Last year’s parent-child swimming lessons were so epic, D. and I have already begun arguing over who has to be the one to don the bathing suits we both looked way hotter in before we had children (even him, yes) to take part in the class with our 4-year-old.
I’m still trying to get over last year’s highlights.
My favorite memory last year? Maybe A. standing beside the edge of the pool as the other kids jumped in, pee running down her leg as she screamed “I’M GOING POTTY NOW!”, as my awkward and pale mom-body leapt out of the water to tackle her/ walk her into the bathrooms, even though clearly it was too late.
No, maybe my favorite part was the way my bathing suit didn’t really fit all that well … And geez, I’m so tired? And why is this — tug, tug — not fitting anymore? Oh, maybe because I was 8 weeks pregnant and I had no idea. Yes, that was a fun discovery I made on the morning of one of the last lessons.
Or maybe it was peeling A.’s fingers off the side of the pool 14 times a lesson, where she clung like her fingers were magnetically attached and wailed? Yes, yes. Good times.
When the teacher handed us the big ol’ F last year — “F” for “far, far unprepared to advance to the next level” — I just knew it would come to this: standing in the kitchen debating who could best play the part of parent-cheerleader-swimming partner. Awesome.
“I just had a baby four months ago. I don’t want to wear a bathing suit yet.”
“You look fine.”
“You just don’t want to do it.”
“It’s so cold!”
“And they sing Wheels on the Bus!”
“EVERY DAY. Why!”
“I’ll do it,” I said, expecting to volley this one in a “No, I’ll do it!” fashion.
“Hey, you said you’d do it.”
“The last time I got in that pool I got pregnant.”
“I don’t think that’s quite how that worked.”
“Do you want to take that chance?”
And so I have six days to make the bathing suit fit. And to practice my soothing mom voice: “A., Mom is not going to let you drown. By the way, do you have to go potty? … How about now? Now? No? OK, let me know. Now?”