For the past month or so, Connor and I have been going swimming on Saturday mornings.  Here we are at our first outing.  (As you might be able to tell, he was a little distraught.  See, what we didn’t realize at the time was that he probably had a slight fever, and so going into the cold water was maybe not the best idea ever; he spent the next week or so with the worst cold imaginable).

He likes it okay, though it’s not his favorite thing in the world.  He endures it with only a little fussing. He’s only just figured out how to reach for things when he’s dry; trying to reach for a toy in the water that keeps getting farther and farther away is just so frustrating.  My favorite part is the dunking.  I blow really hard into his face so he squeezes his eyes shut, and then dunk him under for a split second.  He always comes up with this adorably alarmed look on his face, as if he’s saying, “hey!  What’d you just do!  That was weird!  Stop that!”

The picture above was from about a month ago.  This picture, on the other hand, is me with my dad, around 30 years ago.