I am a known baby hog at the office.

Colleagues will often bring their little ones to work if they have to grab a document or double-check a story on a day off. My baby radar is so finely tuned that I can detect the presence of an infant within two minutes of her arrival in the office.

And once an infant is here, her parents are generally not surprised when I wander over and offer to hold the tyke for a few minutes, maybe walk her around the office to visit co-workers or bounce her on my lap and let her drool on the R2-D2 toy I keep at my desk for just such occasions.

What they may not notice is me sniffing the top of the baby’s head, breathing in that sweet smell that only babies have — that heart-tugging combination of clean skin and milky breath and heavenly newness that makes all babies smell so incredibly wonderful.

New-baby smell is even better than new-book smell. Even better than freshly mowed grass. Even better than bacon.

And certainly better than how my 6- and 9-year-old sons smell.

In fact, the reason I huff new-baby smell like it was a drug may have something to do with how much I miss the days when my kids smelled that way.

It’s magical, that stage, but it is short-lived.

By around 6 months, babies start to be more redolent of questionable diapers and spoiled milk than of new-baby smell. By age 1, it’s nearly gone. By 1 1/2, the new-baby smell will have entirely disappeared, along with most other babylike qualities. By that age, they are toddlers, after all.

But at least toddlers still smell good. Mostly.

My children, on the other hand, have apparently entered that stage of childhood when they smell more like onions and BO than anything sweet and childlike.

They bathe regularly and their clothes are clean. They brush their teeth twice a day and I insist that they use soap to wash their hands and faces before meals. But I still sometimes wrinkle my nose when I kiss them good night and hold my breath when I pick up their shoes.

The other morning, I had to wake the boys up so they could get ready for school, and I was struck by a mighty stench the moment I opened their bedroom door. When I say struck, I am not exaggerating. It felt like a physical blow to the chest, like walking into a wall — a giant, stinky wall made of smelly feet, morning breath and the general boy funk that seems to hover over their dirty laundry.

I opened their bedroom window to air the place out. Washed the dirty clothes. Made them take a shower, with shampoo and everything (yes, boys have to be reminded to use soap and shampoo). But the next day, the smell was back.

I am beginning to fear the teenage years not for all the adolescent angst or rebelliousness, but for the olfactory assault that I am sure is to come — I have heard horror stories from friends with older children.

I may have to make my kids keep their shoes outside. I may have to buy air fresheners for their rooms. I may have to invest in an industrial washing machine just to handle the sweaty, smelly laundry.

Perhaps this is just the normal evolution of childhood. Babies smell so sweet and wonderful as a way to lure their parents in to feed them, cuddle them, love them. Then, just when they should be learning more independence and freedom, they start to smell just bad enough to put a little distance between parent and child.

And by the time they’re 18, we can’t wait to push them out of the nest just to get the aroma of stinky athletic shoes out of the house.

Which may be why I am such a baby hog — I need to remember that new-baby smell, get a whiff of heaven from time to time.