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The Saltwater Pool
I signed up for toddler swimming class Saturday mornings with friends who live close to a centre with a saltwater pool. When I arrived with G, the moms – who were either pregnant or with babes in arms - were in the gallery.

G and I joined four dads and their toddlers who sat poolside with legs in the water, awaiting instruction, but it was soon apparent that the stoned-seeming-yet-affable teenage instructor was totally unprepared for the class.

"Uh, everybody come in the water."  He bent a foam noodle into a U and asked us to walk under the arch as we sang London Bridge. Thing is, he didn’t know how the song went. Fail. In fact, he didn’t know how any of the children’s songs went and he seemed to be at a loss on what to do. And as the toddlers wailed in fear or protest, a lawyer-like dad with an adorable chubby-cheeked boy decided to take control of the deteriorating situation.

OK, he said decisively. Who knows The Grand Old Duke of York? And next, Ring Round the Rosie. And thus it went. It was one of those moment where I found myself reflecting on all things that lead me to this place - in a saltwater pool with four dads and their toddlers, the adults singing nursery rhymes and walking gamely in circles with unhappy children crying in our arms. There are many moments like this in parenthood.

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post #1472
bio: adina

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