I wrote this piece a few weeks ago and it is incredibly fitting that today it was posted. Today, my baby, my BABY learned to swim well enough that she attempted to go down the waterslide at the pool. After her first ride she told me she didn’t want any help anymore and proceeded to go down the waterslide, by herself for the rest of the afternoon as I laughed, cried, and simply watched flabbergasted. This raising kids is totally delightful and not at all for the faint of heart.
This summer the most miraculous thing happened. We were at the pool, my two daughters and myself, when Juliet announced that she had to go to the bathroom.
“Okay!” I yelled back, “Let me get your sister.”
Going to the bathroom is a thing. A THING. You have to make the one who is crying potty to hold tight while you wade through the shallow end to find her sister. Then you have to convince that child to get out of the pool before her sister goes pee (or worse) on the cement just outside the pool. If parenting olympics ever becomes a thing, I will surely be a medal contender in the pool-potty relay race.
Just as I turned my back on Juliet to go find Priscilla, I heard Juliet yell, “WAIT! I can go by myself.”
I can go by myself.
These may be the most magical words I have ever heard
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