The first time she flew for me.

Midnight and the whole house is quiet, which is the absolute scariest sound when you have a 2-year-old. It’s the quiet that brings the greatest calamities.

Bedtime was a struggle. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. A sleep regression that would test any parent’s mettle. But, four hours later, she finally went down and stayed down.

Just in time for mommy and daddy’s bedtime.

And now I (daddy) am laying here, and the baby monitor is silent, and those intrusive thoughts creep in. So, I sneak over to the monitor and click the button to wake it from its slumber. Everyone and everything but me is asleep, it seems.

What I see isn’t my beautiful 2-year-old daughter drooling with her butt up in the air (her favorite sleeping position). The crib is empty. It’s empty because she’s floating, levitating above the bed. A blanket draped over her like tired wings falling to each side.

It’s one of those times as a parent where you instinctively know you should act, but you’re paralyzed by the unknown. So I creep, slowly, on the tiniest tips of my toes. I creep to her room, sure that this isn’t real. Sure this is a dream.

I open the door and remember what I was supposed to do this evening before bedtime because the door whines at me, “Give me WD-40,” except it’s too late. I look up from the monitor.

Her eyes are open, barely. Tiny slivers of blue greet me. Her face begins to curl up in a grin, and then she drops. I dive to catch her, two planes colliding in mid-air, and she’s screaming before we hit the ground.

Piercing eyes staring a hole in my head. My wife is standing in the doorway. “What happened?” she asks.

What do I tell her?

“I woke up, and Banks was flying, so I came in here to ground her to the crib for her own safety, but when I walked in, the door creaked so loud it woke her up — I forgot to oil it — and she fell, but I was able to catch her before she hit the ground but not before she realized what was happening and started to scream sorry I woke you go back to sleep everything is fine…”

No, of course, I don’t say that.

“I came to check on her, and she woke up and started crying,” is what comes out of my mouth.

“Want me to take over?” she asks.

Definitely, but I don’t say that. I’m not sure if what just happened is normal for babies or if we’re raising some extraordinary child that has figured out how to fly.

“No, we’re good. Go back to bed.”

She nods and backs out of the room.

The whispered tones of her parents speaking have put Banks back to sleep in my arms. I gently lay her in the crib and tuck her in — tighter this time. Sinking the edges of her blanket deep between the mattress and frame.

“You’re grounded,” I mutter under my breath and chuckle.

I back out of the room, looking for any signs of flight. She rustles. My heart beats faster. She booches her little butt up into the air, sighs loudly, and turns her head. She’s out cold.

Climbing back into bed, I’m not sure if this was all a fever dream, a nightmare, or just growing pains.

“First time catching her in flight?” my wife asks.