We Villanos experienced a bit of drama Monday night when a squirmy L nailed her orbital bone on the changing table while Powergirl was trying to change her diaper. Bottom line is that the baby is OK. But, man alive, the entire episode was scary.

I was at the gym when bone hit table. When I got home, the poor baby had a pea-sized bump just above her right eye. Powergirl was on the phone with an advice nurse at Kaiser Permanente, trying to figure out what to do. To put it mildly, my wife was freaking out. At least she could talk; if the incident had happened on my watch, I probably would have hyperventilated before even thinking to call the doc.

Anyway, after Powergirl spent about 30 minutes on the phone, the nurse said we should put ice on the baby’s eye and get her to bed.

She then recommended something that sent us grown-ups into even deeper panic: She instructed us to “check on” and “wake” the baby every two hours to make sure our little girl was still conscious.

The mere suggestion that our daughter might become unconscious during the night sent the two of us into a tizzy. It was not until the baby scarfed down her bedtime bottle and clawed at my nipple (she is convinced it does not belong on my chest and tries to remove it at every opportunity) that we determined for ourselves she was fine.

(As an aside, we also determined that I’ll be decommissioning the changing table this weekend. Sorry, Pottery Barn Kids.)

Still, because the nurse made us paranoid, Powergirl and I took turns getting up every two hours to wake L and make sure she was still with it. The baby fared well through the constant poking and prodding. We, on the other hand, exhausted ourselves completely.

If anybody ever tells you that parenting an infant is easy, they are lying through their teeth. Not only is it physically challenging to do stuff such as chase a baby around the house and strap the kid in and out of car seats, but it’s also emotionally draining to prepare yourself for an onslaught of the unpredictable, then deal with it—everything from poopy diapers to bruised orbital bones and worse.

I’m not saying I’d change anything; my wife and I always will do whatever we must to provide for L and make sure she’s safe. Sometimes, though, just sometimes, it’d be nice not to have so much to worry about.