Water makes Hannah almost immediately happy and relaxed.  It always has.  When she was six months old, we took her to a class at the YMCA to get her introduced to being in a pool.  Jane and I took her into the water and, while the other kids were splashing or crying, Hannah fell fast asleep.

This weekend, though, there was no sleeping.  She is seven now and prefers to spend her time at the pool leaping off the edge, doing cannonballs, swimming “laps,” and diving down to grab my legs and upend me.

“Mommy doesn’t tan well, does she?” Hannah asked, mid-splash.

“No, she doesn’t,” I said.  Jane is fair and freckled.  She burns easily, tans rarely.

“Do you tan easily?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.  ”Just like you.”  Which is pure chance, actually, since my genes are not shared by her.

Hannah climbed on my back and directed me around the pool like a giant seahorse.  This way.  That way.  Now back.

“I think I know what happened,” she said, finally.

“What?” I asked.

“When you and Mommy first kissed, I think she got some of your cooties.  That’s why I tan well,” she said.

Oh, I think.  And, oh dear.  Evidently, we need to revisit our conversations about genetics.  Soon.

And then she adds, “Either that, or it was my donor.”