James (now a proud 7 months old) and I officially returned from our summer holidays with the start of a new season - and different provider - of swimming lessons.
As a reminder, when James was six weeks old, we began lessons with London Baby Swim. I was committed to starting young James as early as the courses would allow, mostly because one of the concepts that convinced me to enter the world of motherhood in the first place was an image of a tiny baby swimming alone unaided. (and no, I did not take this idea from Nirvana's Nevermind album cover!) This was the only course that took babies so young and was not already full. The one drawback - and it's a big one - was that the course was located in Hounslow, nearly all the way out to Heathrow Airport. For the 10 weeks of the course, I managed to drag myself and tiny baby James out to the course, each time using various combinations of taxis, buses, tubes, and rental cars, and often with baby James strapped to my chest. It was a commitment. The course was wonderful, but unsurprisingly I opted not to partake again in such an adventure.
And so, this time, I went through some hoops (including convincing the organisers that even though we had used a different provider the first time, James was indeed a qualified "beginner" baby, ready for the "intermediate" course) to start him with Water Babies. Many things are similar about the two courses. For one, the logistics involved are enormous. Before entering the pool, the list includes (but is certainly not limited to)
1. Packing up all the necessary things (my bathing suit, a disposable swimming nappy, James' outer "happy nappy" to prevent leakage, towels, dummies, breast feeding cover, etc etc)
2. Managing to clamber into a cab or public transport with the baby and his gear without spilling anything or causing injury to the boy
3. Squirming into a swim suit six weeks after giving birth while managing to avoid all mirrors
4. Doing all the calculations involved in timing feeding and naps
5. Navigating a new neighbourhood without getting hopelessly lost and rendering the entire class pointless
And then, we reach the pool. For both classes, we were faced with a mad scramble. We didn't want to get the babies in their swimsuits too early, for fear they would become cold and miserable, so there was no hope of starting early. Almost exactly 7.5 minutes before the class was to start, the mothers would spontaneously dash from the viewing area into the changing area and begin flinging the baby's clothes off, changing and clothing the baby, and getting ready themselves. Amazingly, we remained good natured through the process, though always silently panicked. (the post-swim process was infinitely worse than even this, as we were soaked, freezing, only partially clad, and dealing with hungry/tired/cold/wet babies.)
Basically, it's no wonder that after today's class, I am more exhausted than James. The classes always involve lots of singing and torturous lifting-the-babies-into-the-air routines performed while we simultaneously spin around and walk in circles. I did feel at times like a synchronised swimmer.
But enough about me. What was it like for the babies? Was it all worth it? It was indeed, and I can't wait to begin the torturous cycle all over again next week. All four of the babies present in today's class laughed practically the whole time. The songs and twirling may be monotonous to us, but it's like candy to the babies. The highlight of today's lesson was donning a pair of goggles and a swim cap and going underwater, then seeing little wide-eyed James wafting towards me underwater after being released by the instructor. When I brought him back to the surface, he looked completely calm, relaxed, and happy. And safety is taught too: By the end of the session, they knew to hold tightly to a horizontal bar (good life saving skills) when placed in front of it.
It's hard for me at this point to determine which class is actually better. We'll see again next week.
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