Down will come baby....

Five seconds. Apparently that's all it takes.

I put Ed in his high chair. Nothing unusual. I left the room to get the pasta off the stove. Still nothing. He's definitely been left unattended in a high chair for more time than that.

But you see where this is going.

I have a hot pan in my mitted hands when I hear a "thwap" followed by a wail. I look to Pete, who has a clear view of the action in the dining room, and he looks horrified.

I run in. Ed has fallen from his high chair and is lying face down on the floor, screaming.

I pick him up, take him into the kitchen. He's crying and bleeding all over his bib and my shirt. I'm fairly certain I'll pull back his lip to the absence of eight tiny teeth, but no, they're still there. They're swimming in blood, but they're there.

I mop up as much as I can and give him a bottle. The cure-all.

But I'm not out of the woods. I have Carl and Pete to answer to, two tough little cookies who are fairly certain this is all my fault.

"You have to strap him in!" Pete yelled. Actually, no. There is no restraining device. I am not negligent, so there. That's really about all the argument they had, and when they realized, wow, there is no restraining device, they grumbled a bit but had to admit that Ed was the dumb one here.

Not dumb. He's not even a year old. He didn't realize that long falls result from climbing out of high chairs. Now he does.

He gave me a good scare, though. There was too much blood to determine at the time what exactly happened, and he wasn't keen on letting me touch his face later on, but he must have just bitten himself. He has a fat lip, but he's smiling again, thank goodness.