Nina In New York: How To Take A Toddler To The Pool In 41 Easy Steps
A lighthearted look at news, events, culture and everyday life in New York. The opinions expressed are solely those of the writer.
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By Nina Pajak
Unless you are a shut-in who has spent the past week in an air-conditioned, darkened room with no television or media of any kind, cut off from even a momentary conversation with a passing stranger, you may have noticed that we're in the midst of a bit of a heat wave.
Incidentally, I'd like to declare right now that the question of whether it's hot enough for me is completely foolish and inappropriate between the months of May and October. Of course it's hot enough for me. What makes you think I have some sort of insane, masochistic personal heat threshold? Generally speaking, I feel profound resentment for anyone who provokes me into uttering the words, "boy, is it ever."
Anyway, given this extreme heat, one finds oneself in want of a swimming pool. In previous years, I would have sat on the playground, fanning myself with a spare diaper and trying to convince my daughter that the sprinklers can't hurt her. But now, the worm has turned! The grass is greener. We belong to a pool. As a newly seasoned seasonal expert, I'm here to guide the less experienced through the somewhat daunting task of bringing a toddler to go swimming.
Step 1: The night before, gather your supplies. Snacks, sandwiches, sunscreen, floatation devices, diapers, cover ups, etc.
2. Wake up before child. If you do not, you forfeit pre-swimsuit depilation privileges. But honestly, who's looking at you anyway? Hit snooze button.
3. During diaper change, decide it will be easier to slather child's entire naked body with sunscreen before putting on bathing suit.
4. Pick up bottle of sunscreen.
5. Drop bottle of sunscreen in order to prevent toddler from hurling her body off the changing table in her effort to evade sunscreen application.
6. Give toddler impassioned speech on the importance of sun protection, the terror of sunburns, and how you're only looking out for her wellbeing.
7. Change gears and explain that it just feels like a massage! A nice massage! See? Mommy's doing it to herself! Oh, how nice. Mommy loves sunscreen. Can't get enough.
8. Backfire. Toddler now wants to help you apply endless quantities of sunscreen on a single square inch patch of your cheek. Attempt to cajole her into self-application.
9. Screw it. Physically restrain child as you squirt sunscreen all over her and rub it in quickly and poorly.
10. Squeeze child into bathing suit, which is now sticking to her sunscreen-heavy skin.
11. Set about making nutritious and energy-rich pre-pool breakfast for child.
12. As you do so, toddler dives into pool bag and emerges eating all of the snacks and sandwiches you carefully prepared last night.
13. Chase toddler.
14. Pick up all the cheerio crumbs she spilled during your chase.
15. Set about making new snacks and sandwiches. At least breakfast is taken care of.
16. You're ready to go! Finally. Ah, poop. Sweetie, did you just poop?
17. Chase toddler.
18. Restrain toddler and change diaper. Shimmy her back into bathing suit.
19. Attempt to apply sunscreen to your now-sweaty brow. Rub it all over, get it in eyes. YOU'RE TOO BUSY TO FEEL PAIN MOVE ON.
20. Hooray! You are out of the house. Once at the pool, you must act fast. Change child into swim diaper, spray a giant cloud of sunscreen around your body and pray for the best, then tally hoooooh no.
21. Did I mention that swim diapers don't contain liquids, like pee? Retreat to restroom, rinse self and child.
22. You might as well pee while you're here. But you're wearing a one-piece, because you're all body positive and whatnot but you prefer to keep your mom tummy sealed up. It's not political or anything, okay? Lay off.
23. Begin the delicate ballet that is peeing in a one-piece with a roving toddler in your stall. Desperately beg her to stand still and touch nothing as she goes from toilet paper roll to the flush handle to the oh god, no. No. No no no.
24. "DON'T TOUCH THAT!" you shout as you watch her reach into the feminine product disposal box. She retreats to the corner, hands at her sides. You have adequately terrified her into semi-paralysis and may continue peeing.
25. Finally, the pool. You are both refreshed, washed and ready. Floatation device is secure. Enter pool, enjoy self for twenty minutes.
26. Accidentally let child go face-first in water. She sputters, chokes and cries but soon recovers.
27. Try to resume enjoying yourself. Don't think about that article you read about a kid who aspirated pool water and then dry-drowned to death hours after having seemingly recovered.
28. Don't think about dry drowning. Don't think about dry drowning.
29. Okay, it's fine. Don't think about dry drowning.
30. Hey, who wants a snack?
31. Attempt to extract toddler from pool. Fine, five more minutes. Just stop screaming.
32. Okay, whatever, ten more minutes and then we're out. I MEAN IT.
33. Ten minutes are up! Stop screaming! Ten minute warning and then we are NOT DISCUSSING THIS.
34. Forget snack, it's lunch time. Okay, five more minutes until lunchtime.
35. Physically remove shrieking toddler from pool. Struggle to grip her wet little body as she writhes and kicks, fueled by an unrestrained, white hot rage one can only experience when one is too young to understand anything but the existence of her own self in the present moment.
36. Feed toddler sandwich you packed. Eat it. Kiddo, eat it. There are no hot dogs, we packed PB&J. She loves PB&J.
37. EAT WHAT I MADE YOU. Please?
38. Go to snack bar, purchase hot dog. Grumble prodigiously.
39. It is time to go home for a nap. Change child back into diaper and clothes while standing.
40. Throw everything, including child, into, on top of, or under stroller in massive, soaking wet heap. Head for home in the midday sun.
41. You are sweating profusely again. Dream of jumping in the pool. You'll have to make sure to go back tomorrow.
Nina Pajak is a writer living with her husband, daughter and dog in Queens. Connect with Nina on Twitter!
