The first time I took the Boo into a swimming pool, he got so happy so fast that rainbows shot out his behind. Then the swimming instructor came over and got in his face and he started crying. But the water made him so happy that he soon forgot the scary lady.
Soon, I resolved to sign up for a Y membership so he could get more water time. I figured I could take a stab at swimming laps too, since I hate gyms and I haven’t worked out regularly in at least 5 years. (Probably more like 7 to 10.)
The first time I pushed off from the wall, I got so happy so fast that rainbows shot out my behind. It had been 25 years, but my body remembered how to do what I wanted it to do. I paused in the middle of a lap to laugh. I swam until I was exhausted and hauled myself out, panting my way to the showers, indescribably pleased.
Since then, I swim any time I can. If I am tired when I start, I forget about it in the water. If my back hurts, I can’t feel it when I’m swimming. If I am in a crappy mood when I start, I am pooping rainbows when I finish. The water holds me as I move forward, giving me peace and joy and happiness as I move through it.
I don’t want to call it a benediction, even though it does border on the mystical. But my body loves the water so much it feels like a gift every time I’m in it — even when I’m sharing the lane with a tank of a triathlete and a dogpaddler who belongs in the “old people walking” section.
The other night at the Boo’s first parent-teacher conference, I uttered the words, “Water is his jam.” Turns out it’s my jam too.
Mama-Come-Lately 
Leave a Reply