Swimming with babies and toddlers is a WHOLE different experience to the swimming of pre kids days. Yes, it can be lots of fun. Seeing their little faces in the water, agog at the new experience. It’s lovely! My kids came out with some corkers when we took them last week. My 2 year old got in and was bobbing about shouting “Mummy! I’m in a bath! A giant bath!” It was very sweet.
There were elements, however, that were not sweet. Let me run through them.
- Trying to actually get them in a changing room. The whole place is FAR too exciting for all that getting changed rubbish. “There’s the pool Mummy! Get in Mummy!” Sorry darling, there’s a little annoying thing called “swimming costumes” we have to get through first. My husband and I hurry along trying to find a “family room”. Obviously we haven’t thought far ahead enough to have our clothes separated perfectly so we can take a child each, so we all have to go in one together. We squeeze in eventually and operation get changed is underway.
- Immediately all hell breaks loose. The 2 year old is grabbing my knickers and throwing them with abandon across the floor so they’re nearly entirely in next door's changing room. Nooooo! The 3 year old is examining the wrapper of someone else’s sanitary towel. No no no no no. The 2 year old looks up at Daddy half naked and starts laughing at his willy. A nice confidence boost for you there, Daddy. We finally squeeze them into their swimwear and it’s on to operation find a locker.
- A locker is located. We only have one £1 coin so a singular locker is our only option. Getting all our stuff in one is it is a bit like giving birth in reverse. Finally I squeeze the last shoe in. The flipping key doesn’t work. FFS. Begin process again. This time I check locker before the giving birth in reverse commences. Whilst this unfolds the husband attempts to stop our 2 pre school children running around in excitement, bashing in to unsuspecting swimmers and slipping on wet surfaces. He half succeeded. With locker finally secured we’re pool bound.
- Our actual time in the pool is quite fun. It’s absolutely heaving, with it being a rainy Sunday, and everyone seemingly having the same day trip idea, but it’s worth it. The kids are loving it. There’s a pirate ship thing and even an outdoor area you can go to, so you can swim from inside to outside at will. I say swim. Obviously I mean bob about with a small child attached to us. Occasionally my husband and I swap children, alternating throughout (I mean with our own 2, not anyone else’s, that would be weird). The 2 year old is upset she can’t go on the big slide. The 3 year old is a little troubled by the archway with water spraying quite violently, but other than that it’s a success. After an hour or so of excitement and bobbing we move on to the final and hardest stage of the expedition. Operation extraction from pool.
- It begins badly. Neither child is keen to leave. They both try to run in opposite directions back to the pool. “NO RUNNING!” we shout panicked. We eye up a lifeguard staring at the kids, thinking about deploying his whistle. We finally grab them and manage to get them back to the changing room. No mean feat when they’re so damn SLIPPERY. They’re now both hungry and tired and a little overwrought too. We wait again for a family room, and eventually one becomes free.
- This is where the hell of swimming with toddlers reaches its crescendo. Obviously there’s no time or inclination for showers for either adults or the kids (showers scare the crap out of them), so instead we resign ourselves to the fact we’ll stink of chlorine until we manage a wash at home. But mission getting dressed becomes quite a challenge. The first dilemma is who should we dress first; the kids or ourselves? We attempt to get ourselves done quickly and out the way. That was the first error. While we try to dry ourselves, the kids play with the changing room bin, which is now nicely full of nappies, sanitary waste and god knows what else. “STOP PLAYING WITH THE BIN GUYS!”. The eldest squeals in delight as someone next door accidentally puts half one of those swimming noodle float things under our locker. “LOOK MUMMY” she cries as she grabs it. “That’s not ours, put it back” I request desperately while hopping in one leg attempting to pull my jeans up while my legs are not quite dry. By now she’s on the floor. Legs under the door of another changing room, face peeping up underneath the other. “GET UP RUBY! PLEASE!”. I’m mortified imagining someone else getting changed and seeing a toddlers face the other side peeping up at them. Daisy now spots my sanitary towels in my bag from a previous occasion. “Oh look mummy! You brought your nappies!” she shouts. Oh god.
- We, the adults are now dressed. That’s one good thing. But now we are dressed in a changing room that feels like its heating up like a steam room. It’s getting sweaty now. We try to wrangle the toddlers into their clothes. We’re all damp and it makes getting the clothes on really hard. “Oh my god it’s so HOT!” yells my husband. “I’m SWEATING! We have to get out of here!” It’s like a race against time to get the kids in their clothes before one of us overheats. It’s like being in the jungle. We both regret getting dressed first. “I need a poo!” Daisy tells me with glee. Typical. My husband is still attempting to get the leggings on the youngest child. I see the beads of desperation and sweat form on his forehead. We frantically complete the task and lob everything in the bag, stuffing it in wildly. The kids seem totally unaffected by the humid hell, where as my husband and I feel like we’re in some kind of pathetic and unenjoyable episode of The Crystal Maze. We both feel like knocking on the door, half dressed, having failed “I give up! I’m coming out!”.
- We finally do make it out the door. The cool air of outside the changing room hits us. For a moment we experience relief. Until the kids spot the café. ‘ICE CREAMS! I WANT ICE CREAM!” Oh lordy. Why are cafes at leisure centres the unhealthiest eating establishments ever? We settle for cheese Paninis, wotsits, fruit shoots and ice lollies. I stare at their lunches feeling like a failure. A family sit at the table next to us. The woman is dressed in lycra. She’s clearly done ACTUAL exercise, not just bobbed about in a pool like me. She sits with her husband and her 4 kids. Yes FOUR kids. And she whips out the lunch she’d prepared for them to have with their coffees. Now I feel really rubbish. My husband and I eye up their lunch. Some kind of kale crackers and hummus. Yes, that’s right. KALE CRACKERS. How the flaps does she get her kids to eat that? It’s a mystery. Our youngest is screaming for her dummy now. She alternates between sucking her bright E number filled lolly and the dummy. I turn again and take a look at the kale crackers and feel rubbish. The eldest turns to me – “Mummy, I LOVE swimming. Can we come again soon?!”. “Ok I say! Of course.”
This blog was written by Sally Bunkham, the founder of mumsback.com. Gift hampers for mums full of the stuff they REALLY want. £1 from every hamper goes to PANDAS Foundation