My shirt smells like sour milk. My skin smells like sour milk. Somehow a pair of shorts that haven’t come out of my closet since last summer, almost a year before my daughter was born, smells like sour milk. I think my dog is getting offended by it.
This is the reality of babies. They drink milk. Then they spit it up. And it smells. And when regurgitated breast milk lands ever so gracefully – except, you know, not – on your shoulder, sliding down your back, chest, arm, or wherever else it feels like going, it becomes literally the only thing you can smell.
Can she eat real people food yet?