I was giving Andrew his bath when it happened. He sits up in the tub now, with just a few inches of water. I’ve thought often about what I would do if he fell over, and I’m glad I’d had those practice runs tonight.
I was soaping him up and singing when he toppled right over, hitting his head on the side. In the span of a few seconds, or maybe twenty minutes? I had scooped him out of the water and hugged him to me as he sputtered and cried.
I did exactly what I was supposed to. I did everything right.
I will still be haunted by the image of his face underwater for quite some time.
He’s fine. I’m going to be. I’ve got a delicious dinner in my belly. I’ve got a husband to cuddle with and the last two episodes of West Wing to watch.
But still. Tonight I experienced what it’s like to go from mundane to abject terror in less than a second, and I won’t soon be the same because of it.