Joseph's first B.A.S.E. jump

It went well, actually. No broken bones, no cuts, scrapes, and just the smallest hint of a bruise.

The location: his crib. I was on the phone with Judie when it happened, yes, driving down the road. All of a sudden she starts screaming "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh! I'll call you late--" and then she hung up, but not before I heard my 8-month-old son, my world, screaming in pain.

What does one do in such a situation? One drives in a straight line, stunned, imagining the most horrible things. Intruders...terrorists, no doubt...gas line rupture...building collapse...suffocating, hardening gel-like substance piped in by an evil multi-national corporation. (We've perhaps watched too much "Fringe.")

As it turned out, the little guy managed to climb over the railing of his crib, a feat we didn't expect for another month at least. Forensic analysis indicates that he probably folded himself over the rail, flopped forward, and did one complete rotation on the way down. He probably hit his head on the base of the crib, too.

Thankfully Judie called me before the road curved and I drove through a McDonalds. He was pretty PO'd, but alright. Since then his head has bounced off a variety of surfaces, and I'm pleased to see that it's made of material stronger than wood, tile, thin carpet and cabinets.

Post-script: My mom likes to tell the story, usually when trying to motivate me somehow, that I never learned how to crawl out of my crib. She'd ask me why I never tried to (so presumably I never learned to escape even after I'd developed my language skills), and I would answer, "I caaaaan't." That's been a common theme in my life.

So, good job, Joe! You've already surpassed your old man well before the one-year mark.

I might as well give it up and put on some diapers.