This is how you know that your baby is only still a baby to you.
Monk had his first swim lesson this morning. I kept holding out starting him in lessons because I dreaded the thought of suiting up once a week to go hop in a pool flanked by an entire wall of glass through which everyone and their grandma can watch you. But I gave in and signed him up, more terrified of his lack of swimming ability than my saddle bags on display.
We were running late, (contain your shock) so we rushed into the first dressing room, stripped down and threw on our suits in record time. I headed out to the pool and in my head it went like this:
I slow motion push through the door at which point all the instructors and life guards stop, turn and gape wide eyed at me. The one closest tells me in the low drawn out, 5-minutes-to-say-one-word type of speech, with her head tilted to the side, that he isn't in a mommy and me class (in other words, "Why are you standing here in your swim suit?) because he is now two.
What?!?!?!
He turned two today. This morning. Hours ago! How is he suddenly old enough to be in a pool without me?
So here I am standing in front of 3-5 skinny, 20-somethings in my swim suit, all three-baby bodied and 2 month old pedicured with winter legs. I am now ready to cry because you've just told me that my baby isn't a baby and doesn't need me, and now I must slink away back to the other side of the glass to get redressed and somehow try to reclaim what is left of my pride.
I know this isn't the last time that someone will slap me in the face with the fact that my baby is now a card carrying member of the toddler race, I mean I still try to rock the 8 year old for goodness sakes. I can only hope that it will never again happen when I'm so vulnerably suited up.
