Sam turned 10 months old today. To celebrate, Charlotte pushed him down the stairs.

Okay, okay. We have no proof C was a perp in this instance. In fact, I wasn't even witness to the event. I came home from school this afternoon, all cheerful and happy to see my family, and Jeff shamefacedly broke the news to me that: 1. Sam only took a one-hour nap this afternoon (after an equally short nap this morning); and that 2. Sam fell down the stairs.

A few days ago, I ducked into the bathroom for a minute to wash Sam's fecal matter off my hands and he kicked it into overdrive, belly-crawled at light speed over to the top of the stairs, and proceeded to hurl himself down them. I came out of the bathroom just as his chubby diaper butt rounded the corner and lunged for him, just barely grabbing his fat left ankle.* He thought it was pretty hilarious. My heart rate didn't settle down for a good 20 minutes. I made a mental note to: 1. not leave Sam unattended in the upstairs hallway...or perhaps in the entire upstairs; and 2. to procure and install a baby gate.

Of course, number 2 hasn't happened, and number 1...well...

In Jeff's defence, he was being diligent. The kids were playing fort or something under my desk, which is right across from the top of the stairway, and Jeff had been acting as a human baby gate, blocking the stairway with his body. He got up for a second to grab something off his desk, just a few feet away, and...well, in his own words, "As soon as I heard the first big thump I knew what was happening."

Sam landed face down in the corner of the landing, tumbling down eight carpeted stairs before doing so. He cried for a second, but was fine once Jeff picked him up. He appears to be completely unscathed, without even a bruise or a carpet burn. I have the baby monitor turned up full blast so I can hear every breath he draws just to make sure he continues to draw breath, but I think we're in the clear.

We were both sitting at our respective desks earlier tonight when a though occurred to me. "How did Charlotte react when Sam fell down the stairs?" I asked. "She was fine," Jeff responded. "She really didn't seem too worried or bothered by it."

Pause. Then we looked at each other and, in unison, said, "You don't think..."

In general, the sibling rivalry has been okay. Charlotte's affections are sometimes a bit too forceful, her hugs around the neck a bit too much on the far side of throttling, but most of the time she's delighted by Sam, and he by her. Most of the time.

So, what do you think? Did precious little Charlotte push Sam down the steps like a tiny blonde Damien? Or do we have a little Evel Knievel in cloth diapers on our hands?

*His right ankle is also fat. It's not like he has one fat ankle and one bony one or anything.