July 27, 2014 (10:50 p.m.): My son just fell out of bed. That’s the first time that’s happened.
I was sitting at my computer a minute ago, and I heard a small bang. Well, “bang” might be too strong of a word. It was loud enough for me to hear, but soft enough where I didn’t think much of it. I thought maybe a book from one of the kids’ beds had fallen to the ground. Or a squirrel on the roof had tripped while playing a particularly intense game of tag with his sciuridaen buddies.
But then I heard muted whimpers, and I ran upstairs to find my boy sitting on the floor between his slippers and with his stuffed animal, Crayons, hanging on for dear life to the side of the mattress (you can see the dramatic reenactment of Crayons’ harrowing adventure in the photo above).
I asked him if he fell out of bed, and he mumbled a language I didn’t recognize. Didn’t really answer me, because I’m pretty sure he was 1) half-asleep; 2) didn’t know WHY the hell he was on the carpet.
I picked him up and placed him back on the bed, much closer to the center of the mattress than before. I also rescued Crayons from the edge, and my boy immediately spooned his beloved bear. By the time I left his room, he was asleep.
Still, my son, until now, had an impressive run of not falling out of the bed. But then again, aside from an escape or two from the crib, my daughter has only fallen out of bed once as well. Her bang was much louder, but when she fell (I think it was the day I converted her crib into a toddler bed), she landed on a few pillows from a much smaller height than her brother.
She also didn’t make a sound. Because when I found her that night, she was still asleep.