Breathe In. Breathe Out.

Today is Monday. And I almost didn't live to see it.

I know I tend to be dramatic at times and so you often have to take what I'm saying with a grain of salt, but with my hand in the air I tell you, I almost didn't live to see today.

Last night at 5:30 my family almost became a horrible statistic.

It had been a wonderful afternoon; after-church napping followed by some pool time and cold watermelon. Aaahhh. The best part of it was I was able to sit comfortably in my chair reading my People magazine while The AG and Poppie did all the necessary cheering for kids who slid down the slide, jumped off the side and actually made it out of the pool in time to use the bathroom. It had been a good time.

As we were just about to head in I removed Rocco's swim diaper, wrapped him up in a towel (which he promptly tossed aside) and turned to answer my dad's question, "Are these towels yours or mine?" "Their mine. Just leave them there."

That was all I said.

That was all it took.

My head had been turned for four, maybe five seconds, and there he was. Rocco. At the bottom of the pool.

We never heard a splash. We never heard a sound. It was as if he was right there on the sidewalk walking to the house. And then he wasn't. It happened just like that. Four seconds, maybe five. Instantly.

When I looked up all I saw was some floating blond hair and little fingers reaching up out of the water. I remember leaping up from my chair, running to the water and then stopping. Not moving. I couldn't move. My legs were lead. I can swim. What was I doing? Jump in, idiot! But I couldn't. I was frozen. All I did was scream and scream. I just screamed, "Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!"

My dad jumped in the water and instantly Rocco was out. There was no coughing or gasping, no crying or spitting up water. Just Rocco taking a few deep breaths and resting his head on my shoulder. My heaving, crying, sobbing shoulder.

"Mama's got you. Mama's got you. Mama's got you."

I couldn't say it enough. I still can't. Mama's got you. Mama's got you.

He looked at me and he knew, Momma is just as scared as I was. But he never showed it. I did.

Later that night we gave him a bath and he never flinched at the water. Never screamed, "No! No!" Never acted traumatized or shocked. Just Rocco.

After it happened - "the incident" as we call it - I told everyone I needed a moment. I went to my room and locked my door. I remember last summer how little he was when we took him to his ISR (Infant Swimming Resource) classes. I remember watching them put him under water in all of his clothes and shoes and how he had to learn to hold his breath and float on his back. I remember thinking that I hoped the day never came when he had to put those lessons into play. And as I lay across my bed last night sobbing at the thought of losing him, of looking away, of running to the side and freezing, I remember that when he came up out of the water there was no gasping, no spitting water or throwing up water - none of it.

He had held his breath the whole time.

He had been holding his breath.

And suddenly I said the only word that had been so present on my lips: "Jesus. Jesus. Jesus."
And then after a moment. After I pulled myself together. After a good long cry. I also said: "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

And then I stood up and took a looooong, deep breath.

Because as a momma you know: life is simply holding your breath until the next time you need His protection.

My son, let not them depart from thine eyes:

keep sound wisdom and discretion:

So shall they be life unto thy soul, and grace to thy neck.

Then shalt thou walk in thy way safely, and thy foot shall not stumble.

Proverbs 3:21-23