I love the way my nephews smell: a scent rich with sunshine and laundry detergent that's specific to every piece of clothing in my brother's house. But that smell doesn't mean clean laundry to me, it means Noah and Eli. And except for any time there's a little sumpin' sump' extra in their diaper or pull-up (aka "poo poo in da pull-up" - Noah at 2 and already brilliant with alliteration), they always smell this way. It's a tiny piece of heaven.
It makes me wonder what happens as boys grow up. Somewhere along the line, the clean laundry smell is replaced with a distant, musky funk that slips into their bedsheets and soaks into the carpet like spilled goji juice. And while, for the most part when they're not exercising or moving furniture, this smell leaves them as they go about their daily routine, they somehow even manage to take it with them when they travel. My good friend's younger brother was just in town for the week. The first thing she did when he left was Cloroxed the bathroom. "It just STUNK in here," she said, delicate nose wrinkled in disgust. "I'm not sure what happened!" I responded, "Your college-aged brother happened. It was inevitable." Maybe it's a right of passage into adulthood, the acquisition of man-stink, and I hope my nephews put it off as long as possible. It'll be all too soon before that little boy smell wears off. But for now, I still have them, Boo Boo and Bay Eli, two gorgeous bundles of soft Gain deliciousness. At least until the next missed trip to the bathroom...
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