Our blended family has given me 3 grand children.  Three girls.  I am very familiar with girls as I have only sisters, nieces and Doug and I have three daughters between us.  I like girls.  I get them.  If God would have given me a son, I think not knowing about penises growing up with girls, I would have been lost.  I know all about how to pee as a girl, not a boy!

Nadia, our five year old middle granddaughter, is a pill.  She is a funny, sometimes naughty, but highly expressive kid.  Her hair perpetually looks messy (a trait I had as a child as well) even after combing it.  She is ok not to match or be overly free of dirt on her face, hands, legs or feet.  If she doesn't like what you say to her you will be met with a cocked head, eyes partially rolled back with a bit of a sarcastic NO look in her face and eyes. 

A while back Doug and I went to see the kids and grand kids.  The big people (adults) were talking, all except for me who seemed to be sucked into Nadia's world requiring my full attention to her wanting to show me this or that, climb on my lap or talk me to death.  I fully succumbed to her and the adults faded to the background.

She climbed up on my lap and put her mouth, cheek and nose pressed firmly against my cheek.  Almost in a teeth clenching, gotta get more of it kind of way, she breathed and in and out loudly threw her nose over and over again while squeezing me hard.  I started to laugh. "Nadia, what are you doing?" I asked through my giggles.  "I'm smelling you!" came her response.  She continued inhaling as much of me as was humanly capable of at 5 years old.   Almost like she couldn't get enough and didn't want to stop.

I understood exactly what she was doing.  It was a way that I found connection and comfort too at times.  She was connecting to me, she was finding a smellable way to feel loved.  I got it totally.

When I was a kid there was a cartoon about Pepe' Le Pew, a French skunk, who was an atypical representation of the passionate French male.  He was always in search of the scent of the lady skunk he wanted to be with.  Riveting eh? :)

Things have smells, scents, reminders of things we cannot articulate or put into words.  Honeysuckle, lilacs, a camp fire, a fireplace burning, leaves, grass being cut, a fresh rain, the ocean, autumn air.  They are powerful emotional connectors.  We attach certain smells to emotions of tenderness, love, rejuvenation, joy, comfort, safety, etc.

Yesterday, as Doug and I sat on the front step drinking coffee after a long walk, I leaned in close to his shoulder blade.  I smelled him.  If forced to describe what I smelled, I don't think I could.  But what I felt when I smelled his clothes, the soap, the faintness of yesterday's cologne, was powerful and brought a rush of emotions.  I was Nadia at that moment.  I stopped to linger and breathe him in.  In that smell was all the things that defined love and true connectedness to him.

It happens to me nightly.  He turns to the left in bed.  I crawl into his back from behind resting my head on his left shoulder blade as I slide my arm under his right arm and across his chest.  I breathe deeply smelling all he is.  Love has a smell, a scent that holds what words can't say.  Nadia and I understand that.

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