A Dip in the Tub

It is amazing how time can seem to stretch on forever during a crisis.  Even if that crisis only actually lasts for a few seconds.  This is never more true than when something happens to one of your children.  Tonight, during bath time, I experienced one of these moments.  It eerily echoed a moment from a few years ago, and yet it couldn't have been more different.  Let me explain.

Tessie hit most of her physical milestones at the later end of the spectrum, all except sitting.  The average child sits up at six months.  Tes was sitting well at five months, although she didn't crawl until ten months.  We felt so sure of her sitting skills, that at about five and a half months, I started bathing her without a bath seat.  Then one night, while I was bathing her, I watched as she tipped forward, her legs went out behind her, and then she was fully submersed, face down in the tub.  It felt like she was floating that way for an eternity.  I can still picture it, as clearly as if it happened yesterday.  In reality, it was only a couple of seconds before I scooped her up and out of the tub.  I must have screamed, because Nick ran into the bathroom immediately.  I was clutching her to me, soaking wet, and sobbing to the point of incoherence.  Tes coughed a little, and was barely crying.  I think she was more upset by me than by her dip in the tub.  Nick took her from me, and told me to calm down.  It took all night, with him repeatedly telling me I was not the world's worst mother, to get my heart rate back to normal.

Christian wasn't sitting well enough to get out of the bath seat until a little over a month ago, although that already seems distant.  He has been doing so well, that I almost feel confident enough to walk away from the tub.  Almost.  Tonight I was sitting beside the tub, letting the kids splash around before I scrubbed them.  Suddenly, Christian started to lean to one side.  I watched in slow motion as he slipped under the water, his eyes wide in surprise.  Again, it felt like I was glued to the floor for hours, watching my child floating in front of me.  I reached in and stood Christian up, and calmly asked if he was okay, told him to cough, and smiled back when he gave me a goofy grin.  "Whoa," he said "that was crazy!"

Seconds later, Christian was sitting back down, laughing and playing with his sister.  I couldn't help but compare this instance with the one I experienced as a new mother.  Not only was I proud of my son for being so tough, but I felt pretty tough myself.  Everything is different with the second baby.  Even a dip in the tub seems less like a near drowning, and more like, well, a dip in the tub.  Experience is a beautiful thing.