My son fell into the pond on Sunday. My little baby lamb. I was watching him, and he was only in the water for a matter of a few seconds before I pulled him out. He coughed and spluttered for a few seconds, and he was covered in pond scum, but he was fine. I was scared though. Petrified. I could only sit and hold him for what must’ve been 10 or 15 minutes. (an eternity for a two year old, but he didn’t mind) I couldn’t but think of the rash of drownings that occurs in Arizona every summer. I could have lost him. He could have drowned. When I told my husband what had happened, he was, of course, relieved that Rafe was ok. And to him, that was all that mattered. To me, though? I just kept thinking “What if…? What if…? What if…?”
This morning he said his first sentence- “I got a book!” and I cried. I was so grateful that he was alive. I AM so grateful. I think, how can I ever leave his side? But, of course you can’t do that, can you? Can’t protect them from every danger, can’t wrap them in bubble wrap. Sometimes, I though I wish I could. I wish I could guarantee that he will always be safe. I love him so much. And then I wonder if that in and of itself endangers him? Is it possible that loving someone, or something, to much guarantees it will be taken from you? I hope not, what a scary thing to even contemplate.