As unusual as it might sound, it’s the smell of my children that I anticipate.
To say that I have hit the point in my life and my body where I am aware of my biological clock would be a true and surprising statement. Surprising, at least, to me since I never anticipated being aware of the speed and loss of time without already having children. But, well, such is life…but I ain’t dead or dried up yet.
I have always had a sense about my children, even just moments when I’m sure that they already exist in one way or another. I have always loved kids and wanted my own (though the older I get, the more I become aware of just how much you can’t take back a decision to have them—one reason why it might be better to have kids while you’re young—and if you try to take it back you just end up hurting the children, yourself, and everyone around you…which just makes me appreciate the decision to have them in the first place).
Still, sometime, I want them.
The experimental/scientific side of me wants to see just what my genes can produce when mixed with another person’s. The human side of me wants to see the beauty and goodness and talent and flesh and soul that my body can give. The spiritual side wants to give flesh to another spirit and to love and be loved and to teach and be taught by the education and wisdom involved in navigating that flesh.
Right now, though, I really just want to smell them, even the stank of them, if necessary. I want to smell the sun on their skin and hair, when they’ve been playing hard, when they’re sleeping, after a bath, at breakfast, or after school.
And when they’re older and around friends, I’ll try and keep the sniffing to a minimum.