Nearly every afternoon that we are home, Little Guy rides his bike with my neighbor's son, his pseudo big brother.

So there was nothing unusual one late afternoon as my neighbor and I stood at the edge of her driveway, catching up and watching the boys. That is, until I spotted the car coming toward us, traveling into the dead end. It was then I realized I couldn't see the kids. And I got that feeling.

I quickly processed it all. They must have been on the tiny cul-de-sac that jets out before the dead end we were standing in. I could have yelled "car," but I was certain I was too far away to be heard.  Instead, I reassured myself that Little Guy would remember to slow down and look both ways as he came to the corner.  We'd gone over bike safety a million times.

Suddenly, Little Guy shot off the side cul-de-sac.  He headed straight past the big red sign with the large white letter that spelled STOP and sailed into the cross street, only a few feet in front of the car. It was a slow motion moment as I watched the SUV approach us, with Little Guy scurrying across the street like a squirrel.

Little Guy coasted into a driveway. There was no fear. No panic as to what nearly happened. Except by me.

As parents, we become quite familiar with these slow motion moments.  Sometimes they come when a terrible thing has actually occurred. Sometimes they come as we hold our breath and wait for something terrible to unfold. And although I think the intent of these moments is to give us time to sort out what's happening and plan our reaction, what we should do and what we actually do are not always the same.

I've had lots of practice at slow motion moments. They usually involve bodily injury and lots of blood. I usually fail in the aftermath, yelling at the sight of flowing bright red and streaming tears, while I run around in circles trying to decide what to do. Masking panic is not my strong suit.

But on this day, I faired better than usual. I had kept my cool and quietly asked a question I didn't need an answer to: "Did he almost get hit by the car?"

Little Guy was lucky that afternoon. The car, driven by my neighbor's husband, had been going quite slowly. He must have seen us standing outside. He probably expected to see the boys. It would have been different if someone else had been driving.  We've all driven too fast down our little nook.

And it was upon this thought that I rediscovered the problem with slow motion moments. Long after the moment has passed, the self torturing side effect of the slow motion moment begins. We ask the dreaded, "what if's."

Later that night, the what if's began. What if a teenager had been driving? What if Little Guy had been two seconds slower? What if he had turned, seen the car and panicked? What if the driver had been looking away? How hurt would he have been?

Dismal, yes. A little bit sick, obviously. But as parents, we can't help but go there. It's what keeps us awake at night as we can't help but ponder how things could have been worse. It's part of the burden we carry for having such a tremendous, desired responsibility.

Yet amazingly enough, after the side effects pass, we somehow come to terms with the fact that every one of us can break. That we all have near misses. And we end up being grateful for the nudge that makes us recommit to staying on our toes. To being more diligent as parents. To being given another chance.

And we say an extra prayer while we hug our children one extra time, long after they have fallen asleep. 

Illyse appears Thursdays on TriangleMom2Mom.