You know what I love most about swim lessons?

this.

No, not the swimsuit with the flames on the arms, although that is badass.

I love that it’s me & Harrison.  Alone.

Okay, so not really alone.  There are like, seven other parents in the class, plus their children, plus the instructor that doesn’t know basic nursery rhymes.  But for 30 minutes twice per week when we needed it most, Harrison & I got the chance to just spend one-on-one time together without being babysat.

I’ll let you suspect whatever you want by that statement.  Suspect the least, suspect the worst.  I don’t care.   As I said, some things need to stay between me, Nate, & my doctor for now.

When we’re in the pool together, I do not feel like a bad mother.  I forget that I missed nine hours of his day.  I forget about the screaming, the tears, the nights I’ve had to cover my ears in the shower to block out imaginary wails.  When we’re in the pool together, I know his smile is only for me, that his giggles are at my bubbles.

When we’re in the pool together, I feel like Harrison trusts me to keep him safe, just like a good mother should.

It’s good therapy.