Bug has been struggling at swimming lessons. As much as she loves to take a bath and splash in puddles, she seems to hate being in the pool; or at least hates being at swimming lessons. She cries, screams, whimpers, clings and acts afraid of anyone who speaks to her. It is all very un-Bug-like. It got so bad last week we actually got out of the pool and went home.
So last night there we were again, in the pool, kind, doting teachers surrounding us and mama trying like hell to act gleeful and chipper singing "Babies in the pool go splash, splash, splash" while Bug cries uncontrollably. Now, despite the hysterics, Bug dutifully fulfills each of her pool tasks. She walks the wall sobbing. She knocks down the turtles whimpering. She holds her breath and "swims" under water with tears streaming down her face. She just seems to hate every minute of it (as do I).
As we are checking off tasks on her chart, the teacher gets the idea to let her start jumping in to me. I mentally prepare for what might be the most hysterical of the hysterics to date. Yet, much to my surprise, Bug LOVED jumping to me. She came up with a smile. She struggled to squirm out of my arms and do it again. She climbed out of the pool essentially unaided to get to the edge and jump in again. The video tells the story (though the video is at the end of her thirty minute class so it tells the story of very tired jumps). The teacher had a tough word with me after that - "Mama, as hard as it is for YOU, she is just tired of you confining and controlling her movements so much." Ouch. Last night confirmed my absolute resolve that the child learn to swim (since apparently she has no fear) and my painful recognition that if I'm not careful I may become a "helicopter mom."
Later, when we were driving home from swim Pumpkin announced to me that Cutie told her to get him a gun for his birthday next week. This was the conversation (or soliloquy):
Pumpkin: "[Cutie] told me today at lunch that he wants me to get him a gun for his birthday. I don't know what that means. I guess he meant a drum. So I think we need to get [Cutie] an instrument for his birthday. Can we get [Cutie] some kind of instrument for his birthday?"
She didn't understand my out loud laugh. Her 100% girly innocence is sometimes just too much. It's a nice juxtaposition to my fearless daredevil.
So last night there we were again, in the pool, kind, doting teachers surrounding us and mama trying like hell to act gleeful and chipper singing "Babies in the pool go splash, splash, splash" while Bug cries uncontrollably. Now, despite the hysterics, Bug dutifully fulfills each of her pool tasks. She walks the wall sobbing. She knocks down the turtles whimpering. She holds her breath and "swims" under water with tears streaming down her face. She just seems to hate every minute of it (as do I).
As we are checking off tasks on her chart, the teacher gets the idea to let her start jumping in to me. I mentally prepare for what might be the most hysterical of the hysterics to date. Yet, much to my surprise, Bug LOVED jumping to me. She came up with a smile. She struggled to squirm out of my arms and do it again. She climbed out of the pool essentially unaided to get to the edge and jump in again. The video tells the story (though the video is at the end of her thirty minute class so it tells the story of very tired jumps). The teacher had a tough word with me after that - "Mama, as hard as it is for YOU, she is just tired of you confining and controlling her movements so much." Ouch. Last night confirmed my absolute resolve that the child learn to swim (since apparently she has no fear) and my painful recognition that if I'm not careful I may become a "helicopter mom."
Later, when we were driving home from swim Pumpkin announced to me that Cutie told her to get him a gun for his birthday next week. This was the conversation (or soliloquy):
Pumpkin: "[Cutie] told me today at lunch that he wants me to get him a gun for his birthday. I don't know what that means. I guess he meant a drum. So I think we need to get [Cutie] an instrument for his birthday. Can we get [Cutie] some kind of instrument for his birthday?"
She didn't understand my out loud laugh. Her 100% girly innocence is sometimes just too much. It's a nice juxtaposition to my fearless daredevil.
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