Confession Time: I’m Really Not Into Smells Right Now, You Guys

The thing about pregnancy is that you can smell everything — and it’s all bad.

Opening the freezer be like “Oh hey remember that thing that you put in here 8 months ago? It’s not here anymore, but the smell is.”

Every morning when I come down the stairs I can instantly smell the dirt on the floor, the dog hair on the rug, the coffee that we haven’t made in 3 weeks (my husband gave up coffee in solidarity), and the everything bagels that are still in the plastic bag.

I can smell the water in the dog dish.

I can smell the cheerio that fell into the heat vent.

I can smell the fork in the dishwasher that didn’t quite get clean.

I can smell the sadness of cloth furniture that needs so much more than spot-cleaning, but can’t be put in the washer.

I can smell the despair in the head of iceberg lettuce sitting in the back of the crisper drawer in the refrigerator, knowing that I’m never going to finish eating it.

I can smell the bad memories of the people who lived here before we did. I can smell their tears … and they stink.

I think I’d like to go to the desert. I bet it smells like absolutely NOTHING in the desert. That would be AMAZING.

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