Testing the water
I feel the need to confess. I think I've become one of "those" Mums. You know - the ones who massage the truth about what their children can do. As in: "Sleep through the night? Oh yes, since day 3; Talking? What, you mean, your's isn't?; Walking? Months ago, months ago."
But it was for a good cause. Namely swimming. Or to get a spot on a swimming course, to be more precise. They're rarer than gold dust in these parts. At least, the ones on the posh course in the Guy's Hospital hydrotherapy pool are. Must say a lot about the local swimming pools I reckon. Anyway, being me, I'd never got round to trying to get Louis onto on of the swimming courses at Guy's, mainly because I was told when he was about one week old that it was impossible.
Given how much he loves splishing and splashing (to quote one of his DC songs) I thought I really should make an effort, hence I found myself in a phone queue to the swimming lesson guys Little Dippers for about half an hour yesterday. Needless to say, all the courses he was suitable for, like the beginners ones because his Mum's never bothered doing one with him before, were booked solid. Until about Christmas. So I found myself being somewhat liberal with the truth about his splishing prowess. The handful of times I'd bothered to take him in DC turned into: "Swimming? Oh yes, I can barely get him out of the pool. Under water? He's like a little fish." Okay, so I lied. But it was for Louis' sake. Honestly.
I was more than nervous when we went along today for our trial class. Especially because the main activity in the class I was joining seemed to be ducking babies under water. Repeatedly. And by 13 months, it was touch and go as to whether that special baby diving reflex - Nirvana album cover anyone? - would still kick in. Thankfully, Louis didn't let me down. Or, more importantly, drown. What worries me now, though, is what next? Once you've tasted the falsehoods of competitive Mummying, where will it end?