swimming with two

When Mole was around four months old and I was just lifting my head out of the new born fog, I thought we might be ready for swimming and signed up to Water Babies, (one of the many baby classes that is marketed to first time mums). I dutifully bought a swimming nappy and wetsuit from their website, and walked down with Mole in the buggy every Friday morning.

Apart from being dunked under water with a ‘One, two, three, go!’ which she was not impressed with, and being turned on her back to sing ‘Twinkle twinkle’ which only made her squirm to try and get on her front again, she seemed to enjoy it. But I found that by the time we’d done the beginner and intermediate courses, I’d learned enough about swimming with a baby to take her for ad hoc sessions on our own. The expense and the regular commitment of swimming lessons with a baby who was clearly years away from actually swimming on their own was also wearing a little thin. The ad hoc swims went on fine for a while, averaging out at about once a fortnight, which was as often as I felt like going.

After Hedgehog arrived, swimming got a lot more complicated. Sure, every part of life gets more complicated when there are two balls to juggle instead of one, but when one of them might sink if you let go for a minute, it’s a bit more serious. It was about three months before I could face the thought of taking them together, on my own, as it were. The pool we were using at the time were helpful in suggesting I bring Hedgehog in her car seat and put her next to the pool, where the lifeguard could watch her, while I swam with Mole. Luckily Hedgehog was always comatose in her car seat, snoring peacefully, so I never really had to deal with a ‘crying baby versus swimming toddler situation’, thank Christ.

My ideal plan after that was to take them both swimming once a week. You can guess how long that lasted. Between carrying the car seat in one hand for 500 sodding yards from the car along a gavel pathway to the pool, while holding Mole’s hand with the other, and trying not to let heavy bags slide off my shoulders, and the general palarva involved in changing on a wet floor with a toddler who keeps running off, it didn’t happen. Lesson of the day - ‘ideal’ and ‘real’ are not the same thing, and that’s okay.

So when the shiny new leisure centre opened near us a month ago, I thought it was time to try again. Unlike the last place, this car park was right next to the building, you can wheel a double buggy all the way into the pool area, and the changing rooms are spacious and dry.

Now that Hedgehog is approaching one year, they both want to swim, but can’t, so I’ve worked out that sticking them in as much blow up buoyancy plastic as possible is the answer, so they float like little starfish islands on the water. That way, if I let go of one, they can’t sink. So Mole has her Peppa Pig armbands and her clown fish rubber ring, while Hedgehog has her baby ring seat, which is basically like a mini hovercraft, that she bobs about in and wears her usual nonplussed expression. So far so good.

On our first visit (with a friend and her daughter), the place was empty which was amazing. Midweek term time, I salute you. I pile the buggy high with inflatables and stick all our gear, towels, nappy bags etc into one massive canvas bag for simplicity. That word – simplicity, it’s becoming a mantra for life right now, keep it simple. That, and a general lack of tolerance for bullsh*t. Mole sits in the front and dutifully holds onto her clown fish ring as if her life depends on it, and we all get from car to pool side in under 20 minutes, it is like a military operation.

Hedgehog bobs about in the toddler pool, occupied with a squeezy toy, and Mole discovers the ‘getting out of the water and jumping back in again’ game. Occasionally she runs off to the pool with the water jets and a life guard retrieves her for me, which is mildly embarrassing, but they all seem very laid back, which is just as well. Mole discovers that she can swim a bit, kicking her legs, star fishing and drifting at the speed of a snail towards the pools edge. From this moment on she is fiercely independent and will not take any interference from me. This makes marshalling them a lot easier because I can focus more on Hedgehog, which is good because she is getting fed up of being in her hovercraft. We spend two relatively happy hours in the water, until Hedgehog gets tired. The problems begin when we try to leave. Mole does not want to leave.

After my best gentle reasoning, which is met with evasive giggles and finally a sulky ‘shoo mummy shoo”, I resort to walking round the corner to the showers, in the hope that she’ll follow me, which she does. She runs along all ten of them, turning each of them on in turn, and dancing between them in a sort of excited shower frienzy.

Her attachment to the showers is even greater than her attachment to the pool, and since I can’t carry both of them, I leave with Hedgehog to fetch our bags from the locker, deposit bags and Hedgehog in the changing room, and march back for Mole. Mole will not move for anything, not even chocolate bribes, so I end up carrying her fireman’s lift style back to the changing room. Next she tries to escape under the changing room door, sticking her naked bum in the air. I drag her back inside and thus the mother of all meltdowns begins.

Everything is wrong from then on. The towel is wrong, it is put in the wrong place, she does not want to get dressed, she does not want to do anything, she just screams the place down and sounds like she is being murdered. Hedgehog sits placidly and watches Mole with interest, occasionally making a cry of objection when Mole treads on her. Once, after ignoring Mole for a while, my third offer of a cuddle is accepted and she calms down in my arms for a bit. But once we begin dressing again the meltdown continues. It is only half time.

When I finally emerge with Hedgehog in the buggy there are about ten people standing outside, all either waiting to use the changing rooms or waiting to leave, I can’t work out which. I feel the usual scrutinising gaze from people when your child breaks down in a public place. I swear the fear of judgement is worse than the meltdown itself. I’m still working on not giving a crap about what other people think. It’s been hardwired into most female brains from birth to be overly concerned with how one is perceived by others, so it’s a hard habit to shake. I think, at least I hope, that most people are not nearly as interested or judgy as I imagine them to be. And anyone who is, is clearly useless in a crisis and can feck off.

Meanwhile back in the changing room, Mole has retreated into comfort masturbating on the floor. I am tempted to leave her there, but she would probably be doing it all day. While I attempt to get her up and into the buggy, she assumes the plank position and at the same time Hedgehog nearly falls head first out of her seat, having taken special interest in one of the wheels. I am ready to cry. This is when my fairy god friend steps in. She catches Hedgehog, persuades Mole to get in the buggy, (why does Mole behave like an angel for everyone apart from her parents?), and we go to a café for a drink. Thank f*ck for that.

I offer Mole a drink and get a shaky “yeeees” sniff, gulp, still recovering from the trauma. My friend gets the drinks while I breath, and we enjoy a peaceful coffee and a brownie. By the time we set off home, Mole has consumed a carton of apple juice, a slice of flapjack, and is restored to her former self.

Best tip for swimming with two if all else fails - bring friends, they will save you.