I awoke early this morning to discover myself on the edge of the bed, about 3 degrees of bodily rotation away from falling to the floor.
The culprit? Little Matthew! Yes folks, my son has learned how to roll over and somehow he shoved me to the edge of the bed.
Well, OK, maybe that's not quite exactly how it happened. What probably happened is that as he rolled over towards me, my paternal instincts overrode my near-comatose slumber, and so I inched and rolled over ever so slightly so as to give him room, but the result is still the same - a near-brush with a bruised bottom.
Get used to it, my friend. Despite the fact that (unlike my wife) I have little that would be of interest to him during the night, my son inevitably rolls as close to me as possible, and eventually manages to get under me by the night's end.
Congratulations on the baptism. The finest moment of his life, even if he slept through it.