Be Brave, Mommy

This week Amelia got the equivalent of one of her very first participation trophies in the form of a small, purple certificate and a sticker.  She was much more interested in the sticker, of course, and I felt like, this time, the certificate was more for me.  This hastily filled in certificate proclaimed that Amelia completed her first round of swim lessons in the infant/toddler class offered on the ASU campus. 

Each Tuesday and Thursday for the last five weeks (minus the week when she battled the flu – in April), Amelia and I have hurried to swim class.  We lucked into a small class with a very patient and soft-spoken college student/instructor.  There was not much to the actual class; mostly, we sang songs, practiced kicking, attempted to blow bubbles (which resulted in the drinking of more pool water than is ever recommended), tossed a ball, tried to convince babies and toddlers to try to float, and to Amelia’s absolute delight, jumped in repeatedly.  Because this was an infant/toddler class, I had to swim too.  Well, I had to walk back and forth in the water for thirty minutes, twice a week, holding Amelia.  My job was to help her to be comfortable in the water and facilitate whatever activity we were directed to complete.

Amelia started laughing as soon as we began walking down the steps each time.  She loved the thrill of the not-so-warm water and the anticipation it brought.  She adored splashing and begged for the songs.  Her favorite songs in the water were “Ring Around the Rosy” and “The Hokey Pokey.”  At the end of “Ring Around the Rosy” instead of falling down, she would go under the water.  This was terrifying to me the first few times, but each time, Amelia would shout “again!” as she came up out of the water.  I knew she loved the pool, but I didn’t realize how far her confidence went. 

My Amelia has no fear.  This is not a new revelation.  Sure, there are moments when she is hesitant, but give her a second, and she will dive right in – and as I learned in swim class, literally dive in.  Amelia’s jumps into the pool progressed as the class did.   During the first class (and every class, really) she would beg to jump in again and again.  By the last week of class, she would hold a diving ring and I would pull her into the water with it, rather than holding her hands, so she would have the feel of jumping in without my touch.  Rather than balk at this new arrangement, Amelia insisted that she could do it herself.  I had to convince her to let me catch her and even then, she barely looked as she jumped, hoping to feel a jolt of surprise with the water. 

During our second to last class, we were crossing the pool, trying to practice kicking.  Amelia was attempting to push me away and “do it herself!”  This is not a rare occurrence right now, since she’s twenty-two months old, but of course, I couldn’t let her go in the middle of a pool.  So, I kept my hold on her and continued trying to get across the pool.  I called her “my brave girl” and laughed as she resigned herself to my help. 

Once we made it to the side, the plan was to do a series of jumps into the water.  This particular class was the one in which our instructor introduced the diving rings to foster more independent jumping.  I know my eyes widened as the idea was presented and I took a deep breath.  After convincing Amelia that we could use the pink ring (she wanted the yellow one and colors are very important right now, although at this point the excitement of jumping into the pool triumphed), she readied herself to jump.  Somehow, she must have felt my hesitancy.  Precociously, she stopped and smiled at me.  “Be brave, Mommy!” she shouted just before she jumped.

In the moment, I laughed and caught her, just before her head went under.  Looking back, it felt like one of the first times that our roles were reversed.  Here she was, the one who was learning something new, trying something that could be scary, and I needed her reassurance.  My job was to help her to be comfortable and she was comforting me.  She was forcing me to see that she was ready.  She couldn’t wait to take the next step; whether she knew it or not, she just needed me to be there to catch her once she jumped.   That won’t always be the case, I know.  These moments, this independence will pop up more and more often, sometimes unexpectedly and sometimes in situations that I have both dreaded and hoped for since before she was born. 

Sometimes, I will help her to be brave, to find her courage, her confidence.  No matter what, I’ll do my best to be there to catch her.  Even so, I know that sometimes, my brave girl will have to once again say, “be brave, Mommy.”