The Smell of You
Last week, Tate slept at her friend's house (she’s only ever done that at two friends’ houses ever, by the way) and didn’t even call to say g’night.
She’s nine and seems suddenly so big.
She’s coming into her own in a new way, really expressing herself through her own unique style, caring about how she looks before she goes to school and befriending kids she’s never seemed to notice before. Her teacher is calling her a real leader in class.
I’m proud, and doing my best to try and stand back and watch her take off. I taught third grade enough years to know this is the year they really spread their wings and come into their own.
Tonight, after reading together, I turn her lamp off and prepare to leave her. She reaches out for my arm, which she hasn’t done in awhile.
“What is it, sweetie?”
“I dunno.”
“You dunno what?”
“I dunno. I just don’t want to be alone.”
“Ah, I get it babe. But, you’re really not alone. I’ll just be in the kitchen cleaning up and then at my desk reviewing my speech for the morning…”
“I don’t like being alone at night. I always want someone with me. It’s just cozier.”
“Aha, yeah. I hear ya. I can’t lie with you any longer tonight though, so grab stuffie close, and I’ll tuck you in extra tight and remember, you’ve got you.”
Pause.
She doesn’t look convinced. More like she’s heard this from me many times before.
I add, “And me - you’ve always got me. Even when I’m not physically right here with you, I’m always with you in there.” I reach out and touch her heart.
“Mom? Can I have something that smells like you? If you can’t stay, I just want the smell of you.”
“Of course, babe. Like what?” She’s so darn resourceful, this one.
“Idk. How about a scarf of yours?”
I go quickly and grab a random one from the front hall closet and deliver it.
“Hmmm, seems like you haven’t worn this one in a while. What about the tank top you’ve been sleeping in this week?”
So touched, sweetly reminded of her vulnerability, honesty and youth, I dig through my pajama drawer and find it. I smell it. Not much to my nose.
I hand it to her in the dark, “How’s this, sweetheart?”
She inhales slowly with it up her nose, sighs and smiles. Contented, she wraps it around her neck, clumping most of it right up in her face.
“Mmmmm, Mama. I love you.”
So big. And so small.
