She huffs. She puffs. She coughs.

Mike and I are anti-co-sleepers. In fact, we are anti-co-sleeping activists. We love our kids. But, sorry Doobies, we don't want to cuddle with you between the hours of 10pm-7am. The only things I want in bed are my pillows, my blankets and my snoring husband.

Last Saturday night, I threw in the towel. Kaila had some type of allergic reaction or virus and couldn't breathe. Since breathing is necessary and not breathing tends to be problematic, I decided I should lay next to her and make sure she got some O2. Oh boy.

Around 11:30pm she was huffing and puffing. Then, she started to cough and wheeze. We whisked her away to the ER where she got several breathing treatments and some steroids. (Insert your own Arnold Schwarzenegger joke here. But, be nice. Kaila now has the biggest guns I've seen for a kindergartener and will kick your ass.)

What brought the episode on remains a mystery. But, we're going for some fun scratch tests soon. In the meantime, she's been using an inhaler at school. I stop in at lunch to puff her up. Kaila's classmates are fascinated.

"What is that?"

"Can I press it?"

"Can I hold it?"

"My cousin has one of those!"

"Does it smell?"

"Does that hurt?"

"Why are you doing that?"

"Can you take a picture of her?"

"Can I have a picture of Kaila doing that?" (I'm still perplexed over this one. But, I obliged. See below.)

"Who are you?"

"Why do you come here every day?"

"Are you Kaila's Mom?" (I've repeatedly told them that I'm her sister. You'd think the lie would have sunk in by now.)



Puff Doobie. You can call her P. Doobie for short.