You have another session of swimming lessons under your belt, lil' dude. You took your first lessons as a 14-month old. It's crazy what a year later can mean.
First and foremost, you love the water. You have absolutely no fear. As a parent, it's both relieving and terrifying at the same time. This year's lessons were nearly the same as last. Since you fall under the age of three, you are required by Community Ed's standards to swim with a parent. You were encouraged to do the hokey pokey, sing the teddy bear song, and blow bubbles like Tiny Tim, the turtle.
And you hated it.
I won't say hate. That's a pretty strong word. You had no patience for that 'baby' stuff. Instead, you brazen little swimmer you, you wanted to jumpjumpjump off the side and sink to the bottom over and over. You wanted to swim out to the middle of the pool to retrieve your floating ball. You wanted to SWIM, for crying out loud.
I am not saying any of this to brag about you- it's true. Your instructors were so happy with you as their charge. They told Daddy it was OK for you two to go off on your own, and work on things separate from the hokey-pokeying group. They asked the aquatics director if you could ignore the birthday rules and join the next class immediately. They said, no. They could not believe you were only two, and on the newer side of two, at that. December 7th can't get here fast enough for you.
Swimming has been over for a week. When Daddy picks you up from daycare, you still ask if you're headed to the pool. A long time ago, a co-worker and friend of mine said this about parenting, "it's knowing your kid is obsessed with dinosaurs and finally taking him to see the dinosaur exhibit at the science museum. It makes your heart explode."
And maybe swimming won't be your thing.
But right now, it is.
And watching you swim makes my heart explode.