After making fantastic progress – she’s at the penultimate level in the YMCA’s program – she experienced a somewhat disheartening session these past few weeks.  A class with lots of kids, all of whom stronger and bigger than her, and a revolving door of instructors.

She didn’t like the fact that “she had no one to talk to”  in class and that she was the smallest. When I tried to explain to her that the fact that she was the youngest was a good thing because it meant that she was a great swimmer for her age, she shrugged it off.  The rationalizing didn’t impress her one bit, no matter how true.

We don’t want to force her to do anything she doesn’t want to do – because I am still hopeful that after a break, she’ll want to get back to it.  We’re thinking of giving her a few private lessons when she’s ready, to build up her confidence and her strength.  I’ve really enjoyed watching her swim every week, but it’s not a good sign when the parent is enjoying it more than the child.  

I took lots of breaks from activities when I was a kid – and most of the time, I never went back to the activities I had started.  I flittered and fluttered about, from Brownies to soccer to piano lessons to gymnastics to tennis, and god knows what else – I have a vague souvenir of taking clarinet lessons at some point, but maybe I’m just making up that memory.  I was as fickle as could be.  So who am I to begrudge my dear Chloe a break?