“Mama, did you just smell me?”
“Um, yes honey. Yes I did.”
I smell her all the time. I smell her breath, I smell her hair, and the top of her head. Smell is such a powerful sense, and I love my daughter’s scent. Through scent I am drawn to her, and her to me, it is instinctual and innate. My daughter is of me, and her scent is a marker of this.
At birth, mothers and babies are hardwired to find each other’s scent appealing. This shared attraction is a natural aid to attachment. Scent is also an identifier. Studies have shown that after just ten minutes to an hour with their new babies, mothers are able to recognize their scent with 90% accuracy. After an hour the percentage rises to 98%. Babies are also able to identify their mothers based solely on scent.
It doesn’t surprise me that scientists have found that this bond between mothers and children may last well past infancy and into adulthood. Many adoptee friends of mine, who have reunited, talk about feeling viscerally attracted to their birth mothers, regardless of whether they felt emotionally hesitant or conflicted about meeting. They wanted to touch their mother’s hair, her face, but most of all, they wanted to hug her so they could breathe in her scent.
I was adopted at the age of two and a half. I was not adopted along with a sibling. I have not reunited with anyone in my birth family. Most of my life I’ve felt as though I was suspended in time and space. Not knowing a single blood relative is an unnatural state of being and can make you crazy. You feel disconnected and lost. When I scent my daughter, it literally grounds me and I become anchored to this world. When I scent my daughter, my soul quiets. On a primordial level, I claim our bond to each other. Through scent, I recognize her as my own, my family, and my blood.
