Tootie’s had a lot of sleepovers — at our house, at friends’ houses — but last night was her first slumber party.

Her BFF Olivia was turning 6, and after the festivities at a local pizza parlor wrapped up, a caravan of cars headed to Olivia’s house.

One by one, little girls headed eagerly toward the front door, clutching pillows and stuffed animals.

I counted silently as they streamed by … 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 …

Wow, she’s so brave, I thought of Kelly, my mom friend hosting the party.

Thus far, I’ve hosted only one kid at a time at Tootie’s sleepovers.

The other parents filed in behind me, writing down phone numbers and issuing last-minute instructions to their daughters to behave.

The girls, of course, weren’t listening.

One was turning cartwheels. Two were performing cheers. And another pair were chasing down a terrified kitten.

Better leave now before Kelly changes her mind about this, I thought, easing my way toward the door.

I could tell the other parents were thinking the same thing by the way they made their own furtive exits and raced out to their waiting cars.

“Good luck!”

“Bye!”

“Show no fear!”

I climbed into our truck, where Hubs and the E-man waited.

“Hurry,” I hissed, “before she changes her mind about this.”

This morning, the phone rang.

“Hello!” I chirped, having slept in this morning.

“Hi,” a weary voice replied.

“You survived!” I said.

“Uh-huh,” Kelly replied uncertainly.

And it was then I made a mental note to myself:

Sleepovers, good. Slumber parties, SCARY.