Please Keep Arms and Legs Inside the Crib at All Times (Formerly SuperMommy to the Rescue!!)

I woke up at 4:36 this morning to the Alex moaning and crying. On the rare occasions that he wakes up in the four o'clock hour, (and yes, it's always 4. Never 3, never 5. Always 4.) he'll usually go right back to sleep after a bottle and some QT with Mom. So I only let him cry for a minute before I headed downstairs to fix a bottle. By the time I got downstairs and started making his bottle, his moans and cries evolved into high pitched, wailing screams that are typically only associated with such dreadful things as bloody murder. That, I thought, is not a normal whiny Alex cry. Something is wrong. I dumped the last scoop of formula into the bottle, dusting the entire counter with a thick layer of formula powder in the process, and high-tailed it upstairs.

I whipped open his bedroom door and squinted into the darkness. Not wanting to blind my already hysterical baby by flipping on the main light, I turned the closet light on and turned toward his crib. I prepared myself for the worst. Like a giant, hairy, and foul-smelling creature with beady red eyes who had scooped Alex out of his crib and was devouring him limb by limb. At the same time, a second thought flashed through my head. There better be something wrong, I thought. If he turns around and smiles at me after all of this...

Lucky for him, he had a legitimate complaint. A poor little Alex leg was projecting from the side of the crib at a perpendicular angle. He was on his belly and had somehow managed to slide his leg under the bumper pad and between the slats. He must've wriggled around trying to set himself free, and in the process, had managed to wedge himself in up to the thigh. Seeing as how the slats are about two inches apart and the diameter of Alex's chunky little thigh is at least three, I could understand why he would be less than thrilled about his predicament.

It took some real elbow grease to work his little leg out from between those slats. Poor baby. I think he was more scared than hurt, but his thigh did have a good-sized dent in it that stuck around for the next couple of hours. He was still pretty upset once I freed him so I got to console him, which, despite there being something that causes need for consolation, is one of the best things about being a parent. I reveled in the attention as he clung to me as if to say, "Thank you Mommy for making me feel better." Yeah, life is good.

So we survived our first "emergency" situation sans any permanent injuries. I gave him his hastily prepared bottle and he went right back to sleep, not surprising considering he was probably jerked out of a sound sleep to find that he was stuck to the side of his bed. Let's just hope all future "emergencies" turn out so well...