She’s upstairs, in her room, crying.

Like she was at midnight, 2, 3, and 4.

No discernable reason for her crying (although I think the furnace coming on is what precipitates it). As soon as I pick her up she stops. She seems content to know that I’m there. May it always be so.

Oh, and happy birthday, Maura!  (I believe you actually had me awake during your birth time.)