Digger

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Robbie woke up around 10:45 Monday night with a nightmare.  His screaming had me running upstairs and grabbing him out of his crib to fix whatever was wrong.  He kept telling me, “Dream.  Dream.”  I don’t know what it was about, but it must have been pretty terrible.  There was no way Robbie was going back into his crib; he panicked when we even went near it.  So, I settled him in my bed, convinced him I would be right back, and rushed through my shower to get back to him (I’d been running – no way I was getting into bed that gross!).

We cuddled up, watched The Smurfs, and went to sleep.  Until about 3:30 when I was abruptly awoken by a slamming sound.  Before I’d even had time to register that something had happened, Robbie screams started.  But not from the bed.  From far away from the bed.  And down.  Like on the floor.  I threw the blankets aside, leaned over the other side of the bed, and saw Robbie lying prostrate on the ground and perpendicular to the bed.

I must not have been thinking rationally because I grabbed Robbie’s ankle and pulled him toward me.  Not really a move I’d recommend, as it only intensified the screaming.  But, somehow, I managed to get him collected into my arms and calm him down.  Somewhere along the line, we both fell back asleep again.  Not before I remembered to stack pillows on the other side of the bed, though.  This did prove to be a disadvantage, though, because Robbie kept migrating to my side of the bed.

It wasn’t until we woke up in the morning that I realized how bad the situation was.  Don’t panic; it wasn’t that bad.  I did find blood on my shirt in several places, though.  And Robbie sat up around 6:30 and told me he had a booboo on his tongue.  He seems to have recovered nicely, and I’m eager to finally have a good night’s sleep without any screaming.  So, here goes nothing…

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