Feel free to skip this post if you’re not directly related to me. Or even if you are. Grandparents may be the only ones who enjoy this post. It’s about Harry’s first trip to the pool.
It started out like any other day. Hot and sunny. We decided a trip to the pool was necessary. So we put on the sunscreen, donned our bathing suits, and hoofed it over to the community center pool. As we were walking in, we learned that someone had, ahem, dirtied the pool. So to avoid e. coli, we stuck to the splash pad. What a bust.
First trip to the pool, take two. We woke up to another perfect pool day. Dare we try another attempt to the giant potty? Crossing our fingers that there would be no floaters this time, we put on the sunscreen (again), donned our bathing suits (again), and hoofed it (again) over to the community center pool. This time we were greeted by a blue, sparkly, cold body of water. We took one million photos, and then Jon took Harry into the pool.
At first, Harry’s was unfazed. His expression didn’t change after the transfer from the warm air to the cold pool. It was like nothing had happened. But then. I’m not sure if it was the cold water, or the crowd of extra loud children, or the fact that Papa had sunglasses and wet hair and looked a little different, but whatever it was, it was not good. It was scary and upsetting. So Mama came to the rescue and Harry and I sat happily on the steps for the rest of our time, splashing with our feet and enjoying the sunshine.
We’ll try again this weekend. And this time maybe we’ll go a little slower, and make sure Papa doesn’t look different.