I just lifted my hand to my face to mindless pick the zit that’s growing in my right eyebrow, and realized that my hands still smell slightly of baby. Of that inarticulateable infant scent that contains trust and sleep and love and shampoo that doesn’t sting. I don’t particularly want to wash my hands (but I must as there are still dishes to be done).
Tonight was the 5th annual summer book club dinner at my apartment, although these days, we’re calling ourselves the defunct book club, since we no longer meet regularly as a book club and there’s never a book. This was the first year that a baby was one of the dinner guests, and while she didn’t eat anything more than the milk that her mommy provided, she was the star of the evening.
Towards the end of the night, when we were sitting around the table at angles, with bits of dessert and remnants of wine, I held her as she fell asleep. Her warm, compact little body rested on my chest and stomach, and I could feel the tickle of her breath on my skin. Sitting there, all the frustrations of the day dropping off my body in pieces, crashing to the carpet and disappeared with a shimmer as I rubbed my lips over her hair and inhaled. At one point, I made eye contact with Jamie (her mama) and whispered, “I just love her. This is perfect.” She nodded back with such joy and love in her eyes for this little person she had made that I could feel it myself.
There is nothing like a good baby fix to make a day just a little better.