Swim.

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Perhaps you can’t tell, but that little head in the distance beyond the light pole is The Who. I am poolside while he is in swimming lessons. Thirty blessed minutes of sun-soaking with no one talking to me. I can block out all the other children fairly easily and it ends up just being white noise. I could possibly sleep if it wasn’t 95 degrees. There’s plenty of time for cooling off when he is back in my charge.

I can’t wait until he learns to swim. And not because I want him to cease pulling my bathing suit down or clinging to me when he jumps in, but because I know he will love to swim when he knows how. I remember vividly the feeling of drawing breath and pushing off underwater to glide across the pool. The quiet of being under the surface. The way I could just disappear and then pop back up into the laughter and delighted screaming of my friends. I loved to swim.

Sure, The Who loves the pool now. He loves splashing around and jumping and playing, but there is something very different about it when you don’t fear it and you feel confident enough to propel yourself. I can’t wait to watch him experience that.

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