3 Seconds

It took me about 3 seconds to get to him, 3 seconds in which my heart was not beating, yet I was hyper-alive. Like an out of body experience, or giving birth, the surreal, super-human adrenaline takeover guided me. In those 3 seconds I was not breathing; I could not feel the cold water chilling my spine. I had no thoughts, only instincts, and I can only recall one image: my baby boy's face forced into the water.

And then suddenly, as if a bomb exploded, my heart started beating again, racing, pounding, as if it would burst out of my chest. I lifted him up, my brave boy, and freed his leg from behind the pool ladder; he barely cried. I saw a bruise forming on his shin, and he touched it and said "hurt!" And then my pulsating heart broke into a million throbbing pieces. I asked him to jump, and he did. I asked him to walk, and he did. I asked if he was okay, and he replied "yea-uh" in his sweet little voice. I kissed him a million times and hugged him the same. I asked if he wanted to go inside and he said "no," as he walked right back to the culpable ladder to jump in the pool again.

He wanted me to go back to the other side where the steps were; he motioned for me to let him be. No way was I letting him out of my reach! I sat down and dangled my feet in the water right next to him, pretending not to be panicked, acting nonchalant and keeping my cool, when really I was freaking out! I wanted to take him inside, check him all over, warm him up b/c he was shivering, hug him, calm him, sooth him...but he was already calm. He didn't need soothing. He was cold, but he was ok, and the "hurt" really was just a bruise. Somehow I kept it together; I didn't let him see the fear that consumed me, and I managed make it through the rest of our pool visit without crying or acting irrationally.

Finally I convinced him that he was hungry and if we went inside I would let him "cook" his dinner. He pretty much did make his entire meal himself. Aside from turning the stove on, and straining the pasta shells, he did everything else...from pouring the water to frying the hot dogs...the kid loves to cook!

Through all of this my demeanor remained stoic, yet I felt crazy and full of anxiety and terror. I called my mother and mentally re-lived the event as I described it to her, yet I still did not cry or breakdown emotionally in front of Jack. I gave Jack his dinner and we watched Chuggington and Wheel of Fortune together. I gave him some ice cream afterwards, and then we played on our bed with trucks and paperclips and looked through a photo album "book," as he called it. He didn't look at me any differently than before it happened. His trust was unwavering. His spirit was not tattered. He patted his shin a few times and said "hurt," but that was the only indication he gave of it ever even occurring. It wasn't until I was telling his Daddy that I finally shed some tears.

We were playing in the shallow end of the pool. I had convinced him to come in one step at a time to get used to the cold water, telling him that it would feel better little by little. Finally he had submerged his whole body, and he was laughing and squealing with delight at the frigid shock. His water wings were a new pair, this their first use, yet he maneuvered in them with ease, using his arms to steer and his feet to propel. Only his 2nd time in the pool this year, he had not forgotten the skill he acquired last summer, and his love of the water was stronger than his internal temperature gauge.

We were throwing the Gymboree ball into the papasan floatie chair, our own form of basketball, and he was giggling and directing my every move. Various other toys had been tossed about the pool, and his eye caught a boat he decided he wanted to retrieve. He was easily distracted by the shiny ladder, and perhaps he had a memory of it from last year. He made his way to the ladder, climbed up and out of the pool and performed a little victory dance and yelp of pride for me. "Are you gonna jump back in, Jack? Can you jump in now?"

Last year "jumping" was more like stepping off the side into the arms of Mommy or Daddy. By the end of the summer, he was getting a running start and doing this unassisted over and over again, going under water, and navigating his own way around whatever pool we were in. Never did we leave him unattended! We were always watching, our eyes glued on him, and he wore his water wings at all times in the pool area. He climbed the pool ladder at least a hundred times, both in and out, never falling, never off-balance, and it was obvious his early swimming skills were certainly advanced.

This year "jumping" is actually both feet off the ground at the same time in a vertical movement. Jack is an incredible jumper. He climbs and jumps off of just about anything we let him, and he has his fair share of bumps and scrapes, but overall he lands clean most of the time, and I seldom worry about him getting injured. But today, it was a little different. While last summer he stood on the ladder and just walked off of it into the water, today his first attempt was a real jump, but instead of jumping OUT, he jumped UP, and as he landed his left leg caught between the pool wall and the ladder, forcing him to bend at the waist face down into the water! His water wings fortunately kept him afloat enough that he was able to turn his head sideways to keep his mouth and nose mostly out of the water.

I was about 10 or 12 feet away, wading in the pool, the water not even all the way up to my chest. It took me about 3 seconds, 3 HUGE strokes, and what seemed like an eternity to reach him.

The entire experience was like what I imagine dying and coming back to life would be. In an instant my world had ended, and then just as quickly I was re-born, with all my senses heightened, my heart shocked into beating as I drew in my first breaths of sweet, sweet relief. My baby was okay. My angel was okay! He was completely okay!

My mother and my husband both said comforting words to me tonight; sure, it was a fluke thing, I was right there with him (even at 10 feet away), it could happen to anyone, I was not to blame...Really though? Was I not? I am a pretty laid back mother. My child is clearly physically advanced for his age, his balance and coordination evident in his already visible athletic abilities. He has been swimming in water wings since he was about 10 months old, and he can do perfect somersaults and jump with a 6 inch vertical. Not only can he catch a ball, but he already has a basketball jump shot and a football spiral throw. His talent is just emerging, but it is definitely there. A dare-devil by nature and encouraged by nurture, my motto for his fearlessness is this: "He is going to do it anyway, so I might as well let him get good at it." I don't hover over him on the playground, but I do stand near the open edges of tall structures. I don't restrict him from jumping on the bed, but I do make sure he has plenty of room, and I don't keep him confined to a stroller, but I do require him to hold my hand in parking lots and crowded places. I am protective, but not over-protective. In fact, I am probably more emotionally protective of him than physically, at least where his development is concerned.

So doesn't that make today's incident my fault? I feel terrible about what happened, and I honestly can't say if I were to see the same thing happen to another mother that I wouldn't judge her from a distance, just like the moms who judge me when I let my child take the stairs by himself or jump off the bench at the park.

I believe everyone has their own "-isms" that are just part of our own personal make-up. Often these are irrational fears or obsessive behaviors, or other not-so-normal personality traits that help make us who we are as individuals. I believe you can develop a whole new set of "-isms" with parenthood. One of my biggest Brooke-isms is guilt. I obviously have not forgiven all of my transgressions over the years and I clearly still feel bad about lots of things I have done in my life. The slightest awkward glance my way leaves me wondering what I did to cause it; I'm consistently trying to make everyone happy, underestimating my motives and often second guessing my own decisions. It doesn't always apply - I do have SOME things on which I refuse to budge - but as a parent I am learning so many new life lessons every day that it is easy to make a mistake and get mixed up in my own ideas.

Today I feel responsible for what happened with Jack in the pool. I feel like I was too far away from him, like I should not have encouraged him to jump in on his own, even if he had done it a million times before, and even then I was wrong for allowing it. I feel like I expected too much of him, my not even 2 year old, and I didn't prevent a totally preventable accident. I feel like I messed up, like I was too relaxed, not attentive enough and careless. I feel horribly guilty for that little bruise on my Jack-Bo's shin, and I worry that maybe there is more hurting that he just can't communicate to me yet.

I don't know if my feelings are just uber-sensitive right now, or if I will still feel this way after some time has gone by, but I can say that I don't want it to affect my overall goal of encouraging my child's exploration and independence. I want him to be who he is naturally, for as long as possible, without the awareness and learned feeling of fear and anxiety. He has his entire life to be scared; right now I want him to be free and unrestricted.

So I'll get through this night (it is 5:30AM by the way, and I am blogging instead of sleeping!), and I'll see how I feel a little later, but right now I am just so thankful that my little boy is okay. I am so blessed. I don't EVER want to let my precious boy down...

It took me 3 seconds to reach him, but in my book, it was 3 seconds too many.