Now that the water in my mother's pool has warmed up beyond 80 degrees, the Drew Monster has morphed into the Loch Ness Drew Monster. He's been experimenting with putting his head under water in the bath for quite some time now, quick little dips below to prove to himself that he can hold his breath on cue and the like. He's also become a shower fiend, really enjoying standing under water.
All of that has somehow convinced The Boy that he can swim.
In my mother's pool, he mostly keeps to the main entrance steps because he can play like he's in the bath on those levels without struggling to keep his head above water. But every now and then, he'll decide he has to embark on a journey to the center of the pool. He'll do a little leap in my general direction, trusting me to catch him and keep him afloat as he swims by straining himself forward with his arms and chin and chest, occasionally kicking his legs. He's very difficult to hold during these times, and its all Momma can do to keep her own head above water as well as his.
We have practiced dunking him fully under water as well. He's OK with this once or twice, but then he's not all that enamored of it and would rather play on the steps. It's pretty funny. I can ask him if he wants to practice going under water, and he'll emphatically shake his head no. But then he'll do his little quick face dips on his own. At least he's used to the prospect of being underwater enough that the one time he missed the edge of the step and fell into the deeper part of the pool seconds before Momma was able to snag him, he emerged calmly in my arms, blinking away the water and breathing just fine. He had known to hold his breath. Momma's heart had stopped, of course, but he didn't even sputter or cough.
The real joy of an hour-long pool session with El Boyo Diablo, though, is that he wipes himself out so well that he doesn't fight bed time and sleeps straight through until 7AM or later. I would take him swimming every day, except for the fact that the same hour-long swimming session tends to drain Momma just as effectively, too.