Saturday was supposed to be a small party for my mom and step-father's twentieth anniversary, though my mom claims it was not a party since they were just having all the kids over. I say since "all the kids" plus partners and offspring totals roughly twenty-one people, it was a party, or should have been. Hurricane Irene had other plans. Sometime on Friday, they called it off. I think they were less scared of the storm than the possibility of having to keep that party rolling for five-ten days. But Owen and I decided to head out on Friday anyway. We had a car, and the day off so figured we could head back in on Saturday and weather the storm at home but we might as well go visit first.
We got out to Long Island fine and after a quick pit stop in the house, we went down to their community pool. My mom and step-father live in a community of about twenty houses that share a pool so it's pretty private, especially during the week. Friday, though, there was a girl scout party down at the pool. It was pretty small, about seven girls and one boy. I don't know if he was an honorary girl scout or just happened to be there and figured why not join the party. They were all about ten years old.
Owen and I got into the water with my mom and proceeded to swim around. Now, I may be biased but Owen is really cute baby. And he was particularly cute in the pool because he was having so much fun. He was trying his best to swim, kicking his arms and legs and even once putting his face in the water to blow a bubble. Okay the last part is a lie. I put his face in the water by accident and he didn't really blow a bubble, but he did sputter a little bit and did not cry. Then we played a game where I would go under the water and pop out and say hello. (don't worry grandma was holding him) He adored this and laughed and laughed.
It is at this point that the mob circled us, floating closer with their inflatable rubber duckies, and alligators. The first one to make friends was the boy asked his name, then said "that is one cute baby." "Thanks," I said. "Does he fart a lot," he asked. "A lot of babies fart a lot." "I guess so, " I said. "Depending on what you consider a lot." I thought about telling him that my husband farted more but figured that wasn't appropriate.
Then came the girls who were as loud as they were friendly. They peppered us with questions like reporters making Anthony Weiner jokes. How old is he? Is this his first time swimming? What color are his eyes? He is a cute baby? Does he like the water? Does he fart a lot. (Yes, that was a different person.) I have a baby at home. All she does is sleep. Me too. Mine farts a lot. Hey, Owen, look at me! Hey, Owen, want to borrow my duck? Owen, I like your eyes. He can use the duck while I'm in the pool but he can't keep it. If he could really swim he could keep it. HI OWEN! HI OWEN! OWEN OWEN OWEN!
They really could not get enough of him. Everywhere we went in the pool, they followed as if Owen was Justin Beiber. Eventually we got out of the pool and their screams for Owen reached fever pitch. They swam to the side of the pool, calling his name. It gave me a glimpse of what celebrities must feel like. We could not get away. We had left the pool and still they hounded us. I saw one climbing out of the pool, still attached to an inflatable crocodile and thought to myself that they would stop at nothing.
"Is that is towel? Is he getting back in? Does he like to suntan? OWEN OWEN OWEN. Hey Owen, bye Owen! Look at the duck Owen? Can you see the duck? Look at the crocodile Owen! OH HE'S SMILING!!"
I retreated as far into the shade as I could. I changed him and wondered if I could nurse with a hoard of children watching me, well watching Owen but I came as an uninteresting part of the package. Luckily, I did not have to go into hiding because it was at this moment that Pizza arrived and as interesting as Owen was, apparently pizza was even better.
GOODBYE OWEN! WE WILL SEE YOU LATER! BYE. OOOOOOOWEN. The screams trailed off as the pizza went in.
Suddenly, it was quiet again and we went back to our relative obscurity, much like many a reality TV contestant after a few seasons. That was probably the most exhilarating and frightening moment of the whole weekend.
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