Friends and I descended onto a rooftop pool yesterday – the day Seahorse turned 33 weeks – for a morning of swimming and taking their little ones for a cooling off from this intense Dubai heat. I relish playing Aunty Aliki to friend Camilla’s 9 months old, Layla, and Sara’s 3 month old, Cael. Both babies took to the cool water like wee ducklings. Us adults dipped endlessly in and out too. I even brought my goggles, just in case I was drawn to doing laps, which I was.
By mid morning the pressure in my pelvis from a head down Seahorse usually has me squirming about for a comfortable position. Even when walking I find myself holding on tight to my ballooning belly, in a bid to support and relieve the seemingly continual physical force exerted on my lower bits.
Enter, swimming. Possibly the most reprieve I receive from this almost unbearable lower abdominal and upper spinal discomfort is from the act of swimming strokes. Up and down the pool. Non stop. Freestyle is my favourite stroke as my back stretches out with each circle my arms make forward, alternating arms, and kicking my feet up and down in a methodical manner. And within an instant of being submerged, all knots disappear; my belly’s burden is magically weightless.
Seahorse, which ever gender it pops out come early December, will be a swimmer. Mumma will make sure of it.