It happened.

Ambrose was sleeping soundly on my bed last night, and I got up for a drink of water--for a mere thirty seconds--and the next thing I knew, he'd toppled over the edge. I think most of the trauma was just from being so harshly awakened from a dead sleep, and he only cried for a minute before nursing back to sleep and forgetting the whole encounter. I, however, layed awake for an hour feeling incredibly guilty and wondering who even let me be a mother anyway. Perhaps the worst thing is that I've been afraid of that happening for awhile now, and even bought a guard rail at a garage sale last week. I just hadn't put it up yet. Other things that have happened this week: Ambrose has totally mastered the army crawl. And is getting faster. He's finally getting to the point where he can sit unsupported for long periods of time, and is usually pretty good at tipping over gracefully. I started giving him a few solid foods to try. Being the good Irish boy he is, he liked the potato alot. He couldn't seem to believe that people actually eat avocados, though. He has started to say, "mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm-ah" over and over, particularly when he wants to be picked up. Is it really way too early and very wishful thinking to believe that it could be the effort to get out a "mama"? Probably, but I can still pretend. I found a Johnny Jump-Up at a garage sale last week as well. I know, I know, they're bad for baby's legs...but every now and again won't hurt, and he LOVES it. And, he really looks like Matt in this picture. (And no, it's not the runny nose.)