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Long Days, Short Seasons

Musings of a Mother

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The Many Titles of “Mom”

By Shelby Colette
July 12, 2023

When I became a mom, I thought I was taking on one title: Mother. What I didn’t realize was how much that one short name encased a thousand smaller titles all wrapped into it.  

My son started swim lessons a couple months ago, with absolutely dismal results. He’s a little late to the game, starting at five years old.  He was two when I was getting him into swimming and then COVID and his little sister arrived at the exact same time.  Once we were starting to see the light at the end of the COVID tunnel, I become pregnant again and had our third baby.  Back under we went, slave to newborn nap schedules and breastfeeding and trying to juggle three kids three and under, where daily survival is a struggle.  It took every ounce of energy I could muster to find enough courage/energy/gumption/strength to entertain the idea of taking three kids to the pool.  By that time, Jesse was five and had developed a healthy fear of change, the unknown, and swimming—which encompassed all the above.  I finally got him in swim lessons, realizing that we needed to do something or this kid would never swim.  What I didn’t realize is that by putting him in swim lessons, I was signing myself up to be him swim instructor. 

My oldest in my tentative child.  He won’t jump unless he knows what’s waiting at the bottom.  It has taken his entire walking life—and a herculean effort in patience from me—for him to figure out how to ride anything with wheels.  And in swim lessons he was no different.  After nearly two months and four hundred dollars, we had made exactly zero progress.  I was quickly coming to realize that it would take years of swim lessons (and cost half a college education) if I didn’t do something.  Thirty minutes once a week was clearly not going to cut it.

I could feel the frustration building up within me over swim lessons, over the hopeful promise of actually making progress each week, only to be completely let down after thirty minutes of watching my kid refuse to leave the step.  I didn’t want to be angry at my child, but I also couldn’t help it.  Why couldn’t he just try?  I knew he’d like it if he could just get out of his own way.  But at five, he simply couldn’t see that it was only his fear keeping him back.  How often we live like this, even as adults. 

And so, whether or not I felt inclined (I didn’t), I started taking all three kids to the pool.  With two floaties slung over one arm; a pool bag carrying four towels, three changes of clothing, swim and regular diapers, and goggles; two kids running in completely opposite directions; and a baby on my hip, we made our way to the pool.  

I put Jesse in the pool with his floatie first, then Charlotte in the pool with hers.  Finally, the baby in her infant innertube and I climbed in.  Three children with one adult.  It’s a good thing there are lifeguards.

It was then I could hold Jesse, take off his floatie with me at his side.  The kiddie pool is two and a half feet deep, which means Jesse can stand without a floatie throughout the entire pool.  I had to teach him whenever he was in trouble to “just stand up.”  That was all he needed to do to be safe.  A smile slowly slid over his gap-toothed mouth, his eyes slyly acknowledging that, even if against his will, this just might be comfortable.  There existed the faint possibility this might even be fun.

After nearly an hour, his cries turned from “No, Mommy!” to “Mommy Mommy, watch this!” I’d turn and watch his head go under water, only to pop up and immediately look for me.  Did I just witness the miraculous moment of my child voluntarily submerging his head under water?  Yes, I did.  And yes, a miracle it was.

I knew I’d take on a lot of roles when I become a mom.  I just didn’t realize how many.  And how heavy those roles would be.  I realized Mother meant cooking, cleaning, loss of sleep.  I didn’t realize it meant short-order cook, laundromat director, maid, house cleaner, errand-runner, shuttle service provider, butt wiper, swim instructor, preschool teacher, pediatrician, nurse, and encyclopedia, to name a few.  I had no idea I’d have to be the one teaching my child to learn how to swim while I was simultaneously paying someone else to do it.   

It’s overwhelming at times.  And completely exhausting.  I want to take him to swim lessons for a few weeks and have him come out the other side a proficient, water-safe swimmer, having “teach my child to swim” on someone else’s to-do list.  Instead, I’m here having to work my butt off making sure he makes it to swim lessons and then hauling all my children to the pool several times mid-week, getting into said pool with all the kids, making Jesse practice what he learned in his lesson (which he mostly does not appreciate), and then doing it all over again.  I’m tired and over it and I frankly don’t feel like doing this anymore.  At this point I’m tempted to just keep him in a floatie until he’s sixteen.     

As I was ruminating about our semi-failed swim lessons thus far and the overly heavy burden swimming feels like right now, the thought popped into my head about athletes.  Whenever they do something great, the camera always pans their mothers.  I used to wonder why.  It wasn’t until I became a mother that I truly understood.  

It is because before the NFL player was drafted or ever caught a touchdown, there was a mother who cheered and encouraged every time he attempted to stand.  There was a mother who held his hand as he took each wobbly step.  There was a mother who clapped and smiled as he finally walked on his own, a mother who taught him to tie his shoes and catch a ball and kiss his nose when he missed and got smacked in the face.

Before the Olympic swimmer won the gold, there was a mother who took her child to the pool and got her used to the water, who helped her blow bubbles out her nose and dip her ears in the water and shuttled her to and from lessons and meets for years.

No wonder the camera shows the mothers.  The mothers were there from the beginning, encouraging every step, teaching in a thousand ways.  A mother who gave up herself, her sleep, her body, her time, possibly her career or her creativity or her future, for this child.  She gave of herself for their sake, for their success.  She poured her life into theirs.  She struggled with patience when they refused to put their head under water, with finding the energy to take them to the pool when she was dead tired, with watching them do one more dive when all she wanted to do was take a nap.  

When I watch that Olympic swimmer win the gold, I now know there was a mother who likely spent hours with her child in the pool, encouraging and teaching, pushing and supporting, in order to help that person become the winner they are now.  In a way, the victory is equally their mother’s, for they wouldn’t be where they were without the mother who helped them get there.

And so, when I’m tired and overwhelmed and just want my kids to finally swim, I will know that when they do, I played a part in it.  And not just a small one.  They swim because I got in that pool and helped them.  They are who they are because they had a mom who gave of herself to help them be successful, to push them when they needed it, to catch them when they fell.  A mom who became swim instructor, Uber driver, schedule coordinator, family manager.

We aren’t swimming yet, but we’re finally making progress.  But it means I don’t get thirty minutes of free time.  I don’t get to sit back and let someone else deal with my child for a change.  It means I have to pay attention to what the instructor is teaching him and then haul all my children to the pool to make sure he practices it.  It means more time I’m “on,” still being the parent.  There is no letting off the gas pedal.

My children might never win gold medals or NFL championships.  Maybe they’ll never make millions of dollars or be cheered on by crowds of people.  But I can do my best to love them, to support and encourage them.  I can do my best at being their mom.  A mom who wore a thousand titles, who did her best to fill all the roles that make up the word “mom.”  And know that this season of swim lessons is just that, a season.  My kids will swim someday.  And someday, “swim instructor” will be one more title off my list.  (Praise Jesus!)  A hundred more will come off in the following years. But one title that will never leave me? Mom. And for that I’m incredibly grateful because being a mom, no matter how hard, is also the best title I wear.