At every apartment complex that we’ve lived, we’ve had a pool.
Though I love swimming, I’m not a big fan of the whole bathing suit thing and refuse to wear a t-shirt to cover up so I can count on two hands [maybe three…I have a spare] the number of times that I’ve actually used the various pools.
Now I have a fish for a daughter [I thought she was human but am pretty sure I saw gills today] and every time we drive by the pool she DEMANDS to go swimming.
I psyched myself up and convinced my delusional self that I could in fact handle Cara and Ollie [by myself] in the pool. I dug out my maternity bathing suit [Don’t laugh! It’s cute!], suited up the kids, slathered them both in SPF 5o, grabbed the towels, grabbed Cara’s life jacket, packed a cooler with drinks, packed my diaper bag, wrestled two slimy kids into their respective car seats and drove to the pool.
I was already exhausted and regretting my swim time fun idea.
Cara flat-out refused to wear shoes so when we got to the pool, I had to carry Ollie [23 lbs], Cara [30lbs], and all of our shit [5 billion lbs] to the pool without dropping anything. I rawk.
More SPF 50 was applied since some had gotten rubbed off by the car seats and we all gingerly made our way into the ICE COLD OMG, IS IT FROZEN [!?!!] water. Correction. I gingerly made my way into the water. Cara jumped in the water like she could walk on it and came up sputtering “MORE! ALL BY MYSELF!”.
My daughter gravitates toward older kids. I did the same thing when I was little so while it doesn’t surprise me, it does get annoying that I have to explain why the eleven year old isn’t exactly thrilled by the idea of playing with a two year old. If she told me one more time how she wanted to “PLAY WITH THAT GUY” I was going to scream. Seriously scream. Loud, throat killing screams.
So, you had me [in my maternity suit which showed WAY too much boobage], Ollie [hanging out on my shoulder totally oblivious to the fact that his sister was trying to drown him with the flailing of her legs as she kicked the water in his face] and Cara [with her bright red life jacket up to her neck directing me where to take her as she swam ALL BY MYSELF!].
Though I had completely covered them in sunscreen, Ollie’s back was starting to look a bit pink and I made the executive decision to go home. It was an hour past Cara’s nap time and she had been too excited to eat much lunch. Hysterics, I tell you. Not only did I basically have to hoist Cara out of the pool by her life jacket but she stood on the pool deck and screamed about her feet burning. Mind you, she made no effort to get on the towel that I had laid out for her. She just stood on the kinda warm concrete and screamed at me.
Hi, toddler meltdown! *waves hand* How are you? I haven’t seen you in about three hours! Long time no see!
By this time, just about everyone at the pool was looking at me like my daughter’s feet were literally burning down to little feet nubs and why the hell wasn’t I doing something about it?!
I scooped Cara up and planted her on her Hello Kitty! towel. The screaming stopped but was replaced by a much more annoying whine about how she didn’t want to go to her “big new house” and how she wanted to “playing in the swimming pool!”.
Now, I had to navigate our wet asses back out of the pool area without dropping anything and this time I wasn’t as successful.
I evaluated what was a priority on the first trip [the kids] and dropped everything else onto the pool deck. Just then, my knights in shining armor [armors?] swooped in and asked if I needed help. The guy and the gal were both in their early 20’s and both had beach ready bodies and I had pretty much ignored them since they were obviously interested in each other and it was hard to stare at their perfect, perfect bodies without looking like a sicko.
They grabbed my stuff and followed me to my SUV and laughed the entire way about Cara telling the guy that she didn’t like him. *sigh* I thanked them profusely for their kindness and set off for home.
Cara got a snack of bananas and cashews and screamed at me for making her wear something other than her Dora panties [her swim diaper] and I tossed both kids into bed for much needed naps. Here it is almost an hour later and my arms are still like jelly.
Moral of the story: Though I am awesome, apparently my awesomness stops just shy of being able to handle a two year old and eight month old by myself at the pool. Daddy is required next time.