This past month, I nearly drowned. For about two nights after the incident, I couldn’t sleep as I tossed and turned and contemplated the what-ifs and beat myself up for being such an idiot for putting myself in such a precarious situation in the first place.
It was Saturday and a sunny day so we picnicked by the lake. I watched from the shore as Alastair, Megan and Jessica pedalled on a hired boat out on the water. ‘That’s not too far’, I thought. ‘I’ll swim and join them’.
I walked out as far as I could and when the ground disappeared under my feet and the water was deep, I swam. I breast-stroked towards the boat, feeling light and buoyant and overflowing with the joys of life (remember I told you I’m always so zenned and energised in the last phase of pregnancy?)
I kept going until I reached the buoys demarcating the end of the swimming area. Alastair and the girls looked too far away – further than I had originally anticipated – and I was tired so I decided to toss my plan and head back to shore. No sweat. I turned around and then, OH MY GOODNESS, I didn’t realize I had swum out so far! ‘Don’t panic, don’t panic’ I whispered as I panicked and my thoughts rushed around my head like frightened rats in a burning building.
It’s funny how, in just an instant, things can go from OK to not OK. The lake, which had been so inviting and refreshing, all of a sudden turned ominous and menacing, as if it would devour me and suck me down into its depths. My muscles burned and I felt so tired, so very very tired. My big tummy became a lead weight and I felt it pulling me downwards. I swam a little further on my front, then on my back and realized that my hands were not giving me enough pull and momentum, like the flippers they had been in the beginning. I lost all notion of strokes and flailed about as the water slid pointlessly through my open fingers.
I quickly realized I couldn’t cope and I needed to call for help, but how? Everyone seemed to be in the distance, small and oblivious, completely and utterly absorbed in their own fun – laughing and chatting and splashing and boating and building sandcastles and eating their picnics. No one noticed my plight. I was invisible. I wasn’t sure I even had the energy to muster a big splash or yell. I imagined myself sinking quietly to the depths of the lake with no one realizing a thing. I pictured my family returning to the abandoned picnic blanket and wondering how and to where I had vanished. ‘Oh God, I’ve done something so silly. I’ve made a terrible mistake. Please help me,’ I begged.
Out the corner of my eye I saw a guy on his paddle board about 20m away. I coughed and spluttered and waved for him to row to me. I clung to his board while he towed me to shore. My saviour, my heroic little tugboat. Long story short – a lesson learned. This incident gave me a massive jolt and left a deep impression on my already fear-inclined psyche. I will never ever again swim out in such deep areas on my own.
Megan started school and seems to love it. I always greet her after school as if I’m a Labrador. She’s not into recounting her day in the intricate detail I pant for – she mostly just gives me scraps. Sometimes she is a fountain of feedback at 21h30 at night when she’s supposed to be asleep, but other than that she’s not very responsive when I pepper her with questions. How was your day? What did you do? Are you happy? Who did you sit with? Who did you play with? Did you sing/paint/draw/colour? Did you enjoy the snack I made you? What did you like about it? She’s always gung-ho to go to school, so she must enjoy it. I wish I had a Harry Potter Invisibility Cloak so I could observe what goes on when I’m not around.
Most kids must be similar because my friend’s son started school in the UK and he loves it but she reckons it’s like a secret society because, when he gets home, he can’t seem to remember or relate what he did there.
I’ve noticed Megan and Jessica are starting to absorb and display interesting nuances of French culture. These are Frenchy quirks that I haven’t learned about from my books and studies. An example is they tend to exclaim, ‘oopla!’ when they, say, drop something or make a little mistake. I think ‘oopla’ is the French version of ‘oops’. They’re also mixing French words with English ones so Megan may say, ‘Mom can I grimp (climb) that tree?’ When she’s asked her name in French, she responds in a French accent with the French pronunciation which is ‘Mare-Gun’ and if she’s asked in English, she just says ‘Megan.’ It’s so cute.
It pleases me that Megan and Jessica are integrating into the Swiss/French society because I want them to have a cultural identity to which they can belong and identify. They aren’t South Africans (in spite of Al and me) and they aren’t British (in spite of their passports).
People say that in this day and age where we are so connected and mobile and spread apart, the world is our home rather than one particular country. I don’t like that idea. I want Megan and Jessica to feel rooted somewhere – here ideally.
Every night Megan prays this prayer or a version similar to it:
Thank you Jesus for pink.
Thank you Jesus for unicorns.
Thank you Jesus for princesses and French toast.
Thank you Jesus for ice cream tomorrow.
Thank you Jesus for Mommy and Daddy and Jessie.
Thank you Jesus I love you.
It’s getting colder and the girls can no longer wear dresses and skirts. Today, Alastair insisted Jessica wore trousers and not a skirt. She was fed up and said to him, ‘How am I supposed to do twirls? I can’t twirl in trousers!’ I adore the purity and simplicity of a happy child’s life. Life is grey and dull when we lose our appreciation for things such as twirls and pink and unicorns and princesses. I reckon the world would be a happier place if we all twirled more.