Spit up…spit up… spit up. It’s a part of my daily life now. It’s on my clothes, it’s in our bed, it’s on the couch, it creeps up on me when I least expect, hiding on the shoulder of my sweaters. I’m positive people stare at me in the grocery store wondering why I’m covered in little white, crusty patches. They don’t understand that after the third set of clothes I put on before 10 o’clock, I reluctantly give up trying to make myself presentable to the world and just embrace the spit up. The sweet and sour smell of milk is always around these days. It lingers in places. I’ll be sitting on the couch and that smell will waft up, making me think the baby has just spit up all over the place, but, no… I don’t see any spit up… she’s fast asleep in my arms. But, that smell still circles around in the air, sometimes driving me crazy.
Others like the smell. I sometimes catch my mother without a burp cloth. She says to me, ” I don’t mind, I like the smell, I like to carry it around with me throughout the day.” I still have a love/hate for this spit up. I love that it means there’s a baby in our house. I hate that my baby spits up so much. I love that it means I’m still breastfeeding. I hate that the dogs now follow me and baby girl around, hoping for a tasty milky treat to spill to the floor. Yuck. This spit up has become a regular part of my days whether I like it or not. I’m sure one day I will become like my mother and relish in every baby smell no matter how offensive, but as for now, I will co-habitate reluctantly with the spit up. I will wipe it off my shoulder, I will wipe it off the floor and maybe now and then, just maybe… I will breathe in the scent emanating from my baby’s clothes and smile. This is the scent of my life right now and my life with this darling baby is certainly a good one.