Jumping And Getting Wet

I heard a speaker at a women’s conference once say: “Are you the kind of parent that likes to sit and watch your kids swim, or do you jump in and get wet?” …. Hmmmm.

This comment troubled me. I do like to have fun, but I also like to sit on the side and watch. Last year for instance we visited an aquatic centre in Tasmania. It was a little cold and the water was uninviting. I had a magazine to read, so I sat in the cafe, smiling and waving at the kids. Luckily Uncle Greg didn’t mind getting wet. My lack of involvement however didn’t impress my five and eight year olds.

What does impress them is me donning my swimmers and jumping in, or rolling up my jeans and splashing in the surf or swallowing my pride and climbing through a ridiculously small kids climbing maze, only to find myself getting stuck between the yellow squishy bits or better yet, taking my shoes off and bouncing with them on a Cinderella jumping castle.

Yesterday, against my better judgment, I put on my sneakers and headed to Luna Park with my five year old. As soon as we arrived, Georgia took my hand urging me to go on the merry go round with her. “Come on mummy,” she said enthusiastically. Cumbersomely I clambered on board a mermaid horse built for two. With legs dangling and handbag draped over my shoulder, I turned to look at Georgia. She gave me a big beaming, one tooth missing smile.

The more sensible parents were standing on the side taking photos of their kids. The less sensible one … me, was getting that ‘poor you look’ by parents at every turn. Even the attendant smiled at me sympathetically. Un-phased I turned to look back at Georgia who was still giving me that one tooth missing grin.

Next we headed to the Ferris wheel. Ah, this was better. At least I could see other parents getting on. But no sooner had we jumped off the Ferris wheel, when Georgia grabbed my hand and dragged me to my nightmare – the mighty mouse. I could already feel my meat pie heading up my esophagus. Again, most parents – the sensible ones, were standing in the line to wave their kids off. Not me. I am bundling myself into the crammed little red car with my bag, Georgia’s back pack and Georgia. “Here we go,” I say mustering up as much enthusiasm as I could. I think the photo taken as we hurtled down the track at 100 km’s an hour said it all.

Next it was Coney Island. “Let’s go on the big slide mummy.” “Ok, Georgia,” I looked up, grimaced, then sent an SMS to my husband: “are we having fun yet?” who promptly replied with: “not until you’ve been on the big slide” – funny that. So with a mat in one hand, Georgia’s backpack in the other and my handbag draped around my neck, we head up the big stairs to the big slide.

The young Indian man holding the mat at the top gave me that knowing glance. I stuffed my handbag into the little pouch provided, sat Georgia on my lap, then one, two, three – off we went. Whooahhhh! I’m just glad I’m not a celebrity and I don’t have paparazzi taking my photo, because the disembarking at the other end would have made the front page.

So after 6 rides, one ice-cream, 2 coffees and a stick of fairy floss we were done. Georgia took my hand, looked me in the eyes and said: “I love you mummy.” In this moment, I realized it was worth it all. To get in and get wet, although uncomfortable for me, meant the world to her.

Nicki