Okay, I got started thinking about my post on the way to Costco, and I really am ashamed at how fluffily gushy I was. I raved about my child’s smell. Her foot smell! Her prune breath! Her “yeasty” hands! What’s next: the charming little knots where she’s bonked her head into the floor? The darling way she entangles her sticky little fingers into my hair and pulls like her life depends on it? Think of the endless minutiae that I could turn into fuel for boring my (very few) readers into an early grave.
Oh, I’ll grant I still smelled those little hands tonight. I’m a sucker for it. But it’s hormonal, too. So be forewarned: hormonal mom ahead. Turns out that for all my non-maternal instincts, for thinking I’d never want kids, I’ve ended up a devoted, crack-pot mom all the same. Will wonders ever cease?