What's That Smell?

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Is it just my husband or is a bad nose a characteristic of all men with children of diaper changing age? See, we have a loose "whoever smells it changes it" rule in our house. Generally speaking, this rule is implemented. However, if I have my hands all over dinner and I smell the stink, I will often defer to Troy. Also noteworthy is the fact that Garrett is often the first to smell his brother and alert the authorities. It's a good thing he does this because the image of Garrett trying to change his poopy brother is almost more than I can handle. Now, I'll give credit where credit is due. My husband changes a lot of diapers. A mere fraction of the diapers I change, of course, but he's a hands on diaper changing dad. It was something I made sure of before I walked down the aisle. I would have absolutely no part of a husband turned father who wouldn't change a diaper. To me, few things come across more misogynistic than a dude who thinks it is appropriate to father children and then pass their care--especially their diaper care--exclusively on to his wife. So Troy will totally and completely change diapers. It might be what I love most about him.

But. His nose is seriously lacking. Not only do I get the experience of changing Matthew all day long when Troy is at work, (which I gladly do in exchange for getting to stay home with my boys) I also have the misfortune of having a working nose--something my husband, apparently, does not have. I can walk into a room another state and smell my son's particular brand of stench. It's an interesting combination of your regular poo smell and a bizarre spicy stink. I can't explain it but it often smells like I've been stuffing him full of Indian food. Is that too much information? Moving right along. Matthew can be tumbling over Troy, climbing on him, and darn near sticking his diaper clad bum right in Troy's face and he will not smell it. I'll walk in and immediately say something like, "Don't you smell that?"

T: What?
Me: Your son's putrid diaper.
T: (sniffing dramatically) You know my nose doesn't work.
Me: (under my breath as I walk up the stairs) Convenient.

Often he'll add in a chivalrous, "I'll do it..." but I'm likely halfway through the whole ordeal by then. This whole situation is made more unfortunate by the fact that we could probably turn his poop into fuel and heat our entire home. It's a good day if there are less than four dirty diapers--a fact he'll be thrilled to find out I blogged about when he's an adolescent.

So. A funny thing happened last night. We had a moment where I smelled a stinky Matthew from across the room while Troy couldn't smell what was right under his nose. I told him I was going to blog about his convenient sense of smell. Later, he left for a study at the church. The Rock Star, Little Buddy and I baked sugar cookies. About an hour after Troy got home I asked, "Did you have a cookie?" The house, mind you, was filled with the heavenly smell of freshly baked cookies. He looked at me with a blank stare, said no, and asked me what I was talking about. The cookies were still on the counter.

He meandered into the kitchen, smiled, and grabbed a cookie. "Do you seriously not smell them?" I questioned.

"I told you my nose doesn't work!"

Well, at least it isn't always a matter of convenience.

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Also...I leave you with an interview with Garrett.