I stood in Sports Authority with it in my hand, and for only $11 could have protected my package from further abuse by G. But while it seemed like a good idea initially, and the knowing laughter from my friends that morning when I asked them if their kids also constantly kicked their nutsacks in the pool confirmed that I was not crazy, it ultimately seemed like too much…effort? planning? separation? apartheid?…from the essence of spontaneity of playing in the pool with Genevieve. My daddy-hood remains intact, while my junk does not.

Still, the abuse I suffer as her swimming buddy and lifeguard has reached new heights. The better she gets in the water, the less tentative she comes with more complex maneuvers, the more I pay the price. I am her all-mountain bike, except parts on me are not easily replaced. Grabbing skin, hair or single digits of my hands is de rigueur, my only defense is to face her sideways so my vital organs are out of her line of fire.

She hasn’t put on her waterwings in 2 weeks, and this week has begun swimming underwater. I’ve been wondering how we’re going to make the jump from doggie-paddle to crawl, but I think she’s going to mostly figure it out on her own. She’s also started diving down with us to the bottom of the pool and picking up toys along its floor.

All this tossing was of course the natural progression for The Most Fearless Girl In The World.