On Monday, the boys started swim lessons here. I was excited to take them since it’s not something I could have done at home with no help. I managed to get them into classes at the same time in the mornings, so Edward jumps in the pool with his class, and Davey and I jump in with the parent-tot class. Of course, Davey is by far the oldest one is his class. The indoor pool is huge, with two smaller wading and therapy pools adjacent. Davey’s class is in the wading pool (that makes it sound like a little plastic backyard pool, but it’s large and tiled and very nice) when we arrive late for our first lesson. We join in.

The only other time Davey had swim lessons was two years ago, the summer the girls were born. Dex ended up taking him to the class because I was too hugely pregnant to heft my body up the steep hill to the local outdoor pool. The class then ended up being a bit of a bust - not much specific direction, just some splashing and paddling about mostly at the parent’s discretion. I hoped this class would be better since it’s also standing in as his main form of physical therapy for the summer.

It’s always odd to bring my 5-year old to a class or event for younger kids. But no one made me feel awkward or out of place. People usually don’t, but there’s always that moment… wondering what the other parents are thinking as I struggle to get Davey to stand up and walk or to do what the rest of the class is doing.

We tried on Monday. He did some of what was expected - he loved throwing the squeezy toy and swimming (waggling his butt and arms like a froggy) to retrieve it, but then we had to put the toys away and move on to another activity and that just did not cut it with Davey. From then on, he flailed and complained and pushed against me in the water. As we drove away from the rec center, I felt so dejected. I felt like I’d made a mistake bringing him, pushing him. I was close to tears, sitting and waiting for a light to change, mentally cataloguing all the things I should be doing with him and am not. Communication skills, making him pay attention, getting him to engage - all things I know he does, and does well, in school.

We returned on Tuesday. Davey seemed happy to be there and we joined his class in the big pool. This time, we didn’t start with the toys, rather we started with a song and some getting-the-face-wet exercises. By the time we moved on to wading pool and the toys, Davey was more comfortable in the water and I was more relaxed. He gamely tried every activity and worked hard. I could tell by the end of the half hour that he was getting tired, which was a good sign. It means he was working hard in the water. As we drove away at the end of the lesson, I was glowing. We’d clicked. The lesson had been a success. Maybe we could do this after all.