Waking Max up this morning, I rubbed his back and said his name softly. He's usually up by 7 am, but today he was still curled under his blankets. I cuddled up next to him. He made a moan/grunting noise and just rolled over into me saying, "I'm still sleepy, Momma." I rubbed his back some more and just watched him.
"You smell good," he said. I laughed a little inside. He likes it when I wear my Opium perfume. I tried wearing something different over the summer - White Shoulders - but he would always kind of sniff the air, get a weird look on his face, and ask, "What's that smell?" On one occasion, he actually told me I smelled like a port-a-potty. I've always been afraid to wear it since.
To be honest, the fact that Max notices how I smell brings me a strange sense of comfort. My most basic, most intense fear is dying suddenly... while he and Alex are too young to have strong, secure memories of me. I like to imagine that the scent of my perfume would help them remember... and feel my love.
1 comment:
wow, this post caught in my throat as I read your words...still dealing my past month's events, I am terrified of the same...so I totally understand the feeling of comfort that you felt that your "smell" is something Max has a keen awareness of...
Post a Comment