Stink Stank Stunk

When did this child start smelling like sweat?  I’m used to resting my face on her head and when I inhale deeply finding myself in a crisp, cool grove of roses on a dewy morning.  Now, I’m dumpster diving with the homeless guy down the block.

This is a stinky child.  I’m afraid she might need to hit the showers every day.

On the other hand, it’s a certain guarantee that she’s been having a busy, diverse day.  The underlying layers of sour milk, “safe for the earth” chemicals and sweet/sour mean that she oatmeal for breakfast, cleaned up, had cheeseburgers and grapes for lunch (again), and had to be vigorously scrubbed down (again).  The waft of paint means she has made me a paper plate covered in red and dotted with yarn and brown puff balls to symbolize a dish of questionable spaghetti.  The dirt under her nails and the musty mulch odor mean that she made the decision, per usual, to make mud pies while her friends stumbled around the play-yard.  The acrid sweat smell means she stopped playing in the mud long enough to race around, shrieking in joy.  The amount of scrubbing I have to do to remove this layer signifies how long she was outside.  The pops of soap on her arms mean she was into the bubbles again and the large, sweet-smelling red swath down her front means she attacked her snack strawberries with the vim and vigor reserved only for olympic competitions.  The sticky ring around her lips, the scent of day old lunchmeat and the seductive fragrance of skunk have yet to be identified.

This is RR at 20 months.  It’s a good thing she has learned to enjoy a bath.


One Response

  1. I told you that she would, just wait until she’s not willing to come out of the bath!

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