Summer is coming to an end. I’m at the pool with Evan and three of his friends, soaking in the last days of summer. Pool days make me anxious and I don’t typically enjoy them unless I am with a friend that keeps my anxiety at bay. Unfortunately I’m solo today, just me hanging with my murder-podcast-filled thoughts, wondering who here is a caregiver and who is a predator. A very large and hairy man just sat next to me, and I’m trying to figure out a way to move my seat ever so unnoticeably, before he asks me if I’m Filipino and starts telling me about his time in the Philippines when he was stationed there during the war, and how all the women were “very nice.” Ugh, I’m regretting doing something nice for the kids today. The pool is like a wet Walmart, and I’m stuck here wondering if I love it or hate it, and I definitely can’t stop people watching.
I haven’t been to this pool in at least 3 years. It’s strange to have the kids in there on their own now. It’s funny how water wings on a kid can make a pool seem so big and scary. Now my little guy is going down water slides by himself, hardly even looking back in my direction. Bittersweet.
I gave the kids some very specific instructions if they wanted a pool day. I said no one is allowed to ask me for anything and only talk to me if they are bleeding. Also, they are not to get into situations that would cause bleeding. If they start fighting with each other, they are to deal with it on their own. If they get hungry, too bad, drink water. They are to socially distance because Covid still very much exists, and I don’t want today to be the reason they can’t start school in a week and a half. All were in agreement. I asked them if they put sunblock on, and they looked at me as if I had three heads. They said they didn’t have any, and I said, “Oh that’s weird because 10 minutes ago when I asked if you had some, you said yes it is in your bag.” They look in their bag, and shocker, sunblock appeared. Another stare down ensues. “Anyone have broken hands or fingers?” I asked. They shake their heads. “Then please sunblock each other. I’ll be sitting right here if you need me, which you will not.” Suddenly everyone knows how to apply sunblock. Then they were on their way, probably thinking, “Damn, she a bitch.” Yep, sure am, but one that drives and has a credit card to pay for the pool.
The man beside me smells like Cheetos and half-wiped butt. And there is a breeze blowing in my direction. I heavily regret my seat choice. The kids are in the pool and splashing around, and I’m happy to say that I am still dry and unbothered. I’d like to take a few deep breaths to calm my anxious pool day nerves, but seriously, the butt smell is real.
Whistles blow and it is time for the kids to come out and allow for adult swim. Evan asks if he can sit…in my seat…even though there are other vacant seats very close by. Didn’t I tell this boy that I plan on sitting almost the entire time? There is nothing special about my seat. In fact, it is right next to this special smelling gentleman, so why would he want to sit here? He gets the hint, and they sit in their own non-mom-touched chairs and survived the 15 minute break by talking to each other and being present. Amazing concept.
The man next to me has gone for a swim now, so I can pick my head up and look around, instead of pretend I have very important things to do and can’t pick my head up to have a conversation. I see so many versions of me here at this pool. The earliest pool day memories I have were when I was old enough to go with just my friends. There are definitely the preteens and teens here, little posers, leaving nothing to the imagination. I am now my mother, shaking my head disapprovingly, just as she did, at the scantily clad teeny-boppers. That’s going to be Reese soon. I’m dying inside. Enjoy the perkiness now, girls, before gravity and life take you down!
At the shallow end, there’s the new mom in the tankini with the 6 month old wearing a cute little bucket hat and SPF 50 smeared all over its chubby arms and legs. The baby sits in the zero depth pool while the mom has constant eyes on him to catch him when he no doubt falls over. He shakes his swimmer sogging bottom to the music. She shoots the kids next to them a nasty look for accidentally splashing the baby as they run by. The young mom looks at her watch, counting down the minutes until the baby’s nap time. In about an hour, the baby will sleep soundly, and for two solid minutes, she is going to feel like she did a really good job momming today.
I look a little further down and see the pregnant mom watching her toddler go down the baby slide. The little girl has her water wings on and frilly skirt swim bottom. She’s way too brave in the pool, and mom watches closely. This mom looks hot and uncomfortable. Her butt will be clenched for the next hour or so. She is saying a silent prayer that her potty-training daughter doesn’t have to go pee right now.
Towards the deeper end stands a mom confidently in a bikini, casually and infrequently looking for her kids. She looks good, super fit, and not anxious at all. I’m looking to see if there are cameras around her because it looks like a photo shoot, and she can’t possibly be a real mom. She must be a version of me I haven’t gotten to yet. I’ll get there someday. After I finish those salted caramel brownie oreos. What? They can’t eat themselves. And they were placed strategically where all the school supplies were at Walmart. That sort of product placement works for suckers like me. The bikini will have to wait.
And then there’s me, still successfully sitting in my chair, occasionally looking for the kids, but playing it cool. I want nachos, but if I get them, the kids will sense my joy and definitely take it away. I stay strong. My hairy wet buddy has returned to his seat, so I stare very diligently at my phone and ignore him. It’s been over an hour and a half, the kids have hardly bothered me, they are having a blast, and I didn’t have the panic attack I was expecting to have. I suppose the pool is not half bad, as long as I don’t have to get wet and I could just sit here and make doctors appointments and catch up on reading (by ‘catch up’ I mean start). I could hang in this version of me for a while. I hope the kids stay in this phase for a little longer too.
My chair buddy just got up and left for the day. His chair is soaked with his butt stank. I feel sweet relief that I didn’t have to have a fake conversation with him. A grandmother with her daughter and two granddaughters took his spot. Grandma sits relaxed, head resting on her folded hands behind her head, looking around and enjoying the fact that she’s done all the hard work years ago and now gets the front row seat to the fun chaos. I bet she’s having the same reminiscing thoughts I’ve had today, only her anxiety is replaced with wisdom. This too will be a version of me someday.
Fingers crossed that I don’t become a version of the large, smelly, hairy dude of the pool day characters. Only time will tell.
The Mundame 