Dear Evan:

Last night, you took a tumble.

A few months ago, we converted your crib to a bed. We were worried, because when you sleep you twist in every possible direction. As when you’re awake, you simply can’t stay still. That was fine when you had the barred crib front to hold you in, but how would you do without? So, a compromise: We taped a cut-down pool noodle to the edge of your mattress, under your sheets.

For the most part, it worked. We think you may have fallen out once or twice early on, but weren’t sure. It was just as possible you climbed out, and certainly there was no damage.

Last night was different.

I was half-awake because Lil’ Bit was unusually annoying, stretching and poking and scrunching as close to me as possible on an already warm night. At 11:30, I heard you squeak “Mama!” interrupted by a sharp smack and then wailing. I ran to your room, sure you’d fallen, and you had. You held out one hand but wouldn’t let me “hhhmooch” it, so I held you instead. Your crying grew more passionate, louder, punctuated by coughing from a lingering cold. Your mama came to check on us, and you asked her to hold you, and so she did.

When I looked down at my shirt, I noticed a spreading bloodstain. Sure enough, your mama’s shirt was stained too, and blood was dripping from your mouth. I stripped off my shirt, wet it in a sink and went to wipe your face, but that just made you angry. And so I gave up, and you went into full-blown tantrum mode, and the blood… well, it must’ve all been wiped on your mama’s T-shirt.

Soon, we got you calm enough to put back to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. I crept back in half an hour later and arranged pillows from the guest room around your crib. Just in case, you know. You woke, and I hummed deep in my chest while holding you, until your eyes closed again.

Today you seem none the worse for wear, but I am. I’m tired, but more, I’m worried about more falls. You’ll be sleeping above a landscape of pillows for the near future, I suspect.

I love you,

Daddy