Before I begin I would like to address the photo above - the only time it's OK to wear crocs is if you're under the age of ten in swimwear. I just wanted to put that into the world.
On to the story...
Most days Evan’s nap schedule is laughable but on some beautiful, wonderful, magical days he actually naps at specific times for more than 30 minutes. Wednesday was one of those days.
Owing to this I was able to accomplish a ton around the house and pre-prepared dinner for the evening, making one of Paul’s favourite dishes. I had our swimming bags packed and I was feeling pretty smug.
I should have known I was due for a shitstorm however in my haze of smugness I failed to see it coming.
I picked up Will from daycare and we ate dinner. When it came time to head to swimming lessons I ran him upstairs to pop him into his swimsuit.
As my stupid smug face (who was actually running AHEAD of schedule) flung open his dresser door I realized his one (and only) swimsuit was missing.
Aided by Paul we began running through the house. Check the dirty laundry at the foot of the stairs? Fuck. Check the wet laundry in the machine? Fuck. Check the dry laundry in the dryer? Fuck. Check the first basket of clean and folded laundry? Fuck. Check the second clean basket of folded laundry? Fuck. Check the pile of clothes in Will’s closet? Fuck.
Suddenly, like someone who was blackout drunk I began flashing back to last week’s lesson. Will and I were in a change room together as Evan had decided to be a total a-hole so Paul had taken him outside. I got Will dressed first which meant I had to undress in-front of him. I’m fairly certain having me as his mother he will need therapy at some point in his life. While I accept that fact, I will not have him sitting in a chair 30 years from now talking about how seeing his Mom’s vagina scared him for life.
As I tried to lambada my fatass out of my wet bathing suit while blocking Will’s eyes from my nether-regions he decided it was pertinent he unlock the change room door and find his Dad. Terrified that I was not only going to scar Will with my naked form but other children, I threw on my clothing as fast as I could and got the fuck out of there. Leaving behind his one (and only) bathing suit.
As I came to this realization we shifted gears. All of Will’s old clothes have been neatly sorted by size and stacked in Evan’s room so I began aggressively rifling through these totes trying to locate a bathing suit (and knowing no matter what I found the size would be too small). I finally located a full zip up suit in a 2T (an entire size too small for him) but it fit and we were still on time!
Stupid smug face was back and I fully strutted our punctual asses across that pool deck (well, as much as one can strut in a bathing suit that makes my uneven breast size extremely obvious – but more on that another time…)
We began swimming lessons (me trying to un-pry Will’s arms and legs from my torso, Will splashing water in my face, ignoring the instructor, etc.) and finally got to an activity Will liked! The water slide. The point of this exercise was for the kids to practice getting out of the pool on their own. Will needed help but he was getting the hang of it; and while he was finally giving his lesson some effort,
his bathing suit had decided to call it a day.
The snaps that run along the inseam of the suit had finally reached their maximum staying power and were beginning to unsnap each time he got out of the pool.
It was like watching a car accident happen in slow motion. Each time he would crawl out of the pool, more and more of his scrotum would peek out. At first it was one snap so I wasn’t sure it was happening but by the time the 4th snap had called it a day,
we were at 70% visibility on the scrotum.
I began turning bright red and looking at the other parent. Did he notice what was happening? Did anyone else? I weighed my options. Do I run him the change room? If I did that, he wouldn’t come back. Do I try and snap him up under water? If I clip skin in there he’s going to lose his mind. As I floated there with a stupid/horrified look on my face the teacher decided to change activities.
I wouldn’t say smug face was back but I was about to weep with joy.
I hope no one else noticed that we were one waterslide away from full-frontal balls and partial butthole.
See, I told you he would need therapy.