Sigh. This morning was--sigh.

After seeing how much R enjoyed swimming this summer, I thought she'd love taking a mom+baby swim class. Do I not know my own daughter yet?

I actually went out over the weekend and bought a new swimsuit because the only one I own is a string bikini and my friend, who already attends the class, assured me that all the other Japanese moms wore things that had the equivalent coverage of wearing a tank top and biking shorts--"sort of like a wrestling suit," she said. Japanese ladies are pretty careful about not revealing too much skin. I couldn't quite bring myself to buy the wrestling suit, but I did get a more modest two-piece, and after much prep work, phone calls, etc., had us ready for our trial class. The school required that both mom and babe wear swim caps, and I was totally stressing over this, since R most days won't even tolerate having a baby hair clip touching her head. Funny thing about that. We didn't even get close to the water, let alone attempt to put on swim caps.

The moment we entered the pool area, R started panicking, crying louder and louder, and then hitting me, as if to say, "Why the hell did you bring me here? What, did you think I'd enjoy this?!" Sigh.

By the time I got us back into our clothes, R was pretty much inconsolable, and sobbed all through my explanations and apologies to the front desk, as I sheepishly asked for a refund on the trial-lesson fee and swim caps. Sigh.

When we got home, R had fully recovered and, as if to taunt me, spent the rest of the morning blowing water bubbles into her cup. "See," my mom said over Skype, "she wants to swim." I looked at R and she gave me her trademark naughty scrunchfaced smile. Sigh.

It's funny. Strangers always comment what a good, quiet little girl R is because when we're out, she's usually glued to my chest or standing frozen with her eyes downturned, if by some miracle, she actually agrees to be let down. You look at those active toddlers squealing and tearing through the supermarket and always feel sorry for those kids' moms. But having a "cautious," "sensitive"--not "shy," don't ever call them that, apparently--child can be hard in its own way.

The life R and I live sometimes feels very isolated. She is so easily distressed (and she's not quiet about her distress, let me tell you): crowds, new people, not-so-new people, any place with a front desk that can be mistaken for a dentist clinic. Even the playgrounds and parks I take her to every day--I can never be sure she will actually climb down from my arms, walk, play. Her dependence on me is immense, somethings feeling more heavy than I can bear. Even at home, she might suddenly grow insecure and do that climbing-up-my-neck thing that she does, when she cannot find the comfort she desperately needs.

I am really all she has--though A sees her on the weekends--and sometimes I wonder if that is partly to blame. A friend who's from India but lives abroad told me that when she went home for the summer, her son was surrounded by so many family members that he really came out of his shell. I think kids need that loud, in-your-face reassurance, that there is not just one but many people who will protect them and keep them safe.

I've heard from other moms with children like R that it's simply a personality thing. This is R's nature, for now. She might change in a year or two, she might not. I am learning to accept this. I try not to wish that she'd walk sometimes, instead of always insisting I carry her everywhere. Thank god she's still fairly small and portable. And every day I get stronger.

At least I never have to worry about her running into a busy road of traffic or walking off with a stranger. I passed the toddler leash I'd been given on to a friend, whose active daughter did almost get hit by a car, right in front of my eyes. That was terrifying. This same friend also admits she finds it exhausting always running after her daughter. Perhaps there's no such thing as a sane compromise when it comes to children.