Growing up, I loved the water, from the moment I was born I was a fish. My first job was as a Lifeguard, my career started and continues to be in aquatics, I met my husband at the pool. It seems although I was born and raised in a land locked state (Denver, CO), my soul longs for the ocean. The thought of scuba diving never really crossed my mind until I met my husband. He grew up spending summers at his dad’s house in Belize. He couldn’t believe I didn’t dive, not only that I didn’t dive, that I had never even tried it. I will admit, I was more than slightly nervous to try scuba diving. Even given my love for water the thought of being under the ocean, reliant on a tank to breathe intimidated me. After some strong persuasion, my husband convinced me to give it a shot.
When I had my son everyone, including our pediatrician, warned me about the witching hour. That glorious time of day where your newborn is fussy and it is nearly impossible to console, let alone get anything done because you are wearing holes in the hallway or doing squats while singing. Really, doing whatever it takes to keep your baby from crying, counting the minutes until your husband gets home and takes over while you cook dinner. As the witching hour phase passed we entered a new phase, the phase no one warned me about! For me, it was a much less enjoyable stage - the one where my husband and I were both back to work… and someone still had to make dinner.