It stops me in my tracks halfway down aisle 7 in SuperSaver: the sweetish, baby-powder scent of Pampers. Suddenly I’m catapulted back four or five years, to a time of diapers, clean bottles stacked precariously in the dish rack, pacifiers, Good Night Moon and pastel-plaid blankets littering the coffee table, couch and floor.
Maybe that sounds startling. And it’s true, most mothers pine at least occasionally for the touch of that soft, new skin pressed against their cheek, wisps of fine hair beneath their palm. Perhaps I don’t because one of my boys was terribly colicky and acted more like a howler monkey than a sweet infant for the first six months of his life. Or maybe it’s just that I love where we are right now with our boys — still a ways from the sulky teenage years, but old enough to converse about something other than Elmo.
I like being with them. They teach me. They help me see.