Argh

So the thing I've been paranoid about for months happened yesterday.  K. fell off the bed.  On his HEAD.  

Thank God he is okay, but I was so mad at myself for letting it happen.  Admittedly it was sort of a freakish occurence: we had been roughhousing with all the pillows on my bed and he kept climbing up them to lean against the head board.  He was standing there, focusing on the fake-out remote control, in exactly the middle of the bed. I was standing on the side, WATCHING HIM WITH MY OWN EYES (caps included to indicate the irony of it all).  

Suddenly he decides to sprint to the side of the bed opposite from where I am standing, and of course, you know how it goes, I see the whole thing in slow motion ... it sort of reminded me of those old cartoons where Wile E. Coyote runs off a cliff, except that K. managed to fall headfirst off the bed and actually landed on our (thankfully) soft carpet on his head, rolling over and winding up on his back.  

I know he was completely scared because he didn't do anything for a second, just kept his eyes open wide as saucers.  Then he held his breath (which gave me flashbacks of the seizure - not fun) and then thankfully he started wailing to kingdom come.  I was just so happy that he was breathing, it lessened the blow of what had happened.  

Fortunately he didn't appear to be hurt at all - the human skull is amazingly protective, isn't it? - and he acted normally the rest of the day.  No vomiting, sudden desire to sleep, or any of the other behaviors I've committed to memory so I am knowledgeable about concussions.

The best part of it all was that when I told my husband (who had been out of the room when it happened), his first question was, "Did you leave the room while he was on the bed?" Like I would ever do that.  I was tempted to tell him, "Yes, just like I leave him in the car with the windows rolled up and let him play with the hairdryer in the bathtub." 

You gotta love it.