Yesterday was our first day at the pool. (Not sure why the pools in Chicago don’t just open between June 15-Sept. 15, because there’s really no point in opening on Memorial Day. Ever.)
And I realized that, for the first time in years, I didn’t have to run around trying to find the swim diaper and the rubber pants. And I didn’t have to set up the stroller. All we had to do was put suits on, lather up with sunscreen (which I of course had to run to CVS to buy, as I hadn’t planned ahead – see my December 1 post about snow boots) and go.
Everyone put on his/her own suit, everyone walked, everyone helped to put on his/her own sunscreen. And everyone found a friend they knew to play with at the pool.
Maybe I should feel sad about this. Maybe if I were 35, I would. But at 46, I don’t. Not one bit. I loved it when they were babies. Every minute of it. But now that my babies are growing up…hallelujah.
How soon can I get them to put away their own laundry?