“Mommy is right here. You know I won’t let you get hurt, right?” “Right . . .” Tiny arm wraps around my neck, clutching me in a death grip. “You know that I will be here the whole time, right?” “Right . . .” Little fingers clutch at my hair. “You’re going to have to trust me.” “But I don’t trust you!” she wailed at a paint peeling decibel. I’m sure the neighbors were quite certain I was committing various acts of torture instead of just trying to get my child to float in the pool with her life jacket on. This is the child I have doted on since…