(LEO’s Bad Days): Libby Teaches Leo to Swim, Leo Almost Drowned, But His Mother Does Not Help.
The turquoise shimmer of the pool beckoned, a siren song of summer fun. But for young Leo, the day promised not sunshine and splashing, but a cascade of bad days. The title encapsulated it all: (LEO’s Bad Days): Libby Teaches Leo to Swim, Leo Almost Drowned, But His Mother Does Not Help. It was a story of well-intentioned but misguided parenting, of fear and defiance, of the harsh realities of learning and the courage it sometimes demanded.
Libby, Leo’s mother, stood poolside, her brow furrowed in concentration. She had envisioned this moment: Leo, her energetic and independent son, confidently splashing in the water, learning a vital life skill. She’d researched the “baby swim” method, a method promoting early water comfort, and she was determined to implement it.
Leo, however, was not cooperating. He stood on the edge of the pool, his small face a mask of apprehension. He clung to Libby’s hand, his grip tight and desperate. The vast expanse of the water seemed to swallow him whole, the cheerful laughter of other children a distant and unwelcome symphony.
“Come on, Leo,” Libby urged, her voice firm but laced with encouragement. “You’ll love it! It’s fun, remember?”
Leo shook his head vehemently, burying his face in her leg. “No, Mommy. Scared.”
Libby sighed, the sound barely audible over the cacophony of the pool. She’d read that it was important to be patient, to let the child acclimate at their own pace. But today, patience was wearing thin. She’d dedicated the afternoon to this, and she wasn’t about to be thwarted.
She gently pulled Leo towards the shallow end, her arm supporting him. “Just try it, Leo. It’s easy. We’ll just splash a little.”
Leo entered the water with a whimper. His eyes darted around the surface, his small body stiff with tension. He clung to Libby’s neck, his face buried in her shoulder. Libby tried to gently loosen his grip, encouraging him to look around and enjoy the sensation of the water.
Then came the dreaded moment. Libby, following the instructions in her baby swim book, slowly lowered Leo into the water, supporting his head and back. Leo’s eyes widened in terror. His face went white. He began to gasp, his little mouth opening and closing as if trying to breathe.
He started to struggle, thrashing in the water. His cries, sharp and piercing, cut through the noise of the pool. He was clearly distressed, fighting to stay afloat. It was happening quickly, and it was terrifying.
But Libby, following the book’s instructions to the letter, maintained her composure. The method emphasized controlled exposure, a gradual introduction to the challenges of swimming. “It’s okay, Leo, you are safe, you’re going to be alright,” she repeated, her voice calm and even. She knew that interrupting the process would only reinforce his fears.
Leo’s struggles intensified. He was flailing now, his face red and desperate. He choked on a mouthful of water. He gasped for air, his small body thrashing in the pool. He was sinking, his head dipping beneath the surface.
Other people in the pool began to notice, their cheerful chatter turning into concerned glances. A lifeguard looked in their direction. But Libby, caught in the grip of her own determination, remained steadfast. She continued to hold Leo, supporting his body, talking to him in a calm voice, as if he were merely experiencing a temporary setback.
It felt like an eternity, but it was only a few agonizing seconds. Leo’s struggles subsided, replaced by a chilling stillness. His eyes were closed, his face pale. He was not moving. He was silent.
Finally, Libby realized the gravity of the situation. She gently lifted Leo from the water, his small body limp and lifeless. She wrapped him in a towel, her hands shaking. She looked at his face, his lifeless form, she held him tight, a wave of horror crashing over her.
He coughed, sputtering, his eyes fluttered open, and he gasped for breath.
Libby, despite the terror she had just experienced, felt a surge of relief. She had pushed him too far, too fast. She had almost lost him. Leo’s bad days had truly begun, and the lesson was harsh, the price nearly unbearable. Libby knew in the coming days the only lesson for him would be, to trust his mother again.
