As I write this post, I’m still reeling from one of the single most traumatizing afternoons of my life as a Dad. One second, L and I were snuggling during a nap. The next second, she had rolled off the bed and bonked her face and head on the bed and night table, respectively.

The most important fact of the story: Miraculously, she’s totally fine. Sure, she’s got some scrapes on her chin and cheekbone. And yes, she has a bruise on the back of her head (and a tiny bump on one side of it). But there was no blood, her pupils never changed size, she hasn’t vomited and she was dancing and waving and saying, “tickle tickle” within minutes of the incident.

Somehow, our little L went overboard and emerged relatively unscathed.

Her parents, on the other hand, especially yours truly, totally freaked. Following the incident, (once I made sure she was OK, of course), I chatted on the phone with two different doctors (one of whom was so worried about my mental well-being that she called back to make sure I had not jumped off a bridge). We’re also taking L to see her pediatrician first-thing Wednesday morning—more for our own peace of mind than anything else.

Still, the question remains: How the hell did this happen?

I’ve gone over the sequence of events obsessively. L and I went on a lunch date in town. We came home. She fell asleep in the car. I put her to bed in her crib. She woke herself up prematurely (a nightmare, perhaps?), and clearly wanted to go back to sleep. I did what I and my wife have done at least a hundred times: I made a fortress of pillows and shams on the far side of the bed, then placed her in the center and lay down next to her.

Part One of this nap was business as usual: She snuggled into me, caressing my hand as she fell asleep. I remember thinking at one moment that I was the luckiest dad in the world to get to have a lunch date AND a nap with my baby girl on the same day.

The phone rang. It was Powergirl. We chatted briefly, then hung up. The baby squirmed a bit but eventually fell back asleep. Once I saw she was snoozing again, I drifted off as well.

That’s when the afternoon went south. The next thing I heard was my daughter hitting the floor, followed by immediate crying (the fact that she cried immediately ended up being a relief; this means she did not lose consciousness). I jumped up, scanned the bed, and in less than three seconds had leaped to the other side, where I found her face-down between the bed frame and the night table.

I picked her up, calmed her, shushed her and checked her limbs for breaks while I raced downstairs to pour a bottle of milk. She stopped crying when she saw me pouring the bottle. As she drank it, I inspected the rest of her: All I could find at the time were some scrapes and scratches on the left side of her face.

Over the next hour or so (during which time I had called Powergirl and the first of two doctors), I inspected her pupils, tested her ability to track with her eyes (she was fine) and checked her again for bruises. It was upon this further review that I found the bump on her head.

I could go on and on here (believe me, inside my brain, I’ve been doing it all night), but, again, the bottom line is that she ate like a rock star, got sleepy at the usual time and responded with a coo the last time I checked on her in her crib (per doctor’s instructions, I’ve been checking her every two hours). It appears she’s going to be fine.

Looking back on the incident, I have no idea how she managed to escape my embrace, no idea how she was able to scale the pillow fortress, and no idea how she managed to fall. I also don’t know how the little thing survived the tumble with only a few bumps and bruises.

I know this could happen to anybody. I know it just as easily could have happened to Powergirl. That doesn’t dull the trauma of the fact that it actually did happen, and it happened on my watch.

Sometimes, as a father (or a parent, for that matter), I feel like normalcy is the underdog, and the act of screwing up our children is such a prohibitive favorite that if we manage to raise them to 18 without any major tragedies, it’s cause for celebration.

I’ve beaten myself up over this all night. At some point, I hope, I’ll get over it.

The immediate lesson: As tempting as it is to nap with babies on the bed, once the critters are mobile, fight the urge at all costs. From here on out, when L and I nap together, we’ll take our naps in a pillow-bound ring on the floor of her room (with the door closed). Is it a perfect solution? Not at all. But at least from this point forward, bonks won’t be preceded by falls.