This may sound a little odd, but I am enchanted with my son’s head.
There are so many things I love about it.
I am enchanted by the flecks of gold in his hair. It always shocks me to see this, as my hair is about as jet black as it comes. When Chip was born, he actually had light blond surfer highlights that I thought were so cool. He still gets pretty blond in the summer time. It reminds me of his dad.
I am enchanted by the little cowlick at the back: an ode to Alfalfa. It never lies completely flat, no matter what length it is. He gets that from his dad as well.
I am enchanted by the fact that his head is still slightly out of proportion with the rest of his body. It’s not orange-on-the-end-of-a-tyooothpick big. It’s just toddler big. I know someday soon, he’ll grow into his head. And that makes me a little sad.
But most of all, I am enchanted by the way his head smells.
I know, that sounds weird.
But I sneak smells of it when I can. In those rare quiet moments when he’s sitting on my lap munching on a cookie… or snuggled in my arms before bedtime, I like to smell his warm, fuzzy little head.
I inhale. And savor.
Sometimes it smells like wacky watermelon kid’s shampoo, or baby lotion.
Sometimes it smells faintly like a squished piece of chocolate, or some ground in mac ‘n cheese.
Sometimes, after napping on freshly laundered crib sheets, it smells of Mountain Breeze detergent or dryer sheets.
Sometimes it smells like drool. His, not mine. But it’s a sweet, comforting smell that has no trace whatsoever of morning mouth. I guess there is a reason they call it baby’s breath.
Sometimes, after he’s been cuddling with Jay, it smells faintly of aftershave. I love that I can get a whiff of both of my boys at once.
But there’s always an underlying scent.
It’s the smell of baby.
I can’t describe the scent. But it is real. It’s a smell that, on my olfactory scale, ranks right up there with home-baked cookies, cinnamon and fresh freesia. It’s a delicious, enchanting aroma that, in my book, has no equivalent.
My daughter doesn’t have this any more. She used to. But then I blinked, and her baby smells gave way to Tinkerbell chapstick, Strawberry Shortcake dolls and sweaty little preschooler head.
She’ll never again have that distinctly baby smell. And that, too, makes me a little sad.
But for now, my son does. If you see some random crazy on the street with her nose buried in her kid’s hair, it may be me. I know that smell of baby will soon be gone, so I’m soaking it all in while I can.
And so I inhale… and savor. Because that smell just enchants me.