Mothra Baby vs. Mr. Shark
Last night we went to swimming lessons, accompanied by our buddies Mindy and Clayton and guest photographer, Clayton's Dad Zach. We somehow managed to stuff both babies in their carseats, the requisite baby paraphernalia, and three grownups into our car, which was no small task. Clayton is usually the more talkative of the pair, but last night, Isaac was on a screamy mission. This is not to say that he was unhappy -- far from it. He just doesn't yet understand what an "inside voice" exactly is. When he has something to say, gol' dern it, he is going to be HEARD. Last night it was all the way to the pool. And then in the pool. I always think his shrieks are really cute, but sometimes I worry that maybe I am misinterpreting them because I am a rookie.
What really set Isaac off was a new game we played in swim class -- "What Time Is It, Mr. Shark?" In this game, everybody and their babies get up against one wall of the pool, and the teachers stand in the middle of the pool with Mr. Shark, a shark squeaky-toy. We all politely ask the shark together to tell us what time it is, and he (gently prompted by the teachers, of course) lets out X number of squeaks to tell us that it is X o'clock. And if it is, say, 3 o'clock, we all have to take three big steps toward him in the pool. But if it is that magic time, 6 o'clock, we all have to dash like mad back to the wall where we started from. Well, I think there must have been something about Mr. Shark's attitude, or his big pointy teeth, that turned my baby into Mothra, making him constantly emit these shrill evil-creature screams, even when we were supposed to be quietly listening to Mr. Shark to figure out what time it is. He continued his hilarious screaming all the way through the lesson and out into the pool's foyer, where I dressed him in dry street clothes for the trip home. Two ladies who looked like veteran moms sat next to us in the foyer, listening to Isaac carry on. I was so incredibly pleased to hear one of them exclaim, "Now, those are some happy-baby noises!"
What really set Isaac off was a new game we played in swim class -- "What Time Is It, Mr. Shark?" In this game, everybody and their babies get up against one wall of the pool, and the teachers stand in the middle of the pool with Mr. Shark, a shark squeaky-toy. We all politely ask the shark together to tell us what time it is, and he (gently prompted by the teachers, of course) lets out X number of squeaks to tell us that it is X o'clock. And if it is, say, 3 o'clock, we all have to take three big steps toward him in the pool. But if it is that magic time, 6 o'clock, we all have to dash like mad back to the wall where we started from. Well, I think there must have been something about Mr. Shark's attitude, or his big pointy teeth, that turned my baby into Mothra, making him constantly emit these shrill evil-creature screams, even when we were supposed to be quietly listening to Mr. Shark to figure out what time it is. He continued his hilarious screaming all the way through the lesson and out into the pool's foyer, where I dressed him in dry street clothes for the trip home. Two ladies who looked like veteran moms sat next to us in the foyer, listening to Isaac carry on. I was so incredibly pleased to hear one of them exclaim, "Now, those are some happy-baby noises!"
posted by Claire at 8:39 PM
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