Lessons in hubris (Vol. I)

What's the blog equivalent of knocking on wood?

I jinxed the hell out of my daddying work by pointing out the sleep taking place on the couch. I lay down again, and not 10 minutes later: Cough, cough, cough.

We got a decent plan B together where she was comfortable and I could go back to sleep until 6:45, when her brother woke up. That's right. On a Saturday.

Coughing, coughing, coughing

My daughter has a cold. The big kind. The late-night kind. She's been coughing in the night since Wednesday.

Tonight, though, I'm on duty. After about an hour of realizing that there wasn't much I could do about the cough (philosophers have to think things through), I decided at least to check to see whether she needed anything. She did.

To pee. Water in a cup. A yogurt container in case she vomited. Tissue.

After 20 minutes or so of the drama associated with getting out of bed in the night when you don't feel well and you're 7, we settled into a few quiet moments together. And that's when the great moment came: I got her back to sleep -- on the couch -- and she's not coughing.