Smelly-Haired Mama.

Tom, at 2 a.m. this morning, you should have been doing this:

But instead, unfortunately, you were doing this:

You tried to tell me it was just because you missed me, but I now know the truth.  It was all part of your secret plan, wasn’t it?!  Let me see if I’ve correctly figured you out…

First, you spit up all over yourself forcing me to pick you up and change your pajamas.  Then you told me that since you’d had to go through the trouble of the pajama-changing, you couldn’t possibly be expected to go back to sleep just then.  So I chose to believe you and we hung out downstairs for a while.  Rocking and singing and you occasionally hit me in the face (“accidentally” according to you…)

Then you spit up all over yourself again.  Only this time you also unloaded on me too.  So we changed your pajamas again and then I changed my pajamas.  And then there was more rocking and singing.  (And just a teeney bit of eye-rolling on my part.)

Then I tried to put you back to sleep but quickly realized you must’ve spit up on your sheets.  So I changed those — keeping you up a little longer — and then I held you, snuggled in real close to kiss you and tell you I loved you and then I seriously put you back to sleep.  And you did go back to sleep.  An hour after you tricked me into getting you.

So it was basically time for me to come into work.  So I did.  And now I’m here.  And what do I smell like?  Do I smell like my summery-scented deodorant?  Do I smell like soap?  Do I smell like my usual rainbows and happiness?

Nope!  And Tom, I believe you know why.

I smell like you.  Specifically, your spit up.


Because you secretly spit up in my hair.

Didn’t you?

Tom?  Look at me.  Didn’t you?

Don’t deny it.  I won’t be mad.  I just want the truth.

I knew it!

You are a stinker.  A very cute, very happy little stinker.

And because of your smelly hair surprise, I am also a stinker.

Smell you later.

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