Tales From the Pool: The Deep End

So, as you know, I have  been pondering Ted finishing up high school and heading off to college in two months—seriously, move-in day is less than two months away—and I’ve had my moments of reflection.  I have a baby book in which I carefully detailed each “first,” including all the typical ones like first tooth, first step, and so on.  It’s harder to keep track of the “lasts”; one day you just sort of realize, hey, I haven’t had to drive him anywhere in months, and then it kind of starts to sink in that somewhere in the busyness of life I must’ve spoon fed him, helped him dress, checked his homework, washed his jersey, dropped him off, watched his team play for the last time. 
I was thinking about this yesterday while sitting by our pool, watching young mothers with toddlers bobbing around in water, trying to have a conversation with one another.    Meanwhile, Little was practicing her diving from the blocks and coolly assessing  some older middle school girls.  And I wondered when the last time was that I had to get in the pool.  It’s been a few years, but for a while now I’ve been able to lounge and sun and read, getting in only when I wanted to cool off.  Admittedly, I have enjoyed sitting poolside leafing through magazines and glancing up only to count heads or to acknowledge a Momwatchthis moment.  Sure, occasionally I had to referee a disagreement over goggles or some such, but for the most part it was a blissful respite from the demands of the day. The Mister and I took Little to the pool late Sunday afternoon.  He, of course, jumped right in and swam and played and admired all her handstands, dives, and splashes.  I read.  When he came over to dry off and stretch out for a bit, he said, “She’s going to want you to come in.”  And I said, “Oh, I don’t think so, she hasn’t said anything,” and I began to think of reasons that I didn’t want to get all wet, namely that I needed to stop at the grocery on the way home.  And then, she didn’t swim over to ask me to get in with her.  For a long time.  She was just fine.  Without me.  Finally, she glided over and said teasingly, “Why don’t you come in, Mommy?  Are you afraid to get your hair wet?”  I know, sadly, from experience, that I could have begged off and she would’ve shrugged and swam away, but I think I knew that if I didn’t go in this time, it might be the last time she invited me. 
So, I walked to the edge of the deep end and jumped. I’ve had enough lasts for a while.