This morning was the first swimming lesson of the new term. The plan was that Mr Daddy would take the little dude to the lesson while I swam some laps. I used to go swimming several times a week when I was pregnant with the little dude, not so much this time because my evenings and weekends have a toddler in them now.
So I’d done maybe eight laps when I see Mr Daddy and the little dude standing at the end of the lane, and I’m thinking to myself, what are they doing there, it’s nowhere near been half an hour! I get to the end of the lane and Mr Daddy says “yeah so he had a total meltdown when he realised you weren’t watching from the side of the pool and I couldn’t calm him down and he was just screaming and crying so we had to come find you.”
I very awkwardly clambered out of the pool. I should have gone to the ladder but when I’m swimming I forget about the pregnant belly and so started hauling myself out of the deep end, then got stuck, and sort of side-flopped over the edge. The little dude thought this was funny “Oh no Mummy yie down pool! Dedt up Mummy!” And as soon as I was up he reached out for me to hold him.
We tried to redeem the swimming experience by taking him to the splash pool with the fountains, and he had a good time for about five minutes before they closed the pool because of what the staff describe as a “faecal incident”, and what the parents all call a “code brown”.
Funny story, right?