Too Much To Handle . . .

In another one of those "Prepare Yourself, You're About To Have A Baby" moments, yesterday I was witness to this:

Though it looks like RedDog has donned his laser blasting glasses and is ready to be beamed up into the lights of a fast approaching spaceship, he's actually treading water. In an Olympic sized swimming pool. In the deep end - as in ten mind blowing feet deep. Um, yeah, I don't even have words for this. Because he's supposed to be my baby. And what I witnessed yesterday had nothing to do with babies and everything to do with "Holy Cow - how is he doing that? I didn't tell him he could do that! A week ago he COULDN'T do that!"

I made the last minute decision to put all three kids in swim lessons for the first two weeks of summer vacation in a last ditch effort to get RedDog swimming in some form or another and Big C and Hannie B up to par on their mediocre strokes. It has been a little tiring waking up early each morning, dragging them to the rec center and sitting there for an hour and a half, nine months pregnant, in the heated pool area. But we've done it and the results are nothing short of astounding {for MY kids}:

At the end of last summer, Red Dog could semi-comfortably put his face in the water and swim around using water wings. That's it. Yesterday, he was donning fins and gliding effortlessly for two lengths of the pool. I felt secure as I watched him, hands tightly gripping the kick board, knowing it was his trusted friend. I clapped and cheered with glee.

What happened next, however, was a shock to my system and almost sent me into labor. The swim instructor, a thickly German accented woman named Zora with a stocky build and a booming voice issuing commands at little children says loudly, "Now put your keek boards down. You will svim to ze ozzer side by yourself. Don't forget to keek. Keep keeking. And breathe. If you cannot do it, zen turn yourself over and tread the vater. You understand?"

Immediately my mother instinct kicked into overdrive and I got up from my seat, moving cautiously toward the pool, all the while thinking, "I am going to have to jump in and save my boy who is going to sink like a heavy, heavy rock to the bottom of the ten foot pool."

And then he launched himself off the side of the pool and his little arms churned, and he "keeked and keeked" and he breathed and before I knew it, he was on the other side of the pool, having swum {or is it swam?} the freestyle for an entire length! Man, it was awesome! Then, as if it weren't enough, Zora shouts, "Okay, now you svim back to me!" And here he is, following the orders of his commander, I mean swim instructor. Where can I get a voice with authority that instills that kind of obedience {and fear?} in children?

Next, she tells the little people they are going to do the same thing, but this time "vith backstroke, and remember, just keep ze cheen up." So what does my RedDog do? He flips over onto his back, and takes off again, this time cranking out a pretty impressive backstroke for two lengths of the pool.

At this point I have to pick my jaw up off the floor. When his lesson is finally over I just babble incoherently in his ear about how he may just be the next Michael Phelps, except without the bong. I can barely comprehend it when Hannie B's lesson starts and she jets out into the twelve foot water lapping kids in her class with her impeccably smooth freestyle. You'd think I hadn't been there all week watching them - but truly, something changed overnight and I suddenly had swimmers on my hands.

I was about done in for when Big C spent his entire lesson doing the butterfly and actually lifting his torso up out of the water in a graceful arc, his legs forming a perfect dolphin kick. Do you know how hard the butterfly is? It was then that it hit me like a ton of bricks . . . oh my goodness, my children are growing up right before my eyes. What I witnessed at the rec center was actual proof.

Big C can do the seemingly impossible. Hannie B is a quick and graceful little lady. And my sweet little RedDog is no longer the baby. It's time for the next one to come.