To be or not to be — swimming. That is the question
My child loves to swim… rather she likes the whole idea of swimming. Sunshine and water seem like a great combo. Check. She loves the fashion accessories. Check. There always seem to be other kids around to play with in swimming pools. What’s not to like?
Well… the water, actually.
I had this idea in my head that her day care/preschool/summer camp was going to teach her to swim. Both the child and I looked forward to the first trip to the little local swimming pool. When I went to pick her up that afternoon, she ran into my arms crying.
“Mommy! I drown-ded. I drown-ded in the pool!” (Don’t you just love how the word combines “drown” and “dead”?)
I picked up the rest of the story in bits from other students and teachers. She was told to stay in the baby pool, but she figured she knew better than her teachers and went into the big pool with her friends. Well, she was hanging out with another little girl, just is a bit older than her. The other girl pulled her around the pool a couple of times and then lost interest. Assuming that my child could swim by herself, she let go. My child went under the water.
I don’t think she was in any real danger. The other girl rescued her immediately and both girls were roundly scolded by at least one of the teachers. The child tearfully vowed never to go swimming again.
That was two days before a road trip to see Grandma and Grandpa at a hotel that boasted — guess what — a pool as a main feature. I hoped she would get over it and packed her swimsuit. She kept insisting she would not and pulled it back out.
So I snuck the swimsuit in the suitcase later.
As soon as we got to the hotel, the child demanded to go into the pool. I got into the water and held out my arms for her to jump in.
She looked at me like I just asked her to eat worms and shook her head.
If I was getting wet so was she. “Come on, baby. It’s not very deep.”
“No! I’ll drown!”
This brought the attention of everyone in the area on us. I smiled tightly.
“It’s OK, sweetheart. I’ll hang on to you. I promise. I won’t let go.”
She glanced over as some other girls her age splashing nearby and started chewing on her lip.
“Come on, sweetie. I’ll catch you.”
She jumped and then clung tightly to my neck, effectively choking me. She didn’t seem to notice my initial gasps for air because she was completely focused on introducing herself to the other little girls. I finally wrenched an arm loose and got a breath.
“Do you want to get down and go play with them?”
Panic filled her eyes and she clung tighter. One of the little girls came over and invited her to play. “It’s not deep,” she said, demonstrating by standing up herself.
The peer pressure was too much. The child let go of my bruised neck and slid down. The water hit her just below the armpits. The girls played until I got a message that Grandma and Grandpa were arriving. With many tears, we left the pool.
And after three hours of non-stop whining, we were back. My dad put on a bathing suit and went in the pool so I stayed dressed and sat in a chair. The new posse were all there and had produced a pile of small plastic princess dolls. My child plopped herself in the water and just walked back and forth through the shallow end of the pool. She’d get out now and then to tell me something critically important like which princess she was holding. During one of those times, she was leaning over the edge of the pool and slipped, falling head-first into the water.
She popped right back up and grabbed the wall before either her grandfather or I could react. I got there first and pulled her out. She was crying again. “I drown-ded! I drown-ded again!”
If that was her definition of drowning, I felt a little better about the school thing.
“Do you want to go back to the room?”
She looked at the other little girls still playing and gripped a Little Mermaid doll. “NO!”
“OK. Do you want to get back in the pool?”
I could see the decision-making on her face. Finally, the little voices of the other girls got to her. She nodded gravely, got back in the pool and started splashing around and playing as if nothing had happened.
I patted myself on the back for an SAHM job well done.
That night, a little warm body curled up next to me in bed. “I’m scared.”
No problem. There’s plenty of space in the bed. Two hours later, she sits bolt upright and in abject panic. “NOOO. Don’t let gooooo!”
I woke up, calmed her down and went back to sleep. Some hours later (I was too bleary-eyed to check the time), she sat up in panic again.
This went on all night.
It’s going to be a long summer.
