This morning, I got up early to do a few miles on the hotel treadmill before an 8:00 a.m. conference call. (I am, regrettably, in Ohio. State motto: “We Buy Old Coins!”) As I was running in the empty gym, a woman entered, positioned herself to the right of my machine, and mouthed, “Excuse me.” It’s annoying to converse when you’re on a treadmill, so I tried to ignore her, pretending that my iPod had rendered me blind as well as deaf. But she persisted. “Excuse me!”

”Yes?”

”I’m going out there for a swim,” pointing to the hotel pool through the big plate windows, “and I don’t have a swim buddy. Could you keep an eye out for me and, if you see me flailing around like I’m drowning, call someone?”

How to process this? It was way too early in the morning for a non-routine conversation. “Do you know how to swim?” I asked, confused by the request.

”Yes,” she said.

I was completely nonplussed at meeting someone who was even more tragically speculative than I am. I mean, I swim in hotel pools solo all the time and it’s never even occurred to me that I might sink without even a bellhop to hear me gurgle. Clearly I’m not watching enough CSI. I was so taken aback, I didn’t even think to say, “The pool is 4 feet 6 inches at its deepest point. If you feel like you’re drowning, stand up!”

Don’t I have enough toddler drowning scenarios to worry about without adding the safety of a total stranger to my burden? Aitch swims a few times a week at his babysitter’s house, and while I trust her completely, there have been an awful lot of sad toddler-on-the-bottom-of-the-pool stories lately. (One set of twins escaped their babysitter’s notice while their mother was giving birth to a sibling in the hospital. One survived, one didn’t.) And don’t even get me started about the dangers of ocean rip tides on the beach (thank you, New York Times Science section).

I took Aitch swimming myself last weekend and realized that he’s not a baby content to float around in my arms anymore. He likes to sit unaided on side of the pool playing with water toys, jump off the edge by himself, and put his head under. I’m also eager to let him have a bit more independence because I want him to learn how to swim. So I’ve decided to buy him this:

floatsuit

Will this alleviate my fears? Not entirely. I worry that an adult (the babysitter or I) supervising Aitch in this getup will be lulled into a false sense of security and be less vigilant than needed. I worry that Aitch will never learn to swim properly if he always wears a life vest and will be at even greater risk when he’s older. I worry that the other kids will laugh at him because of his uncool full-body bathing suit.

And now, I’m worried about dying alone in a hotel pool on a business trip while wearing an ugly and ill-fitting bathing suit from the gift shop. Thanks, paranoid pool lady.