Mama Gets Wet

I love love love the beach. I love being at the beach. I love sitting on the beach. But I hate getting wet. I won't go in the water unless it's 90 degrees outside.

It is never 90 degrees inside indoor pools.

Peanut had a kindergarten-wide field trip to a local indoor waterpark today. Personally, this is my version of about the third level of hell, but, you know, she's my daughter and all.

My daughter with a few trust issues.

So I purchased a bathing suit that I thought might not frighten the other children, popped some pain reliever, and bit the bullet.

Peanut didn't see me when she walked in, so I followed roughly 120 five-year-olds up the steps to the balcony. Peanut's class was, of course, way in the back corner.

When I found her, she looked about two feet shorter and three shades paler than usual, with her "holy chihuahuas I am going to die" look.

I had to get wet. My lungs are saturated with chlorine from strange children grabbing my arms unexpectedly and pulling me under. And I do believe my pelvis might have been fractured by several kindergarten feet. But it was surely worth it. My child did not freak out today.