were too sensitive for any scented soap. Nor that poop smell--formula or breast milk, both are equally toxic. I mean that natural baby smell that makes you want to bury your face in their furry little heads and just forget any bad thing that has ever happened to you. Not every baby has that wonderful smell in equal measures: my first smelled lovely but I was too stressed to appreciate just how unique and fleeting that scent is. Isn't he cute?
My second child didn't really have a good helping of that baby smelliness, but he more than made up for it in cuteness. He was honestly the best-looking baby I've ever seen. I mean, look at this kid! In the first picture he is just a month old and we used to laugh until our sides hurt over that gorgeous head of hair. I mean, honestly, he looks like he is wearing a wig. He wore this delightful, pensive expression when he was trying to figure things out. Now and then I still catch that same expression on the face my little boy. (*wipes tear*) He smiled by the time he was a month old.
Baby number three smelled great, and I was smart enough to enjoy it. He spent the first several weeks of his life being a baby to a temporarily single mother. I did a lot of couch sitting and sniffing of him while my kids ran amok. I just let everything go. Guess what? The world didn't end. Here are a few pictures of #3. Oh, heck, he is just so cute too.
Conclusion: I love baby smell, but mostly I love(d!) my own babies. Oh, good grief! Where did the time go?