Illustration by Chris Danger
Until I had children, the phrase “pool day” conjured up bright, halcyon memories. As a child, it was long, chlorine-scented days of Marco Polo games and snack bar nachos. In my 20s, the pool meant lazy afternoons on a recliner while I flipped through magazines and sipped margaritas out of plastic cups.
And then I had children. Two of them in two years. And now, the pool has an entirely new, often terrifying association. For parents of small children, the pool is less a fun, easy summer pastime, and more a sunscreen-covered endurance test, typically one that ends in tears or a potty-induced pool shutdown.
However, like all facets of parenting, trips to the pool with toddlers are not without redeeming qualities. My kids get an early love of and familiarity with water. My husband and I gain unique skills, like the ability to squeeze a flailing 3-year-old into a skintight rash guard. And we all get the benefit of some hard-earned wisdom. Here’s what I’ve learned from poolside parenting.
1. Absolute power corrupts, absolutely.
Curious what would happen if teenagers were given total control and unchecked autonomy? Head to your local pool and learn all the different ways a 16-year-old lifeguard with a whistle can shame a full-grown adult. Technically, they are there to protect me and my children and potentially save our lives. However, anyone who has looked into the power-hungry eyes of a high school sophomore atop a lifeguard stand knows the chilling face of authoritarian rule.
2. Any parent who thinks they’re going to relax is clearly a novice.
On one of our first pool trips with the kids, my husband put a book into the pool bag. I laughed hysterically for 10 minutes as he stared at me, bewildered. What he quickly learned is that there is no relaxation in pool time with toddlers. If I’m out of the water, I am all tensed, adrenaline-fueled vigilance. When I’m in the water, I try not to drown as my wet spider monkey children cling to my trachea like a life preserver. Books and magazines are useless remnants from a former life.
3. A half hour of “fun” requires three hours of intense planning and preparation.
I used to think it was ridiculous when I saw families arrive at the pool with enough supplies to summit Everest. And then I had children, and I learned the only thing that was ridiculous was my naiveté. You will need all the supplies. Literally all of them. Sunscreen, bug spray, after-sun lotion. Antiseptic cream and Band-Aids for the moment your kid inevitably scrapes a knee running across wet concrete. Bathing suits and rash guards and enough flotation devices to supply a small nautical vessel. Snacks, water and then more snacks for when your kids reject the first snacks you packed. No matter how carefully you prepare, you will inevitably leave a crucial item at home, leading to chaos.
4. Toddlers don’t believe in GHOSTING.
My kids never leave anywhere gracefully. There tends to be a lot of begging and coaxing involved, like herding nervous sheep into their pen. When it comes to leaving the pool, all of my tricks fail. Not only do my children resist as though I am dragging them to a gulag, they are also wet and covered in sunscreen. So they are extra slippery and far better equipped to evade my grasp. Often this means that pool exits take as long as the time we spent at the pool, and everyone ends up drenched, red-faced and crying in the car.
5. Adult swim is still the worst.
There are few things so hated by kids as adult swim. That 15-minute, mandatory “break” announced by the lifeguard whistle where every kid reluctantly gets out of the pool and resentfully watches as a couple of grownups do halfhearted laps. As a parent, I still hate it. Especially because it inevitably occurs the moment I finish the long, sweaty process of putting them in their swim diapers, bathing suits and floaties.
To be fair, even with small children, the pool still has its moments. The first time my daughter learned to kick her chubby little legs behind her. Every time my son squeals with delight as he splashes water on his face. The total, quiet exhaustion that comes on the car ride home. However, I do look forward to the time in life when my children are self-sufficient enough to allow me a few moments of peace, maybe even a chapter or two of a book. Until then, there are still those snack bar nachos.
Elizabeth Becker is a writer, registered nurse and mom of two. Read more about her life and other parenting epiphanies at lifeinacoffeespoon.com.
