"In a world..."

Much like monotonous movie preview intros, falling back into a piece of fiction can feel like diving down the rabbit hole. You have to hold your breath and let yourself submerge. Inevitably the real world will break back in. Monkeys, appointments, sleep, you name it, eventually they all take precedence. But taking that first leap afoul a self-made reality can be tricky.

Today, all I see is Sophia. My beautiful and vibrant 8 year old has been plastered across my brain since this morning, and no free fall can pull me away from her, right now. My gravity has been suspended. She may be rooms away, eating lunch with her siblings, and then running off to play, but she's right here with me. Every time I think about her, I just want to cry. I've already been told this is not a rational reaction, and perhaps it is not. But when exactly did sadness become irrational?

This morning, I came to terms with the fact that Sophia is terrified of the water. She had been very nervous yesterday, but still, this morning she wanted to come to the second to last of the swim lessons, which she's had with her siblings all week. Two days ago she was still laughing, and did many of the routines, easily, that sent her hyperventilating today. After lots of cheering and calming and soothing, she snapped. With dilated pupils, she looked up at me, clinging to the pool side, every muscle tensed, abject terror carved squarely into her face. She looked like a half-mad and sopping cat trying to climb a shower wall.  All good judgement had ebbed from her with panic securely at the helm.

After it was all over, and we were leaving the pool, my rational reaction was to ask myself how this needed to change our plans as they included her and water, to maximize safety while maintaining balance. My 'irrational' reaction was to feel very sad, not in front of her, not as a broadcast demeanor, but personally. There is something that my baby needs, that I cannot give her, and I am scared.

I know there are plenty more things we could potentially try, down the line, to help her feel more comfortable. There have to be. Will she want to try them? Would they work? Does it matter if she misses out? I want to scream "YES!!" But it's not cancer, it's not terminal, it's just missing out.

I just want to swaddle her in wads of caution. If I don't... Sure I can't protect her from everything, but shouldn't I protect her from the things I can see happening, at least within reason. You don't take an alcoholic to a bar. Why should a girl who is terrified of swimming, go to a pool? Why would you put a person, who will be guaranteed to panic and drown quickly, in a place, where finding yourself in the water without some form of buoyant vest or an adult a split second away can never be guaranteed. Missing out may not be terminal, but serious injury or death incurred in pursuit of not missing out is ridiculous. Even if the chances are low, ignoring them feels like negligence.

Which makes me sad. Either way, there is something missing. Either way, may be a mistake.