"There comes a point when you will exhale."

The popular idea of childbirth is that it ends with the placenta. But mothers the world over know you're in some form of labor for their entire childhoods, at least. The contractions are far more spaced out, it's true, but they are still real and very powerful. Every time your child wrestles with something hard, every time they take a risk, every time you take them to the emergency room, every time they enter a new and painful stage of growing up, POW. Contraction.

I sat poolside and had this view five days a week for three weeks. I alternated between trying to focus on my book (I got through Dracula and Silus Marner!) and fixating on what these two were doing in the pool.

 Ok, to be honest, it was mostly about what Miles was doing in the pool. Adele has always been perfectly willing to do whatever her swim teachers asked of her, and has been making steady progress for the past few years. Not so, Miles. At eight he still couldn't keep his head above water without assistance and to me, this is unacceptable. I was swimming lengths at six. I couldn't comprehend discomfort with the water. The first week played out almost exactly as last year's lessons had done, with Miles refusing to put his face in the water, refusing to jump in, panicking when he was made to float on his back, etc. The second week, he still resisted, but almost in spite of himself, he improved and even did some "bobs" and reluctantly turned belly up for his floats. This swim program is oriented around skill mastery and rising at the student's own pace through the levels, 1-10. Miles remained in level 1-2, and as all the other kids in his group were paraded over to hit the gong, announcing their graduation from one level to the next, my dejection grew.

Watching this is physically uncomfortable. I catch myself tensing for a spring every time it's his turn to jump, coiling up and releasing frustrated energy each time he refuses. I hold my breath when his face is to go into the water, I take great gulping inhales when he emerges. My body seems to long to do it for him, to make it happen, to give him the experience without him having to work for it. But this week, the third week, as my muscles returned to their frustrated mimicry, I had a breakthrough. Probably this was from reading George Eliot; if you ever sense your soul and moral character needs a workout, I recommend a George Eliot novel.

I realized I was trying to insert myself into his life, which even if it were possible would not be desirable, as we're only given ownership of one life. I realized I needed to let him have this, for better or for worse. I realized I was becoming that parent to the swim instructors. My conversations with them still fell short of what I wanted to say, which was the cry of every parent whose child is struggling: Please see my child. Please don't give up on them. I know they're difficult, I know. Please. Believe they can succeed. But there needs to be a way for our children to slowly receive ownership of themselves, which can only happen if we parents slowly untense our muscles, open our fists, breathe our own breaths, and let go.

I also realized I wasn't paying nearly enough attention to Adele, who needs recognition and support and connection even if she does find swimming easy.

One instructor named Gigi, bless her forever, offered to give Miles an extra lesson after class ended. We took her up on it, and he surprised himself by thoroughly enjoying fetching the pool toys and rising to the challenges she set him. He actually exclaimed, "Swimming is fun!" and later, "I actually liked that lesson, Mummy!" And then he said, with conviction, "I am going to ring the gong tomorrow."

And he did. I watched in disbelief as he checked his skills off the list and he and his teacher exchanged high fives. And then he had his own parade over to the gong!

And I cried, and I exhaled. I may be that mom sometimes, but he earned this himself.

Miles takes his place with the level 3-4s.

And then my gaze could shift to Adele, who has been improving steadily but still had one more skill to master before she could "gong." But watching Miles hit it and be so celebrated set something off in her and she walked in on Friday on a mission. She asked to do her routine without her floatie. They made her do it several times, gradually removing pads from her floatie until she was finally bare of it, and she swam. She put her face in the water, blew bubbles, kicked, and swam.

I was not anticipating she'd be able to get from three pads to zero in one day, but her teachers saw her determination and gave her the chance to prove herself.

You better believe we went out for ice cream today. I told them, "Put this week in your pocket to pull out later and remind yourself that you can do hard things."

I'm putting it in my pocket too, to remind me that they can do hard things. And I can watch, and let them, and exhale.