My daughter may DROWN because I work. And I’m not one to be dramatic. EVER.
I was coordinating with a friend (hi Kat!) to send Han along to swimming lessons with her little girl and everything was going swimmingly (heh) until I went to book a ‘competency test’ which was required before booking in to classes.
I laughed at the compentency test because unless it was testing ‘ability to splash’ then I’m pretty sure Han is thoroughly incompetent in the art of floatation. I was then advised that she would be best placed in the beginner class and that didn’t require a test of any sort (Yes! Han’s self-confidence can survive another day!). Unfortunately there were no weekend classes available for any pool even remotely close to Wellington City. There were places available in the early evening in Johnsonville if I was keen. Errrrr. That’ll be a NO.
So I asked how the heck you actually get your kid into these classes and the guy helpfully explained that I could book her in to the next week long school holiday programme which would ensure that I get preferential placing in the following term classes.
I work! Hence the insistence on a WEEKEND class. Gahhhh.
I then got a little grumpy on the phone and told him that rather than the school holiday programme I might try rewinding the clock and reconsider getting pregnant outside of marriage and instead find someone wealthy and supportive so I could stay at home and raise my child so I could then manage to get in to a frigging swim class.
He may have been a little overwhelmed at that point so I quickly got off the line.
P.S. And I stupidly told Han about the possibility of swim classes with her little mate before I realised the extreme difficulty that is enrolling in swim classes. Mistake. BIIIIIG mistake.