If only I went somewhere fun while I was doing anything but blogging... yup, I was just here, being a scatter-train. (Name that cartoon reference)
I actually spent much of last week praying for storms to hit at about 5 p.m. Because, you see, my fearless Godzilla decided that there is, in fact, something she is afraid of.
I was praying for a healthy dose of fear last year, when we had no floatation device small enough to keep on her and her favorite thing to do was just walk into the pool, whether an adult was ready for her or not.
Day 1 went great. She hopped right in when her instructor called her name and even went under and swam a little. I was happy, because even my scaredy cat was doing well. Yes! Score one for mom on the swimming lessons.
Until the next lesson.
Leah went into the water fine, but about 5 minutes in she started to whimper. And then she got louder. By the end of her 15 minutes, she was howling to "Go back to Mommy."
Now I didn't see anything unusual. She was doing the same things she had happily done the lesson before, and I was trying to watch two kiddos at the same time.
The third lesson, the schmidt hit the fan. She howled as soon as I told her to get her bathing suit on. And the entire drive. She calmed down to watch her brother for the first half of his lesson. And then it was her turn.
Oh. My. Gravy.
Every lap she got more and more ramped up. Full-out, double-barrelled snot, hiccuping screaming. The kind where she sounded one gasp away from yakking. The instructor was fine to tough her out, but afterwards the owner asked me a few questions and then suggested I try to swim with her over the weekend before the next lesson on Monday.
Yaaa, that didn't happen.
I promised her she didn't need to go under the water if she didn't want to (that's our best guess why she was so upset). She practiced saying "I don't want to go under." But once I took her cover-up off, all bets were off.
She seemed to ramp up every time she saw me, so the owner gave me the OK to stay out of sight. I knew even if I had a suit, getting in would've solved nothing. So I spent 5 minutes hiding behind a hot tub. Every parent there had given me the "been there" look of understanding. One mom who had been sitting next to us nodded in my direction and gave me words that made my heart a little lighter.
"She's doing better."
The relief was short-lived. She started getting whiny again and may have caught a glimpse of me as I crept up to spy how Nathaniel was doing.
And then of course, we have to go back tomorrow. And there isn't a drop of rain in the forecast.
Maybe I should invest in ear plugs. And tissues. For both of us.