Last night was the girls first swim meet.

We really had no idea what to expect aside from what other parents had hinted at; that it would be hot and two hours of intermittent swimming while you bobbed up and down in a sea of parents to catch a twenty-four second glimpse of your child’s underwater body would feel like a lifetime…especially if I planned to bring Chloe along. Planned? Oh, you assume I had another option?

We prepared the only way I know how to prepare for a hot and lengthy athletic competition. After a few days of carb loading, a couple of fake urine test decoys, sacrificing of a small goat, I figured we were ready.

Hanna had a major panic attack in the change room and again on the deck before getting started. She freaked out, crying, screamed at me that she was leaving and stormed off back upstairs to the change area. I had Chloe on the deck with me, strapped with two backpacks, (crafts, snacks) sweating my knickers off, walking a happy Ellie to her group. Ellie loved the sound of the whistles, the rec centre lighting, the crowds and the possibility of seeing a real pool noodle up close.
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Hanna emerged from a bathroom stall, shaking, crying, yelling at me some more. I told her I wasn’t going to let her miss out on something that might be great and that she was participating, period. I think it actually sounded more like, “Hannagetyourbuttdownstairsthissecondoryou’llloset.v.forlife!” in my most “good thing there’s a deep end because I’m about to fly off it” voice. She did. She came in first in her heat for back crawl. Not one of those photo finish firsts either–a legitimate first place finish. That had her beaming, but suppressing the beams so she could refuse to wave at me and stomp her foot while mouthing the words, “I’m going to kill you in your sleep” at least, I think that’s what she was saying.

At one point I actually saw her cross her arms in an exaggerated “I hate you for making me do this” gesture towards a woman, a mother, any mother in the stands who seemed to be giving her some undivided attention. She used her towel as an angry cape and after a few violent waves, eye rolls and a seal-the-deal stomp, she came in second place in her heat for front crawl.

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Ellie came in almost last in every one of her four races and was prouder than a pig in shit to have finished the race at all. She was even happy that her towel had become so cold, so wet. “Can you believe the absorption of this thing Mommy?”

Obviously, I’m relieved it worked out. It could have just as easily been an “I told you so” moment and I hate those.