Swimming In Embarrasment

by Cookie



I went into swimming lessons with low expectations.  Not of the quality of the program, but the quality of my Destroyer’s behavior.

One of the problems, you see, is that I come from a competitive swimming background.  I lived for and in the water as a child.  It is unfathomable to me that Destroyer do anything but love the water and excel at swimming.  Not only so she doesn’t drown, but so that I can relive my youth vicariously through my child.

Anyway, it’s a good thing I mentally kept the bar low.  Because in true Destroyer tradition we were a total fucking spectacle.  We first arrive on the pool deck about 10 minutes early.  The benches are lined with tiny people and their handlers.  Every other child is capable of sitting quietly and waiting their damn turn.  But not my baby.  To prevent the inevitable tantrum, we must walk back and forth along the deck, stopping to touch every rubber duckie and toy boat along the way.  She seemed really excited about the pool, and kept asking to go in.

Good sign, right?

Not even a little bit.

Once it was our turn, she bravely walked down the steps on her own and into my arms. As soon as the structured part of the class happened, she clung to me like a koala bear and proceeded to scream like a banshee for the next 20 minutes.  She would NOT be doing the hokey pokey and putting various body parts in the water.  She would not try to float.  She certainly would not blow bubbles on demand, even though she does it in the bathtub ALL the fucking time.  She was simply not interested in anybody’s itinerary but her own.

Doesn’t she know that this is supposed to be fun?  And also that I had to get into a bathing suit less than three months after having a baby in public?  So that she can act like an asshole and embarrass the fuck out of me learn to swim and have fun with other kids?

Now, in her defense, there were a couple of undesirable things going on.

First, the water was hard-nipple inducing cold.  The kiddie pool was under maintenance until next week, so most of the babies were shivering, and even my one good operational nipple was kinda hard from the cold.

Second, there was a man with an extremely hairy back quite close to us.  The kind where you figure his wife must not have ever seen it with the lights on before they got married.  We’re talking possible sasquatch sighting, right in the middle of a city pool.

Thirdly, if Mr. Hairyfuckingback weren’t bad enough, there was a man with a giant boil on his back.  Like the size of a ping pong ball.  I wanted to vomit and then cover myself in tea tree oil and bleach once I got out of the pool.  Maybe it’s not such a big deal, but cover that shit up.  I can only assume that Destroyer saw it and was afraid of catching these skin monstrosities as well.

Anyway.  I’m really hoping that swimming lessons don’t become a weekly scream-a-thon.  She has to be good at something, right?

Anybody got any tips on how to make her love swimming lessons?