If, as a formerly childless woman, you’ve survived the stepmother duties of school pickups, cake stalls and a work from home day that coincided with a stepkid riddled with spatter-vomit, now, and only now, are you adequately qualified to oversee stepchild swimming lessons.
Personally, you may have nothing but fond memories of swimming lessons. A weekday morning where you toddled off to school with your bathers already on under your school clothes. An escape from the smugness of your peers that, unlike your numerically inept self, were good with unforgiving fractions. School swimming day held no fear other than the vague risk that, having headed to school all pool-ready, you’d forgotten spare undies and would have to go invisibly but possibly mortifyingly commando for the remainder of the day. There were no major hurdles to cross, success being represented by simple achievements like picking up a rubber ring off the tiled floor of the shallow end, or a doggy paddle for 20 metres, none of which really represent serious life skills.
Modern day parents, paralysed by the knowledge that they’ve borne spawn in an island nation, and even more terrifying, ensconced themselves in middle class suburbs riddled with loosely patrolled backyard pools, are deeply invested in ensuring their kiddies can swim. If you are a participant in a blended family, at some point, despite your best efforts, you will find yourself responsible for a child in a municipal pool. Here are some pointers;
The environment
If you receive any early heads-up that you might need to do Saturday morning pool duties, then you MUST give Friday night happy hour a big-ol swerve.
What you must not, ever, never, ever do? Take a hangover to the pool. Why?
Your hungover self requires a careful protocol of nurturing in order to achieve full restoration. You will not achieve this at your local pool.
Cast your mind back to a recent hangover and consider how you would react to the following:
- A warm, moist environment where the air is oppressive with chemicals. Your over-worked liver is in a hard-fought battle with last night’s unlimited vino. This key organ has endured a night totally parched, in desperate search of hydration, and now all you’ve done is venture out into an overheated environment where a local government entity intensely averse to claims of hypothermia wants to keep every kid toasty. Consider how you’ll feel when you get those hungover nausea sweats and you are stuck in a place devoid of any fresh air.
- A scene of screams. Kids who are normally gratifying low-key, once immersed in water, will let loose with a special kind of wailing unmatched by the most bereft of Greek widows. Recreational pools are almost always high-roofed, which just allows the kiddie-cries to echo without restriction.
- A fair portion of the other mothers at the pool will be fully decked out in the latest Lululemon activewear, having engineered that special kind of timetable wizardry that allows them to complete a session of yin yoga and still arrive at for pool duties in an earthy state of zen. Whether real or not, you are going to feel like these fitness queens are throwing all kind of judgey stares if you are in the pool café trying to tame your hangover with an egg and bacon sandwich with double fake cheese and a side of fat chips.
The change room conundrum
This my friends, is an unexpected nightmare.
If you are the step parent of a boy, there are no good choices. No one wants to subject any boy over about five years old into the female change rooms and next level awkwardness. Nor are you going to feel great about letting him wander unsupervised amongst the unseen, unvetted occupants of the male change rooms. The time it takes for a pre-teen boy to shower and apply hair product will be equivalent in your mind to the time it takes for him to be sneakily drugged and ushered out the back door into a life of child sex slavery. Before you know if you are shouting the kids name from the entrance door like an unhinged banshee.
Better to skip the change rooms, throw him into one of those undignified full-body towelling ponchos and create a dribbling chlorinated trail back to your car, despite the fact that chemical dampness will forever taint your beloved leather seats.
Level of attention required
Biological parents are apparently unimpressed by the qualifications of pool lifeguards when it comes to preventing their children from near or actual drowning. Although the teen by the pool is certificate-level qualified, definitely a better swimmer than you and heavily insured, it is apparently taboo to relinquish all control and while away your kiddo-supervisory time on Instagram. You won’t be able to use this dead-ass time to catch up on work emails, your backlog of cat-videos or finding a fab outfit on ASOS.
You will be expected to summon the sustained attention of a special-forces sniper with laser-sharp focus on the kiddie in question. You do not want to be wandering back from the pool canteen, chowing down on a fried dimmy at that moment your step-kiddo has been dragged from the pool after inhaling a more-than-recommended dose of chlorinated water.
This is a tough gig. Be prepared.