“It was after football practice on a random Tuesday night when I noticed,” writes Samm Davidson today, with all the ominous pacing of a thriller. “My nine-year-old son had removed all his equipment and headed upstairs to change. And right as he leaned in to hug me — his warm, sweaty armpit on my shoulder — I got a whiff.” She was not prepared! But of course, it wasn’t just about the smell. It was about everything that comes with it: “The fact that my little dump-truck-loving, baby-toothed toe-head firstborn is somehow now a tween — complete with his own opinions, style, and sweat glands — feels like it has catapulted me into a whole new era of parenting.”
Read it in preparation for your own B.O. parenting journey.
Kelly Faircloth, Executive Editor |
