Hudson smelled like cinnamon.
I think it was the stuff used to keep her ventilator tubes in.
But I like to think it is just her spicy saucy self in aroma form.
There is nothing like new baby smell. Our precious little girl never blessed us with a dirty diaper to change, so we didn’t get any grody smells, only cinnamon, and the baby lotion smell. She smelled better than anything.
We have a little baggie of some of Hudson’s clothes that a nurse put her in after she passed away. The nurse wrote on the baggie “Hudson’s clothes smell like her from her loving bath.”
I don’t want to open the bag and let the smell out.
Her Red Sox socks smell like her too.
I love the way our baby smells.
There are times in my life that are brought back by smells. Highschool adventures, the summer after I graduated college, the weeks when the Hubs and I first started falling for each other, all are memories that come rushing back to me when I catch a whiff of coconut oil, day-old coffee, stale beer.
Cinnamon. Baby Lotion. Flowers. Hand soap.
Hudson-smells are the best. I am thinking of her nearly all the time, so smells can’t really bring the memories rushing back yet… but later, when the wounds have healed a little more, when Hudson memories aren’t so burned in the back of my eyeballs, maybe I’ll toss a teaspoon of cinnamon into a recipe and be flooded with the memory of the first time the nurses let down the side of her bed so that I could lean in and kiss her precious forehead.