Hold Your Breath

A post in praise of dangerous women:

Yesterday, after Wrig had exhausted me in the pool, she found a friend named Lena, from Chicago. Lena was a little bit older than Wrig, a little bit taller, and - though not much - a little bit better at swimming. Lena and Wrig grabbed a noodle each and began paddling about the pool. Lena was very excited to be over four! feet! tall! and able to stand on her tiptoes way! out! here! She kept luring Wrig further and further into the pool, into deeper and deeper water.

I relaxed on a lawn chair, holding my breath.

It takes an enormous amount of concentration to watch your daughter and her brand-new-novice-swimmer friend fend for themselves in four and five foot water. Every ounce of energy I had was spent cementing my kiester to the chair. Every other ounce of energy was spent suppressing the urge to shout "Wrigley, get back here!" or "Wrigley, be careful!"

You know what? Wrigley knows to be careful without me shouting at her. I watched her balance herself this way and that, trying new tricks and reacting to the flow of energy and water. Whenever she felt unsure, she paddled back to safer ground, readjusted herself, and tackled the deep end again.

My kid has good sense. It's terrifying - um, I mean fun - watching her use it.