When I tuck my head into Owen’s long black hair the strong odor of unwashed oil wafts unwanted into my nose. I pull back and look at him. He smiles at me, wide with plaque coated teeth gleaming off-white. I smile back and resist the immediate urge to chastise him for hygiene. His arms wrap tighter around my middle, head pressing into my diaphragm, content. I breathe the air above him, drawing the fresh scent of the surrounding air and hug him back. He is never the first one to let go. He could hold on all day, lake some carrier monkey attached to my back and secure. I gently release him, making a mental note to insist on a shower and remind him of the importance of shampooing-to-a-lather, but for now I bask in my sons love, unkempt and secure.