(Blowing dust clouds off the keyboard.)
Hi-ho, folks. It's not-so-new mommy here after a few weeks when the effort of turning my quotidian activities into something fit for public consumption simply proved beyond my abilities or energy level. A nasty cold shared by all, stitches to Baby C's sweet little face, and a week-long, multi-leg trip back to the midwest will do that to a girl. We're home and on the mend, so let's pick up where I left off.
I believe that swimming is fun only when
(a) it is very hot, and
(b) I find myself next to a pristine body of water that is also
Greg thinks it's fun to swim, period.
He decided to share his love of the water with Baby C, so he signed them up for Saturday morning swimming lessons. I made it clear that this would be HIS deal--I wanted no part of toddler wrangling in a high school locker room, or plunging into a urine-filled baby pool. Greg agreed that he would take care of everthing.
I decided to tag along to the first class... just in case. As we drove over, I asked Greg which bathing suit he'd packed for Baby C.
"Bathing suit? I have her briefs," Greg told me.
I pointed out that little girls don't wear swim briefs and asked for elaboration.
"I have the, um, the swim diaper." He said.
"Yeah, but they also wear bathing suits over their diapers. Remember, I pointed out where her bathing suit was?" I pressed.
Greg turned to me. "I didn't bring it." Long pause. "This is going into a blog, isn’t it?"