Poo-pourri

Whenever my niece is in question of a diaper change, my sister picks her up, raises her to face level and takes a sniff to make sure she’s ripe for the picking.

If she’s not too sure, she swings my niece around and asks others about the freshness of the diaper.

“Come on, smell it," she says as she swings the baby in front of my BIL's face. "Does she need a change?” she asks him.

“Don’t do that,” he replies as he waves the baby’s bum away. My niece continues to play with her toy as she's flung from one face to another. “I don’t want to smell her diaper. Can’t you tell whether she needs a change?”

“It isn’t like you don’t know what it smells like,” my sister huffs.

I start to giggle.

“What?” my sister asks and she swings my niece like a rag doll in my direction.

“Maybe her doody smells like poo-pourri,” I say.

Everyone at the table cracks up.

“Poo-pourri. Good one.” My sister whips my niece around, gets up from her chair and leaves the room to change the diaper.

Poo-pourri, or not, a dirty diaper by any other name still smells like doody.

Note: This happened almost a year ago, and my sister and BIL only did this once as a form of doody verification.