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I was cautiously optimistic about our first day of swimming lessons this week. I thought for sure the peer pressure of all the other kids kicking and jumping and dunking would make Noah fearless.

So wrong.

Our teacher is the one who has a reputation for being nonconformist. The one you fear during the first few lessons but are still high-fiving months after you've graduated from his class. We watched the one year old, the three year old and the three month old all willingly go to the teacher, submerge, then kick and pop up in their parents' arms. No sweat. Noah can totally handle this, I thought. By the third time around the circle, I wondered if it would be really be so wrong to take my screeching child and leave. I decided it probably would be. The next activity was meant to replicate an accidental fall into the pool and train the kid what to do. If completely losing your sh*t is what you're meant to do, Noah was right on. Finally, the teacher suggested going to the shallow end to play with some toys. For this, Noah was able to pull himself together. Until the rules were laid out: you must get your eyes wet to pick up the toy from the bottom of the pool.

The next morning, Noah proudly announced to me the moment he woke up, "I put my head under water, Mom!" I enthusiastically congratulated him. I'd spent the night scheming up bribes to get him to go back to swimming lessons the next week. Maybe I wouldn't need them. "I don't want to be a swimmer." Maybe I'll stock the gym bag with Yogos.