Turns out Finn is really good at flying. Not the airplane kind - though he was stellar this past "vacation", particularly on the final leg of the return trip where he didn't cry or complain once, unlike both of his parents. No, I'm speaking of actual flying, which Finn decided to try out two nights ago by taking a header out of his crib.
I'm sure this type of thing was long overdue. We've made a concerted effort to not hover over him lately, with the assumption that taking some licks is good for him - that whatever doesn't kill him, will just leave him bruised and wiser. Or in the case of a small playing-ball-poolside incident in NY last week, a little wet.
The funny part is that until his topple, Finn was only interested in climbing INTO the crib. In fact, he was so disinterested in climbing out, that we'd put him in his crib to jump around with the gate half-down.
Bad idea. Turns out that Finn REALLY likes jumping around in his crib. So much so that he was able to clear the railing completely en route to introducing his head to the carpet. This resulted in a frantic phone call during Daddy's sacred softball-time and hourly Mommy wake-up sessions overnight.
Of course, the next day Finn didn't show any ill effects. Unlike his buddy Grace, who was sporting a nice bruise from her almost simultaneous crib-dive.
At least that's the story from daycare. The first rule of Tiny Fight Club is: you do not talk about Tiny Fight Club.