I'm so glad that this is truly not a blog because otherwise I would be failing at providing, you know, stuff to be read regularly. But here I am again because this little experience was too perfect to keep to myself.
Last I wrote, I most often referred to our little human as The Tiny. We've come to calling him 'the bud,' or, when addressing him directly, simply, 'Bud.' So henceforth, you know to whom I refer.
I love all the bud's smells. When he was still The Tiny his little newborn farts smelled like peppery eggs and I loved it. I know that's probably gross to 99.99999% of people in the world, but THIS IS A MOTHER'S LOVE. I also love the smell of his little sweet head (maybe that redeems me a bit for some of you), and sometimes his face smells like Elmer's glue and I love that just as much.
And then there's the breath. A baby's breath is reeeeally something else. It's wonderful, and hard to come by. So whenever I see an opportunity, I take it.
Fast forward to the other day when I got the bud out of his crib after a nap. He was still in a snoozy daze with crib sheet crease marks on his face and was as cute as ever. I was holding him belly-to-belly, face-to-face with me. Then, the moment. He leaned his head back, opened his mouth - what a treat, a yawn! So I leaned my face in to the perfect distance, approximately 2 inches away from him, and prepared myself to take in the scent of angels - and...
He sneezed.
A Big. Fat. Adult-like. Sneeze.
In my face.
Then he smiled. (He loves sneezing, he smiles every time.)
I'm not sure what's worse - the sneeze in the face, or the let-down of not getting a whiff!!
