Andy Reluctantly Dives Into Swim Lessons!

Andy started swimming lessons earlier this month. The lessons were a gift from his Aunt Jessie and were meant to be a way for them to spend some time together as Andy dove into his assumed career as an Olympic swimmer. Expectations for Andy were pretty high. Obviously, he would love swimming, and, clearly, he'd be great at it. He'd be swimming laps around the pool by the middle of the second lesson and would invent some new swimming style by the end of the third lesson, a kind of rowdy side stroke that involved simultaneously eating a string cheese.

We were wrong.

He's had three lessons so far. I've been present for two of them, and watching Andy crying and whining in the pool, calling out "mama" for me to come and get him OUT of the pool, not being willing to at all participate in the dumbed down activities the other babies were participating in (i.e., splashing), and just generally acting miserable and pathetic has been much too painful for me- which is why I opted out of going to the third lesson at all. One of the reasons that I opted out, anyway- the other just selfishly being an overwhelming desire to stay home alone for two hours so that I could vacuum the upstairs, drink two cups of coffee, and read a whole chapter of a novel. I never thought I would miss being able to vacuum, drink coffee, and read ten pages of a book in relative peace. Never. Then I had a baby.

Of course, the third lesson is when Andy stopped believing he was being tortured and started actually enjoying himself. Jessie sent me a text at one point to say that he was actually in the water and LAUGHING. Which just goes to show: if Andy is to enjoy himself, it's best if I'm not there.

No, I know that's not entirely true. I'm sure a couple factors contributed to Andy's sudden okayness with being in the water. One: it was his third lesson. Perhaps Andy's just a "need three tries to get used to it" sort of guy. I think Chris may be that kind of guy, too, which is why I keep pressuring him to try pistachios two more times, because, really, what kind of fascist hates pistachios? Two: Chris decided to get in the water with him with this time, which may have helped with Andy's comfort level a bit, especially because Chris didn't make Andy do the things the other toddlers were doing. The teacher would have the other toddlers sit on the edge of the pool, sing Humpty Dumpty, and then fall face first into the water. Meanwhile, Chris told me, he had Andy on the opposite side of the pool where they worked on solving the riddle where you have a goat, a wolf, and a head of cabbage and need to get all three safely across the water in an inconveniently sized rowboat.

And, three: I wasn't there to "rescue" him, so perhaps Andy decided to just suck it up and see what this swimming stuff was all about.

Andy has two more lessons left, and as much as I want to see Andy enjoy himself in the water, I may just opt out for the remainder of the lessons and let Chris and Jessie deal with it. If I could actually get IN the water with them, it might be a different story, but in my current, enlarged state, there's no way my pregnant ass is getting into a bathing suit. There are just sacrifices that I'm not willing to make. I don't need all of Highland Park pointing and laughing at me, thank you very much. I am okay with waiting until post-baby to venture into the pool with Andy. And venture into the pool I will. I do really want Andy to be comfortable in the water and grow up knowing how to swim. I personally didn't learn to swim until I was eleven or twelve, and even now, there's only a 50/50 shot of me making it out alive if someone threw me into a lake. Or a pool. Even if that pool were only four feet deep. I'm just not a good swimmer, okay? Lay off, already.

Although, I'm not sure Chris will be up for taking Andy back without me again. I sent the two boys out the door this past Saturday morning with Andy's swim bag, full of vital swimming supplies, such as swim diapers, swim pants, and a towel. Chris got Andy into the changing room at the pool, though, only to discover that I had neglected to pack any baby wipes. As he was changing Andy's regular diaper for a swim diaper, Andy immediately decided to pee, and before Chris knew what was happening, Andy was afloat in his own urine, which was now sloshing off the sides of the public changing table. Not knowing what else to do, Chris mopped up the pee as best as he could with Andy's shirt and a diaper, but Andy was still admittedly soaked in a fair amount of pee when, in his swim pants and swim diaper, he got into the pool some five minutes later. The state of the changing table was not much drier. In all the hubbub, Chris threw out Andy's pee-drenched t-shirt, which explains why, some time later, Andy walked into our kitchen shirtless and without shoes. Well, I guess that just explains the shirtless part. Still waiting for an explanation on the lack of shoes.

So, note to self. Double check the swim bag before sending them on their way. And, note to Chris. Double check the swim bag before you leave the house.

I hope Andy enjoys his next two swim lessons and that he retains a little of his newfound tolerance for when I'm ready to get into the pool... later this summer... or early this fall. Anyone know how one goes about holding a newborn while safely wrangling a toddler into the pool? I'm going to need a lot of help, folks. A lot.

And I should probably get in all the vacuuming, coffee drinking, and book reading I can before new baby arrives this June. Right? Right.