The mysterious smell

That pregnant moment when the smell of your own body keeps you up at night.

It's officially 6:45 in the morning, but I've been away for almost two hours already  With how long it took me to fall asleep last night I'm guessing I got a good four hours of sleep.  This is probably the hardest part of pregnancy for me.  You see, I'm a tummy sleeper.  In the first trimester this is not a problem as the baby is the size of a lime and completely unnoticeable   But now the baby is the size of a turnip, and my little cantelope belly is too uncomfortable to lay on.  I try to fall asleep on my side but, based on Andrea's pregnancy, it's going to take me a few weeks to acclimate to the new position.  Until then, I'm expecting many more sleepless nights.  Unfortunately, sleeping on my side is only half reason for tonight's insomnia.

Early this morning I woke to an odd smell.  My pregnant nose found it repulsive and yet appetizing all at once.  I tried to ignore the odor and shift away from Paul in case he was the source.  The smell persisted.  I tossed and turned some more trying to find a comfortable position to drift off in. (but I got that cantelope belly, remember?) Half an hour passed, and I realized my mind had woken up.  Sleep, I told myself.  Just sleep.  But soon my thoughts on sleep morphed into a Christmas song which led to me planing next years Christmas tree color scheme which got me to thinking about slip-covering the pillows on the couch which prompted thoughts about painting my kitchen table and so forth.  It was official; my brain had turned on, and once my brain turns on sleep becomes impossibly elusive.

So there I lay, thoughts racing to all corners of the earth until I got a new whiff of the stench.  My brain focused all channels to my nose and began to analyze.  I turned toward Paul.  He breathed a heavy sign onto my face.  Hormones and senses pulsing from my uterus identified tomato, beans, basil, onion, hits of green (probably peas), and almost twenty-four hours since his last brushing.  As unpleasant as it was, it was not the mystery odor.  I turned away from him and smelled my comforter.  Hints of my own deodorant mingled with hints of Paul's meandered along my nasal passages (we both have the habit of stuffing blankets beneath our arms).  I fluffed the sheets ever so slightly to smell the warm nests which our bodies had settled into.  Essence of feet, lotion, and a puff of stale drifted from the sheets and disappeared into the night.  I laid there in the stillness and willed myself to ignore and give up on the unidentifiable stench.

Then, I got a tickle in my nostrils.  I looked over at Paul in panic as I tried to force down the impending sneeze.  I rubbed my nose and scrunched my face and braced for impact and then. . . Eureka! (and ah-choo)

Garlic!  The smell was garlic, freshly used at dinner, oozing from the pores of my own nose.  Having been months since I'd cooked with fresh garlic, I had forgotten it had a nasty tendency to manifest itself in ones body oils shortly thereafter.  Solving the mystery of the putrid and now understandably appetizing smell grossed me out even further as I watched the clock, waiting for the magic hour when I could get up and wash last nights dinner from my nose.

I hear Paul shuffling around in our bedroom which means the hour is upon me at last.  Farewell!