Swim lessons

The other day, Eamon and I began swim lessons. Now, I do not take "swim lessons" literally as I know that he will not learn to swim during these lessons. The problem is, neither will the other students, even if they wanted to.

You see, I have a child that loves the water. And I mean... LOVES the water. He cries to get IN the tub (if he only knew it takes me LONGER to get him undressed and undiapered when he is flailing around) and cries when we make him get OUT. And for the precious time that he is in there... he never stops the smiles.

So, on our first day of "swim lessons," we put on his swimmy diaper and his little whale swim trunks and headed to the pool deck. We had been "swimming" in the pool a few times, so as soon as we stepped on to that deck, Eamon was well aware what would happen. Like the other young women, I went and sat in the shallow end of the pool, sitting my child on my lap. You would think that the two inches of water surrounding us was the biggest tease in the world. His feet could hardly even reach the water. Even when he struggled and reached for it, it was just too far away! So, I sat him between my legs and he turned around and gave me a great big grin.

Just then, the instructor walked up to us from a deeper area (3 feet) in the pool. She had a beautiful quiet 6 month old girl on her hip. As we all went around and introduced ourselves and our babies, I realized the mess that I had gotten myself in to. Of the ten or so babies there, ranging from 6 months to 2 years old, and their mommies, my child was the only one talking out of turn. Well, squealing, really. You might even call it a full-on scream. And though he was enjoying every minute of sticking his hands in the water, it was just not good enough for him. While the other ladies politely tried to introduce themselves and their little ones, Eamon splashed. And squealed. And yelled. And splashed some more. Soon, mommies and babies were moving away from us. Moms repeated their names. The instructor repeated the directions. And repeated the directions, again. It took her a few tries. But, eventually she learned to wait for Eamon to take a breath, and throw out instructions while he couldn't interrupt. When we finally did get all the way in the water, the moms stayed away from us. So did the instructor. Not like it made much of a difference. With the echos on the pool deck, no one could hear anything over Eamon's screams anyway. But I don't blame them. Who, other than Eamon, wants a typhoon in your face?

Naked feet, please!

Well. It has come down to this. Our baby does not like anything on his feet. When he is not busy terrorizing the dog, eating fuzz, and knocking over blocks, he likes to let his feet "breathe." We hopped in the car for a short ride the other day. Not minutes later, we pulled up to our destination. And there was Eamon. Shoeless and sockless, unless you count the sock hanging out of his mouth. He wasn't too happy, once I caught him in the act, and held on to his feet as if to say "they need to breathe!" So, I proceeded to put his socks back on (as easily as you can put on a wet bathing suit) and cover the spit-coated things with spit-coated shoes. And off we went!