Everything Is Going Swimmingly
So there is this indoor pool in my town. It’s kinda great for a couple of reasons. It allows for Rex’s favorite activity, swimming, during the cold new England months, and more importantly—the pool is surrounded by tables with food and drink service. Alcoholic drink service. So yeah, I went a few times this winter. My first visit was uneventful and pleasant. During my second visit I had to jump in the pool fully clothed to save an almost drowning Rex, and proceeded to unknowingly use the Men’s room three times. A lesser woman would have made that her final pool visit of the seaon, but not me. I went back a couple weeks later.
It started off great. I met Kitty (Britt’s SIL and our other best gal pal) with her two kids, Sam and Etta. We threw the puddle jumpers on the crazies and sent them off into the open sea. We ordered a couple drinks and Kitty and I sat at a table a few feet from the pool. Rocky still in his car seat.
A few minutes in a woman arrived and headed for the pool. She actually had me move all of my stuff, which was in her way, because she needed to shower. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t make you move, but do you see the sign? I have to shower before I swim.”---uhhhh, yeah, lady. I see it. It’s like the don’t pee in the pool sign. I promise you, no one is listening to it. But sure, take your weird shower out in the open three feet from our table.
As soon as she gets in the pool, two more women arrive. They all know each other. One lady is wearing a bathing cap and is holding Styrofoam water weights. The other is going swimming in a t-shirt and a pink pair of umbros. Shower lady is wearing a mask. No. Not goggles. A big ‘ol mask. A sub-par version of lap-swim slash water aerobics immediately ensues. I can’t look away, it’s too good.
Of course our little fishies are playing perfectly in the corner of the pool not bothering or distracting the weird adult swimteam practice. Wrong. Spashing, kicking, swimming too close, yelling, you name it, they are doing it. Kitty and I reel them in every few minutes as best we can but come on—it’s a public pool. Take your routine somewhere else, ladies. After a little while I can see their patience is wearing thin and they are looking over at us every few minutes with those “aren’t you going to control your kids?!” eyes. The kids are in the deep end, holding onto the side of the pool, all in a line. Sam and Rex are grabbing each other, yelling and Etta is trying to play referee. Damn it, we gotta intervene.
I throw Rocky in the car seat at my feet (he was on my lap at his point), throw his arms under the straps without buckling him in, and hand him a straw from my drink. (Oh please, it quieted him down!) Kitty and I both go over to the kids to tell them to behave. I threaten Rex with the lifeguard that I made up at our first visit. Told him if he didn’t stop yelling that he was going to make us go home. “No Rex, you can’t see him. He’s behind the walls.” What?! Then all of a sudden, I realized it was a really cute little candid moment. Them all in a line with their little hands up on the sides. The Instagram world doesn’t need to know they were ready to kill each other. “Hey kids! CHEESE!”---snap, snap, snap---“Look at me, guys!”---snap, snap…
Then I hear Kitty---“SAMM!!!!!!”
I look up. I instantly cannot breathe and I break out in a full body sweat. Rocky-motha-fucking-Houdini has crawled out of his car seat and onto the pool deck and is now 5 inches from going straight off the edge and into the pool. I scream. “ROCKY!!!! NO!!!!!!!!”
I run as fast as I can (future Olympians staring at me) from deep end to shallow end, grab him, hold him tight, catch my breath, look at Kitty, and cry. Holy shit. Every single what-if is running through my mind. Would I have even heard him if he had just splashed in?! What if I looked up too late and he was just lying on the bottom of the pool. Why didn’t I buckle him?! When I was taking the pictures did I just forget that I had another child?! Typing this now I actually want to throw up. Nope. No thank you. Check, please. Bye.
Needless to say I packed up right away and left. Kitty did a good job of reassuring me that he was fine, that I am not a bad mom, that we can’t waste our time worrying about stuff that could have happened, etc. But, COME ON. I have an irrational (rational) fear that something horrible is going to happen to Rocky. He is too ballsy for my taste. (Maybe poor word choice, but you get it.) He is also really coordinated. And every time something like this happens it just feeds into my crazy!
And guess what, there isn’t even a cute end to this. The end is just that I have a crazy kid and I am a moron mother and I really hope that this combo doesn’t lead to something terrible. Oh, and you can add mask lady, bathing cap lady, and umbro lady to the already lengthy list of people who will not be nominating me for Mother of the Year 2016.
At least I didn't use the men's room this time...