Wipe out.

One thing NOBODY tells you about parenting: you never, ever, EVER clear your mind of the sound of your baby "thudding" on the hardwood floor as she takes a faceplant off your bed in slow motion before your very eyes. You never forget the sound she makes. You never forget that agonizing four hours it takes you to run in slow-motion over to her and that silence before you hear that hurt, pained scream -- which you will also never forget. And because you can't forget, you can also never forgive yourself for letting her tiny little self go catapulting over the edge.

I don't even know what happened. Punky and I had been laying together in bed while she breastfed, then she was crawling across the bed. I had hold of her around her calves, and it seems like in the blink of an eye, she lunged off the side of the bed at a remote on the bedside table (she loves remotes), and I didn't have a strong enough grip to combat 24 pounds feeling the force of gravity pulling her to the floor.

Everything goes into slow motion as my mind raced through all of these thoughts, in this order, in the course of about 1/100th of a second:

1.) OHMYGOD.
2.) Is she okay?
3.) Oh God that scream.
4.) She seems okay.
5.) Did A hear that? (A was in the bathroom getting ready for work.)
6.) Oh Jesus don't let A tell his mom.

Approximately two minutes later, Punky was quite pleased with her death-defying stunt, sitting on my lap smiling and laughing while I sat on the couch sobbing at my failure in parenting. And as a souvenir, she now has a tiny little bruise on her tiny little forehead, and I have a permanent movie playing and replaying in my head of her feet disappearing over the edge of the bed.

Momma called the doctor and the doctor said -- "No more Punky flying off the bed!"