Since we moved from IL in 1996, we’ve lived in the South. First in AZ, where you could comfortably begin getting in your pool in March.
We either had a pool at our apartment, or we ventured to our dear friends house where we hung out and swam all day.
Then we moved to Texas. Again, pool at the apartment. And now a community pool.
As we sat alongside our pool today, I realized that I’ve gone through all of the pool phases.
Toddlers. They jump, pour, and splash. Typically protected with swim rings and swim diaper.
Adventurers. They want to jump into your arms. Over. And over. And over. Just dunk yourself, you’re getting wet.
Play with me. Brothers are too big and swim in the deep end. Floaties or not, he’s just not ready. So you play catch, monkey crawl, and other goofy things.
Independence. They’ve made a friend. Can I swim over there? You let them but watch like a hawk.
Relaxation. He can swim with his brothers. I’m officially boring. Now I can read and just relax. Am I watching? Heck yes. But I’m not too worried.
Do I miss those days? The toddler, needy days. Sometimes. But I really like having adult conversations with them.
It just means my pool days are almost numbered.