The picture above is a kinda close-up of Abby’s nose. Those of you who follow Post Irony can see where this is headed. The picture below is a close-up of the button we took out of Abby’s nose tonight. (And a dime for comparison purposes.)

The picture above is a kinda close-up of Abby’s nose. The picture below is a close-up of the rock we took out of Abby’s nose tonight. (And a dime for comparison purposes.)

When Gina picked Abby up from the day care, Abby kept talking about something that had her pretty worked up. Gina thought she was saying she wanted to go for a walk, something she talks about regularly. But Abby kept saying no, a walk was not what she interested in. Gina told her she couldn’t understand her and Abby dropped it.

They came home and Abby took a short nap and then got up and Gina fixed her something to eat. Abby continued talking about something that sounded like “walk.” She was saying “rock,” as we now know, but she doesn’t say her R’s very well.

Her breathing was loud and somewhat labored, so Gina thought her nose was stuffy and she tried to use the suction bulb on her. Then she tried to get Abby to blow into a tissue, but every time Gina touched her nose, Abby would cry.

Finally, Gina asked Abby if she was saying “rock” and Abby said yes and Gina instantly knew what the problem was. I had just gotten off the treadmill and was trying to recover from what felt like a stroke when Gina came in and said, “We have a serious problem.” We laid Abby on her back on the bathroom counter, and, despite her protestations, I extracted the rock with a pair of tweezers.