A few days ago I was sitting at the computer and
Will came in and snuggled up against me.
I buried my nose in his curls which smelled like the lavender
shampoo he'd used in his bath the night before.
Some days Will's curls have that little boy puppy dog smell.
Some days they have the cold clean smell of outside lodged there.
I squeezed him and said, "I like how you smell, Will."
And he said, "I like how you smell, too, Mom."
"How do I smell?" I asked. (Which could be a dangerous question)
"Like Mom," he said.
As a little girl, I remember folding into my mom's side,
and breathing her in.
Nothing is quite as nice as being little and snuggling up with your mom.
She smelled clean and a little bit like perfume and every bit like my mom.
My mom had a very nurturing and utterly safe mommy kind of scent.
I told Will, "I liked how my mom smelled, too."
"Did she smell like a flower?" He asked, smiling.
"No," I said, smiling back, "Why? Do I smell like a flower?"
"No." He said, "Just like Mom."
And from my point of view, that is the very high praise.