This Post Stinks

My mother isn’t going to like this post one bit.

I’ve recently started wondering about when people “learn” to differentiate between good smells and bad ones.  I feel like I am pretty in touch with my sense of smell and I suspect you are too.  I can tell you who isn’t: my daughters.  I want to know why, when, and how?

I don’t remember when I first realized that a fart wasn’t a good smell.  Maybe there was a moment when it switched.  Maybe not.  It had to happen though at some point.  I’m not saying I particularly care when this moment happens for my girls but I find it very intriguing that they seem unfazed (by their own handywork).

Look, maybe its that I laugh every time one of them farts.  Not only do I laugh, but I always ask them to tell me what they just did.  They also do with a variety of nicknames.  I then usually laugh again followed by a gentle reminder that “we should always say excuse me after we fart on great grandpa’s leg.”

Just once, I’d like for one of them to look at me and say, “P-U!”  It just doesn’t happen.

I know they can smell it.  I can.  As a matter of fact, tonight was the first time there was any sort of postmortem on an “event”.  I was giving Julianna a bath when it happened.  Even The Red October’s sonar went off.  As usual, she looked at me, smiled, and waiting for the inevitable question, which I provided.  After the standard answer and “excuse me”, she continued to play with a bath toy.  A few seconds after that, she looked up and said, “Daddy, I have to get out of this fart,” followed by her scooting a bit down in the tub.

My girls put the “factory” in olfactory but maybe that “moment” is upon us…oh…nope…its just gas.