We should have learned from last year, but because Alex finally stopped crying and got in the pool for the last 2 (out of 10) classes, and because I feel very strongly this is a matter of safety – not a typical toddler class to pass time for parents or accelerate a child’s interest in classical music or attending the 2020 World Gymnastics Championships (as a participant) – I did not hesitate to sign Alex and Avery up for swim lessons this summer.
But what I really blocked out of my mind from last year was that there is nothing like the fish bowl of a toddler swim-class to second guess your own self-perceptions and put your own parenting skills (or lack there of) on display. Blame it on the small pool with more teachers than kids or the waiting area with more parents than chairs, but everyone gets a magnified view (especially through the steamed glass wall) of your child’s temperament and your every response. Throw in a slippery wet two year old, and your self-consciousness hits a new high and your patience a new low, while others get a free show.
We were once again forced to play that part and once again didn’t disappoint our audience. It was week two of swim classes, and already only one child was attending. Alex had conceded after his first week’s performance where his shy refusal to get into the water elevated into a waterworks display of stubbornness and disrespect while leaving the building – so Andy was more than happy to stay home and comply.
But what I really blocked out of my mind from last year was that there is nothing like the fish bowl of a toddler swim-class to second guess your own self-perceptions and put your own parenting skills (or lack there of) on display. Blame it on the small pool with more teachers than kids or the waiting area with more parents than chairs, but everyone gets a magnified view (especially through the steamed glass wall) of your child’s temperament and your every response. Throw in a slippery wet two year old, and your self-consciousness hits a new high and your patience a new low, while others get a free show.
We were once again forced to play that part and once again didn’t disappoint our audience. It was week two of swim classes, and already only one child was attending. Alex had conceded after his first week’s performance where his shy refusal to get into the water elevated into a waterworks display of stubbornness and disrespect while leaving the building – so Andy was more than happy to stay home and comply.
This left me with Avery, whose interest during class has waivered. She liked crawling like an alligator on the pool step, but did not like hanging like a monkey on the pool edge. She did a few motor boats and chased a ducky with a noodle, but she really spent most of her “free play” time drowning the instructor’s demonstration baby doll. She did happily let the instructor dip her under a water polo goal (which means actually being dunked under water) in a baptism like fashion (so you can guess I was second guessing the class at this point). But when the whistle blew telling the 7:15 swimmers to get out and the 7:45 swimmers to jump in, the melt down begin.
Avery had no intent on leaving the pool and thought a few skin-breaking bites, several ear piercing screams and countless full fledge body flops would convince me to stay for more water time fun. I did my best to remain calm – repeating “sweetheart, its time to get out of the pool” in a low voice – but my lack of grip – it was like trying to wrestle a reluctant pit bull pup out of the bathtub – and my patience quickly subsided.
The whole ordeal, which was filled with juggling shoes, cover-ups, pool bags and body parts, went on for what felt like thirty minutes (but probably only ten) and finally ended during her weakest moment when I could wrap her in a towel like a new born. I walked out the door with my head down, never looking back and determined the Muse family combined had set a new world record for tears, blood, screams and sweat per minute in the pool category. I am guessing that was the last class (for this summer) and have no remorse forfeiting our ridiculous small fortune in registration fees.
Avery had no intent on leaving the pool and thought a few skin-breaking bites, several ear piercing screams and countless full fledge body flops would convince me to stay for more water time fun. I did my best to remain calm – repeating “sweetheart, its time to get out of the pool” in a low voice – but my lack of grip – it was like trying to wrestle a reluctant pit bull pup out of the bathtub – and my patience quickly subsided.
The whole ordeal, which was filled with juggling shoes, cover-ups, pool bags and body parts, went on for what felt like thirty minutes (but probably only ten) and finally ended during her weakest moment when I could wrap her in a towel like a new born. I walked out the door with my head down, never looking back and determined the Muse family combined had set a new world record for tears, blood, screams and sweat per minute in the pool category. I am guessing that was the last class (for this summer) and have no remorse forfeiting our ridiculous small fortune in registration fees.
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