One week 'til Penny's birthday.

She swallowed some water wrong yesterday and wound up coughing and hacking for a while.

Such is life. But you know how, if you cough too hard and rasp the inside of your throat, your body will produce a little extra mucous for a while, to sort of coat and protect the spot? (A silly thing to do, since mucous running down your throat makes you cough more, but I digress.)

Yeah. Penny woke up during the night and coughed. Just once. But I swear to god, it sounded like someone had stepped on a duck. With throat cancer. And a cigar.

Matt and I both pretty much levitated. "What the hell was that?"

I bolted into Penny's room, Matt about two steps behind me. (I start out closer to the door than him.) I flung on the light and lunged for the crib.

Penny was fine. She squinted in the sudden light and climbed to her feet. Time to get up? Already? Well, okay... Matt and I checked the crib and her blanket. She hadn't thrown up. Or hacked up a hairball. Or tried to hide a still-lit cigarette behind Piglet. Just a cough.

So we kissed her, and Matt got her to go back to sleep, and we went back to bed.

That was at 4:15.

At 4:30, the Mutant Worrybrain succeeded in driving me out of bed to check and make sure she was still breathing. (She was.)

At 4:50, Matt said to me, "I'm sure the adrenaline will wear off at any minute, and we'll be able to go back to sleep."

At 5:15, Penny decided she was Done with sleeping, and since he was nowhere near sleep himself, Matt got up.

At 5:45, I gave up and joined them downstairs.

So I expect to crash sometime this afternoon.

--Liz