Greetings to everyone.

Last night Xavier did not want to go down for bed. It was a good forty-five minutes past his time for bed, and still he was too amped to sleep. Rebecca blames the whole chocolate chip cookie he ate at our 7:30 dinner.

We got him changed, his teeth brushed, and him clothed in one of his new (24-month sized Glory to God!) sleepers, then Rebecca handed him his bottle and sat to read him a story.

He did not want his bottle. He did not want to read a story. He did not want to cuddle. He wanted down. He wanted to run. He wanted to strew Hot Wheels track all over Middle Earth.

His choice, however, had been made for him: the crib.

He fussed and squawked, and fussed some more. Every so often he would go quiet for a lengthy stretch. Just when you thought "Finally, he's asleep" he'd start fussing and squawking all over again. This went on for thirty minutes or so, then a long silence.

It was the silence. Rebecca sensed it and so did I. It was not the silence of Xavier falling to sleep. Something was amiss. Before we realized we were thinking this, a tremendous thud rattled the ceiling above us!

We had no idea what it was. Thoughts of Xavier throwing a picture from the wall and him throwing his electronic aquarium to the floor rushed through my mind as I took to my feet. As I ran up the stairs, the sound of silence once more filling the house, the thought flashed through my mind that someone had broken into the house and snatched Xavier.

I raced harder up the stairs, looking for any sign or sound of another in the house. My countenance grew darker with each group of stairs I bounded up. If there was an uninvited person in the house, they were not going to have a good night.

As I hit the top of the stairs and checked the front door lock while turning to sprint down the hall, I knew what had happened. Rebecca was right behind me; I have no idea what was going through her mind. However, by the top of the stairs, if not sooner, she knew what I knew.

Xavier had thrown himself out of the crib.

He did not want to be in his crib, and he decided to take matters into his own hands. He climbed the three and a half foot side railing like a champ. Reaching the rail, he was not able to keep his hold. Likely top-heavy and unbalanced, he fell to the floor.

When I reached him, he lay on his right side in silence. He held his left wrist and was not moving. As I picked him up, the wind that was knocked out of him returned. And with it, squeals and scared cries.

Rebecca and I checked him over while he carried on inconsolably. Nothing stood out. After ten minutes, Xavier was not calming; he continued holding his left arm. I recognized the discomfort. My first one of these felt the same way; though I was nine, I still remember it well.

We carefully pulled his sleeper from his arms. His left arm above his wrist was just slightly red, and just slightly swollen. We wrapped him in a blanket, loaded him into the Family Truckster and headed for Swedish.

The sign outside read a 9 minute wait. However, a nurse was outside as we arrived and she brought us right in; no waiting. The standard numbers of height and weight were taken, as were temperature and O₂ levels. Then an X-Ray machine was wheeled in.

Three pictures where taken. The films showed what we already knew: a broken arm. A buckle fracture in his left radius.

It took some time, but the nurses (four nurses attended Xavier and the doctor) figured out how to do a splint for Xavier. The problem was that none of the nurses had ever made a splint so small. They had concerns the supplies they had on hand would not work well.

In the end, after several measurements of his arm were taken, Xavier had a fiberglass splint applied. It brought with it and immediate release of much of his discomfort, the discomfort his dose of Ibuprofen did not manage.

From the time we brought him in, the nurses were amazed at how he knew to hold his arm correctly to keep it immobilized. Several commented on how smart Xavier was and at how well he handled the situation (they did not see him before the car ride quieted him). As we waited for the X-Rays to be analyzed, one of the nurses regaled us with tales of her own sons' antics, assuring us this event in Xavier's life was just plain boy.

We got him home then found a shirt he could sleep in that had a sleeve which would fit over the bulky club of bandage holding the splint in place. Once home, Xavier was feeling better, and had no interest in sleeping. It was after midnight, and none of us were ready for bed just yet.

We watched a little TV, and soon, one by one, sleep came over us all. Once Xavier started collecting blankets and curling up on the couch, it was time to make it official. Xavier slept with Mom and Dad where we could test his swelling from time to time and watch that the wrappings on his arm did not restrict his circulation.

Because there was little swelling and the night and morning passed without increased swelling, we took Xavier to see Dr. Abbey and to have a proper short arm fiberglass cast applied. Xavier was offered several colors to choose from, and he picked purple. Dad got to assist with wrapping the cast.

After that, Xavier got a flu shot. Hey, we were there anyway, right. To Xavier, that was adding injury to insult. The insult being he has not yet gotten used to his left arm having such weight on it and being so immobile.

The bone will heal quickly, in about four weeks. In most parts of the world, they would not even use a cast, but in the US, we have that option. So, over the next few weeks, Xavier will have to learn how to play Hot Wheels with only one hand (he's figured most of that out already), learn how to go down stairs with only one hand and crawl up on a couch or his seat at the table without the full use of his left arm.

Did any of this teach him not to crawl out of his crib? We think not.