When I brought you home from the hospital, you had that new baby smell.
A unique blend of babiness that is hard to replicate.
I would sniff you for hours when you were a baby. It was the kind of smell that would make me sigh with happiness and feel oh-so-comfy. It was soft and warm and distinctively you.
Over time, that new baby smell wore off.
As you began to toddle around, speak more and play more, your scent changed. The powdery smell that enveloped you was becoming faint and I found myself trying to find it. I would catch a glimpse of it on your old toys or clothes you had worn when you were tiny.
Today while cuddling in bed, I realized that you have a new smell.
Still warm and fresh, it's more toddler than newborn.
A smell that invokes a new kind of warm fuzziness to take over me.
I could never label what it smells like to anyone else, all I could ever call it is the scent of you. It smells like a warm summer day full of playing in green, green grass and a cold winter day eating soup and cookies in front of a fire all wrapped into one.
It smells like home to me.
You are home to me.
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