I got the boy dressed this morning and ready to walk out the door, when I smelled something. No big deal–I quickly changed his diaper and headed out the door.
Today has been normal, except for the lingering smell of boo boo that’s been following me like a cloud all day.
You ever step in some dog doo and your nose tells you before you see it on your shoe? This is kind of like that, except it’s not on my shoe. In my shoe, perhaps, or up my sleeve, caked to the back of my sweater, smeared on my neck, maybe it’s in my pocket–I really don’t know, I just know there is fecal matter on my person, and it’s not my own. The scent is very subtle, but it carries Little Seth’s distinct signature.
This is the type of thing that happens to parents of young children all the time. Sure, babies can melt the coldest hearts and they make for great photo ops, but beyond that, they are a lot of work, I must say. Sure, everyone loves babies. Still, I find few people who envy the haggard parents of toddlers. Most childless adults look at me with pity as I get bananas spit on me while searching for a lost baby shoe that fell off 30 minutes ago. People with grown kids just smile knowingly as if to say, “I’ve been there before, and I don’t want to go back.”
Trials notwithstanding, I do love my son like I’ve never loved anyone before, especially a kid. I pray everyday for his health and happiness, that he will be better than me, that he will aim high and strive and persevere to the end. I want the best for that little guy, because he’s worth it, and no one can tell me different. Anyone with kids out there knows hat I’m talking about.
UGH! DO YOU SMELL THAT?