Stuck

Saturday morning. I'm lying in bed, half-awake.

"Daddy," John says calmly, "help me."

"Okay, John," I say, "gimme a second."

"Okay, daddy."

I find my glasses and walk out of the bedroom. There, in the hall, I find John hung from the gate in his bedroom door. He is hung by his diaper, and his head and hands are on the floor.

"I stuck," he tells me conversationally.

"You sure are."

I help him down.

"I stuck by my diaper," he says, feet back on the floor, "thank you, daddy."