I smelled sweat, salt, sun, grass, SPF 50. I smelled a kid who had played hard all day outside and had come inside only to collapse. I smelled a KID.
Not my baby. Gone was the smell of milk and spit-up and that sweet, musky scent that rises of a baby's skin that I think must be the way the breeze is scented in heaven. And I realized that it's been a while since she smelled that way. As long, perhaps, as she's been finished wearing a daily bib.
Right at that moment I wished that I could freeze time. Because right now my baby's not gone. But the future is coming. She's growing up. It's right there under my nose.