My kids both have their lesson at the same time (different classes, same pool), which is lucky because it minimises the time I have to spend in that hell hole. Thankfully they are both now at an age whereby I don’t have to get into the pool with them (shudders at the thought).

The pool that we go to is the local council-owned one, and it’s seen better days. It’s a bit grim, actually. About a gazillion other children have their lessons at the same time, and as a result there are FAR TOO MANY people crowding about, trying to wrestle unwilling, tired-after-a-day-at-school kids into swimming costumes and hats and goggles. It’s noisy, it’s smelly, the floor is quite dirty, and for some reason it is hotter than the sun in the changing rooms and the spectator area. Basically it’s complete sensory overload and I don’t blame my kids for moaning about going.

If we didn’t live in a seaside town where being able to swim is basically as important as being able to walk, I would so skip the swimming lessons – I hate them. If I was better off I’d pay for more exclusive lessons at a nicer pool – one where I don’t feel like I’m going to catch something, and where there aren’t most of the town’s grotty children. But I’m not.

So we shall persist, week after week, and hopefully the Feral Children will eventually learn how to not drown. The one thing that makes me feel a lot better is that there are very few Alpha Mummies at our swimming lessons (I guess they’re all at the posh pool across town). It’s a real Beta Mummy-fest. We are all united in hating the process, we all shoot each other eye rolls of solidarity and “we can do this!”, and we all lose our tempers when our children refuse to let us rinse the shampoo out of their hair.  At least if I’m miserable I’m not the only one…

Do you recognise my sorry tale of woe?!