While folding laundry today, my absolute least favorite thing to do in the entire world next to going to the dentist and spelunking (Truth be told, I have never actually spelunked, but trust me, I know I would hate it; me+headlamps+bats+confined spaces+water=100% worst nightmare. To make it worse, caves are moist, and I despise the word m-o-i-s-t, as most self-respecting women do.), I realized that my daughter has 5 bathing suits. That is crazy! (Of course, in reviewing my summer photos, it seems I only take pictures of her in the one featured below.)
Why does she need 5? How did she get 5? Where in God’s name do all of these clothes come from?
For the record, I have two bathing suits and don’t like either one. They are cute, just not at the moment, more specifically on my body. And, 6 months post baby #2, you couldn’t pay me enough money to prance around in the backyard like she does. Ok, maybe if you paid me, like, a lot of money. But I would definitely prohibit cameras of any kind, and maybe suggest blindfolds.
I’ve found that willing away baby weight really does not work. Enough with the self-deprecation. I’ll save more on that topic for a later date.
What is it about kids and water?
I wish I got as excited about anything as my daughter does about playing in the pool with her daddy. For her 2nd birthday, she was gifted a water table by a great friend, which is a super fun gift by the way, and my husband puts it into her pool and places two sprinklers around it. Voila! He is a suburban water park genius.
I get it. I can remember being young and having olympic diving contests in my friend’s pool. The panel, our friends, would rate the dive on a 10-point scale. Lots of perfect scores; we were just that good.
I remember my purple-bluish-greenish Speedo (soo cool) swimsuit that I was obsessed with in 7th-9th grade, and I remember wearing it the first time I stepped into the Atlantic Ocean, before I became absolutely terrified of water and the creatures living therein.
It has occurred to me on more that one occasion that I will probably never go back to those fearless days of running around in a bathing suit (insert self-deprecating comment), catching sprinkles on my tongue (been there, done that), or running into the ocean (because I don’t want to be eaten by a shark). For me, getting older has made me much more fearful of life. To that, everyone answers,”well, you have much more to lose now.” I guess that’s it.
That’s part of what makes being a parent so remarkable. Not the being more scared-of-life part, but the being in absolute awe-of-it part. I watch my kids, especially my daughter, do exciting things, and I think about how much I love them and their free-spirited ways. On the other hand, I am terrified by them, saying things like, “Look out!” “Don’t run, you’ll fall!” or “How many times do I have to tell you to not drink the bath water after your brother has peed in it!.”
So, for now, I am lovingly content with the backyard water park and the swimsuit prancing. On occassion, I will hang out with her poolside, sporting a modest cover-up. Sometimes, I’ll even let her get into the pool for a few minutes with an actual diaper instead of a swimmer diaper. I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I am a rebel.
I can’t even think about her asking for the car keys. Oooo, sends shivers down my spine.
P.S. I started a facebook page this week and changed up the blog format a bit. Trying to be more official. For what purpose, not sure yet. I’ll let you know when I figure it out.
P.P.S. Would love your feedback, and more than that, would love to hear your summertime memories about your own respective childhood.