For anyone that’s had enough sense not to let their kid start swimming lessons I’m going to fill you in on why this is probably one of the best ideas you’ve ever had….(massive rant coming up 😤😤😉)
So tonight was swimming night.
This is my most hated club of the week (and there’s a lot to hate).
It goes like this every Friday….
The drive over is pretty much Tallulah crying about how much she doesn’t want to do swimming lessons whilst Edie is crying about how much she does want to do swimming lessons and me wanting to drive into a wall at high speed. I don’t do that though, instead I reassure Edie she can start as soon as she turns 3 and I try & convince Tallulah how lucky she is and how jealous I am that I am not going swimming with her (btw I’m not, for the record I would rather bathe in bleach than go swimming – in fact I can’t swim – I seriously almost drowned in the lazy river at Center Parcs last May to the point Josh threatened to leave me if I didn’t get some lessons myself as he was so mortified, but that’s another story).
It’s almost like I torture myself with what I choose to wear to these lessons.
I am well aware that it’s as hot as the reptile house at Paignton zoo yet I’ve got a woollen cardigan so I’m sweating with anger and clawing at my own neck within 9 seconds of getting there.
So in we go – me being the only parent to have to take my shoes & socks off and walk beside the actual pool, forcing her towards the teacher with one finger prodding her in her back whilst I’m grinning at him like for the whole walk over like we’re all really excited and happy to be here.
I then spend 30 minutes doing everything in my power to stop Edie going on meltdown as she’s DESPERATE to just jump in the deep-end fully clothed with no armbands. I’ve got Peppa Pig on continuous download & a variety of sweets to try and occupy her. It doesn’t work – she screams solidly for half an hour – I swear at one point of her tantrum I heard her lob in a “I hate my life” – ideal.
Lesson over – shower time. This is a silent fight between the mums where where we all smile at each-other and give it a “you go first”….”Oh are you sure?”…”No, you go, you were first” but you’re all secretly ready to kill by this point because you’re sweating with the stress and damp heat, your kids stood in-front of you begging to not be showered & they’ve got hypothermia. By this point my other kids have managed to slide over on the dirty-black wet floor and are screaming in pain (despite me giving them a warning whisper through gritted teeth for them not to move off the bench).
Hair wash – this is enjoyable – I know full well this doesn’t count as a shower – I can’t wash any part of her body – as long as her hair doesn’t smell of chlorine she’s clean. My Chelsea boots are drenched and a whole shade darker and my skinny jeans are fucking soaking with the shower spray for this – it will do.
Getting her dressed – I’m now so hot I feel like I’ve got an actual fever & I know full well I’m forgetting either the shampoo and conditioner or her goggles – or if it’s a really shit week I’ll leave her costume behind for a total laugh. That pool is expecting a call from me half an hour after I leave every Friday about my lost property, I know it.
Now this is my favourite part…..
The twatting vending machine.
I literally want to end my life.
It doesn’t give change, I only ever have pound coins and nothing is over 65p. I’ve averaged it makes about a quid a week out of me 😩
My kids aren’t allowed sweets full of sugar, colours or E numbers – tonight they got a bag of skittles each because I was just past giving a shit.
The journey home is then the same every week – all the kids are getting off their faces on sweets just before dinner and Tallulah is raving on about how much she loves swimming lessons…she can now dive in and do a full length of backstroke and she can’t wait for next Friday.