Today we're going to talk about swimming lessons. And cleaning my dishwasher. And the fact that I'm an overworrier when it comes to my children.
So let's begin.
At 7 AM.
Baby Wonder doesn't wake up calling softly for me, full of love and excitement for the coming day. I awake to blood-curling screams and fits of despair until I shuffle in and ask whaaat? Already??
I don't know what it is about my son that makes him so special. Maybe he just thinks it's funny, that I wake up disoriented and startled, too jarred to care if Mickey Mouse goes on first thing. Maybe he just doesn't like that he wakes up with only a glowing seahorse for company. I will never know, because by the time he is old enough to tell me, I will have poked holes in a Flat Rate box and shipped him to my mother.
Can't hear you from Californiaaaaaaaa.
Baby Wonder doesn't have an exact time that he naps, though it's usually around the same time since he wakes up at about the same time. I put him down about 2 and a half hours after he wakes up, thus crating a routine that he likes and one that I can depend on.
Swimming lessons have thrown a big, wet, sunscreened, wrench into our routine.
They begin at 10:30, prime time for sleeping. No worries, he'll be so happy to be in the water that it won't matter that I had to wake him up. Baby Wonder went to his first day of swim lessons with only an hour's worth of a nap, and none too happy that I woke him up only to put him in the car.
This will be fun, dammit. Stop being crabby. We're getting our money's worth out of this so smile like you mean it.
We got to the YMCA early, because I don't like being late when I don't know what the heck I'm supposed to be doing. Once he saw the water, he was better for a while. I tried to take a fabulous "first day of swimming lessons" picture, but my child refused to look at me and be cute.
|Wouldn't take his eyes off the pool. This is the best I got.|
chheayeah, ok. I've paid for a Y pass. And I'm melting.
|But it's right thereeee|
I'm all about not giving into demands, and even my 21 month old knows that he doesn't get what he wants when he throws a fit, but don't tell the baby he has to sit and watch the pool while other kids play and his instructor wraps up her lesson on floating with a bunch of 5 year olds.
In we go. Call me a rebel.
Baby Wonder makes some fabulous faces and sucks in his belly until it touches his spine as we get used to the cold water. Now, I'm all about learning the hard way (though I would never let my child get hit by a car or put beer in his sippy cup just to say I told you so). So after warning, and moving, Baby Wonder away from the 2ft deep water several times, and him pushing my hand away from his arm, I simply hovered as close as possible and watched his eyes go round as he walked deeper and deeper.
sputter sputter sputter.
And I swoop in, gently saving his life, as he sputters some more and squeals with joy at having narrowly escaped death. Then he pushes me away again, because narrowly escaping death is way better than not even trying it out.
When the lessons start, all of the swimsuit clad parents grab their babies and wade out to waist high water. It starts off normally, hold on tight and float them on their belly, now flip and float them on their backs.
Then she wants us to have them blow bubbles in the water. Now, in order to accomplish this, you have to put your baby's face in the water and try to get them to blow out. The face in the water thing is something I have been discouraging for the last 15 minutes, now you want me to somehow get him to put his mouth underwater, and what? Hope he'll make bubbles instead of treating it like the dog dish of his dreams?
And while we're on it, do you know how little space there is between a baby's mouth and nose? Like half an inch. That's a whole lot of pressure on me to have an incredibly steady hand and not cut off my child's breathing entirely, just so I can have some sort of bubble blowing accomplishment? How about my accomplishment be survival, since clearly both Baby Wonder and his swim instructor want breathing to be secondary in the day's adventures.
He floats adorably, jumps off the side right on cue, and slides down the slide with perfection. Then 15 minutes into our scant 30 minute lesson, he is done. Brief nap and tired baby has reared its ugly head. He curls up into my collarbone and rests his head. No more drowning in an attempt for bubbles, no more floating, just snuggles in 5 feet of chilly water surrounded by other mothers and their participating babies.
But no matter. I may be about hard lessons and poking fun at him because he tortures me, but when my baby wants to snuggle, we snuggle. I play along with the singing and little splashing of the group's pool performance of Itsy Bitsy Spider, all the while Baby Wonder eyes our instructor carefully from the safety of my collarbone, clearly thinking that's not the way Nana does it. She doesn't splash.
After we're done singing songs and turning ourselves about, we make our way to the super shallow end, splash some more and then are suddenly left to our own devices. I hear a faint, well, see you all tomorrow, as our instructor wades away.
I guess we're done.
We head to the locker room, where I make the quick decision to bathe him there. Clean baby, clean diaper, clean clothes. I know he'll be out before we hit the highway. And I'm right.
|The only time he would wear his sunglasses. In the locker room.|
|DQ Ice Cream Cake on the back patio. Happy Birthday to you :)|