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[dampscribbler]

My daughter's habit when she's seeking comfort is to ask me to pick her up --"upoo," she says, a carryover from the days when she was first learning to speak and couldn't end a word with a consonant -- and press her hands to my neck. She loves my neck, and touching it has almost always been a form of communication for her. Before she could speak, when I carried her on my hip a dozen hours a day, she would signal for "nursing" by touching a tiny fingertip to my collarbone, progressing to fingertips on my neck if I wasn't getting the message quickly enough. We stopped nursing long ago, but her fascination with my neck goes on, and it's pleasant for both of us.

Like many toddlers, she also has an acute sense of smell, and she uses it to tell her about the world. I just love it when she chooses to sniff me and comment -- "did you use a new soap in the shower," "is that a different shampoo," but of course the best best thing is when she stuffs her nose in my neck, breathes deep, and gasps, "you smell like Mommy."

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[dampscribbler.livejournal.com]

Hard to believe, isn't it? Although I have to admit that my transcription doesn't represent her thick toddler accent. I keep meaning to write down her pronunciation of some words before they morph into the more-universally-recognizable (to English speakers, anyway.) It's funny to watch her grandparents try to figure what the hell she's saying, I'm so accustomed to it that I have to be really paying attention to notice her "accent."

I don't know what my mother smells like. That seems weird to me, now. I'll have to try to figure it out the next time I see/hug her.