The first time we took Aida to the pool, she cried. She was five months old, and we brought her to the Y. She froze up as soon as we entered the noisy indoor pool area. As I waded into the baby pool she clung to me for dear life. Our visit lasted 15 minutes at most. She was still shaking when I tried to remove her swim suit in the locker room.
The second time we took Aida to the pool, it was to the outdoor public pool near our home. She was about six and a half months old, I think. Again, we waded into the baby pool and Aida clung like a baby monkey. She wasn't exactly happy to be there, but she coped as best she could by sitting in my lap and staring down at her squeeky toy. She barely looked up, as if to do so would remind her of what an awful, terrible place we'd brought her.
By then, it was summer in Florida. I thought surely she'd get used to a pool. She was enjoying her baths more and more, right? So I bought her a canopied blow-up baby pool. I huffed and puffed my brains out to get that thing set up in our backyard. She cried as soon as I put her toes in, latched on to the edge and wouldn't budge. Again, her coping mechanism involved grabbing the nearest floating toy and trying her damnedest not to look up.
The second time I tried a month or so later, she cried even more and tried to climb out.
So, we here in the CM household decided to give it a rest. We wouldn't talk about the pool. We wouldn't think about the pool. We didn't read any stories that involved going swimming or any other pool-like activities. We were very, very sensitive to what appeared to be our baby's clear fear of pools.
Then, Sunday came. We went to visit my mom at her bayfront apartment. We packed a swim diaper, a hat and a big bottle of baby sunscreen.
Here's what happened:
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