Sometimes my own child makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit.

Before he arrived, I’d heard the adage: your baby’s poo won’t smell to you. Well, you try changing one of his bomb squad worthy diapers. Like the one yesterday that made me screech out for Tasha.

“You’ll get used to it,” she said.

“But I’d rather pick out his outfits or brush his hair.”

“He doesn’t have hair.”

Some days, Eau de Hugh truly is sweet peach bubbles of milky honey. But some days, it is radioactive sewer water. Some days, his side profile is a Anne Geddes Hallmark angel. Some days, it is Beetle Bailey. But in both these cases, the adage is true: you’ll never know you could love something so much.

Smell me

Smell me

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