My two-year-old woke up in the middle of the night, crying because she dreamed that she had fallen. We're talking deep cries -- crying that's inconsolable, crying that's intermingled with screaming, crying that's chest-heaving and cheek-flushing and household-waking.
Joel held and rocked her, whispering everything's all right in her ear until she finally calmed down and drifted to sleep again.
This morning she greeted me with her typical, "Good morning, Mommy," but her usual voice was replaced with a rasp.
The child cried herself out of her voice.
That didn't stop her from talking throughout the day, of course. Except for the moments when her voice quivered and cracked like an adolescent male, she sounded like she had laryngitis or that she'd been a life-long smoker.
I couldn't help myself -- I kept striking up conversation with her. I wanted to hear her talk. You simply don't expect that type of a voice to come out of such a little sweet face.