issey, i-see, i smell
in the last few months before i moved to hong kong, i would spend an hour i didn’t have wandering around a west van shopping mall spraying my collar with issey miyake, chosen fragrance du jour of the newly minted magnificent charles. (he also wore/wears farenheit).
my stomach would lurch with fear and my already cracking heart would leap with jubilation as the issey scent took me back to precious hours we had shared together and the scary realisation that there were going to be many many more hours together. even today, in a crowded area, if someone is wearing issey, i whirl around, expecting to see mc, and possibly get a little trembly in the knees. scent is so powerful.
not always in a good way.
no matter how many years it has been since you have had a baby, no involved parent can forget the odour of the truly appalling "ripe" nappy. pungeant and nasty, the ripe nappy rely-eth NOT on amount, rather a chemical reaction or decomposition, to declare its foulness. i can’t describe the smell, but i can’t forget it either.
which makes it criminally unfair that you can’t instantly recall the sweet scent found at the back of a baby’s neck. that soft area exudes a suble, glorious odour that i can’t recall when i am away from it. i know i yearn it, but i can’t clasp the scent.
fragrances describe their top notes as "fruity" or "floral"…but no noun adequately describes this neck-scent. the best i can drum up is innocense. it is sweet, subtle and light, happy, hopeful and intoxicating. emotional. while a good cologne is meant to empower you, make you feel sexy, smelling the back of my babies necks floods me with tenderness and joy.
and occasionally, loss. because i know this scent is not a permanent part of my child. only babies have this scent. lucky parents will watch their parents grow from babies to toddlers, and with that privilege, they lose the scent. it happened with sebastian, once he left babyhood behind. i want them to grow, even if it means that i will still wash them with the same soaps, apply the same lotions to their squirming bodies, sniff deeply and realise the baby is gone.
there is a little nook for your nose at the base of a babies neck. even though the two of the triumverate are toddling around, i can still scoop them up and press my nose against them, breathing in their scent. and then i reach for sebastian, my 3.5 year old second year blonde kindy boy, who no longer offers my senses that powerful whiff of purity, and i have to be content knowing that i can feel the pressing of his arms around me long after he releases me and happily races away. my baby.
