I have two babies with very different feelings about swimming. My son, the youngest of the bunch scares the living beeejesus out of me, because at 2 years old, he has absolutely no fear of water. He refuses floation devices and is convinced he can swim. My daughter on the other hand, diva that she is doesn’t mind getting her hair wet, but her face is a no no. She requires an adult with a dry towel to be within arm’s distance at all times just to wipe her face.
But there was one thing they both agreed on; water is cool and fun. So we decided to enroll both of them in swimming lessons this past summer. Their age difference put them in different leagues. Little G’s swim class requires parents in the water with the child and Morgan’s class requires parents to stay away. Neither child wanted to sit by while the other was enjoying the water so that meant two parents at all times; split duty.
My husband lost the coin toss so he got our son who is inclined to jump feet first without notice. My nerves will not allow me to coach his swim lessons. My son will look you in the face tell you to watch and then float face down in the water for what feels like an eternity. His eyes stay open under water, he smiles the whole time and my heart simply can’t take it.
With just two lessons left and a overlap in scheduling when school starts, my wonderful husband finds himself managing them both until I arrive to help ease the burden. Morgan’s class had just started and my husband and Little Garrett were drying off. Little Garrett is so excited when I enter the pool all decked out in my business suit that he feels the need to show me what he has just learned. He yells to me “watch mommy, watch” and he runs and jumps in 4 feet of water without supervision.
The entire pool gasps in unison and my husband drops his smartphone on the floor, takes off his sneakers and jumps in right behind him. The lifeguard in Morgan’s class is en route to my baby when she notices his daddy is much closer than she is and she stops to observe the situation. Little G is physically fine, but shaken by all the adult hoopla and runs right to me when his daddy carries him out of the pool. In that moment I could care less that my designer dress is soaking wet. He was frightened and wanted his momma. I’m glad I was there to lower his heart rate, but I was wondering who was going to lower mine. Not to mention my poor husband’s.
Days like this remind me of just how many times my children have already knocked me to my knees; literally and I’ve been at this parenting thing for less than five years. One thing I know for sure is this parenting game requires a life preserver and I’m grateful I know exactly who to call, Thank You Jesus.