Aqua - not!

I am not a fan of water.
Not drinking water, but large bodies of water.
Especially large bodies of water with waves or creepy invasive species growing on their surfaces, or ponds smothered in yellowy-green algae.
Just gave myself the shivers, there.
Maye it's because I don't know how to swim, though I'm a pretty good dog-paddler and can float with the best of them.
We lived on Long Island in New York when I was a kid and I particularly remember a trip made to Montauk Point at the farthest tip of the island.  Standing on the rocks as the waves crashed to shore, sea gulls swooping, cold mist spraying, gave me that same queasy feeling as climbing a ladder or riding a roller coaster.  You know that panicky feeling when your stomach has just dropped a foot lower than the rest of your body and you suddenly can't breathe?
Yep. That's it.
Funny, I've actually spent a fair amount of time in large to largish bodies of water for someone with such a strong phobic response.  I spent summers on my grandma's farm in Iowa and several times a season my uncle, cousin and I would go swimming in my uncle's pond.  I'd paddle in my inner tube all over the pond, even clear out to its deepest by the bridge and if I was really careful and didn't look around at all that water I was okay.  In fact, it was a highlight of the summer, except for getting in.  One could either jump off the small dock, though I don't remember anyone ever doing that, or wade in from the shore.  The really creepy thing about ponds is their bottoms.  I hated that feeling of cold, wet mud seeping between my toes.  That and thoughts of snapping turtles and snakes and whatever else might be lurking under the mud...
As a kid on Long Island there were occasional trips to the beach, though always with friends.  Now that I think of it, my parents never went to the beach.  Ever.  I think my dad had a phobia of down-time - I have not inherited this trait! - and my mom of bathing suits, which I can totally understand.  A beach full of people doesn't seem to freak me out.  Well, except for all the cigarette butts.  But maybe you can't smoke on New York beaches anymore?  I wouldn't know.
Even though the ocean is right there, stretching into infinity, somehow all the people break up the hugeness, making it much more manageable for my psyche.
So I'd troop right into the water, careful not to wade any deeper than my waist, and ride the waves in.  Oh, it was fantastic fun, jumping into a wave at just the right moment and being carried all the way back to shore.  Unfortunately, successful timing was only an occasional thing.  Most of the time the wave would slam over my head, pushing me down and under, scraping my body against the rough sand and seashells all the way back to shore.  That was often scary - and painful.
Thinking back on it, I can't believe I went in at all, especially since I can't swim.

Dangerous, for sure, and somewhat stupid.
Oh, and then there are bridges across large bodies of water.  I'm okay on walking bridges as long as I stay toward the middle of the bridge and away from the sides.  Then again, bridges built for cars usually traverse much larger bodies of water than smallish lakes and ponds. I don't know exactly what it is, but the height of a bridge combined with the expanse of water under it and around it, along with the need to stay out of the middle and in one's own lane, just about does me in.
It's springtime now in Iowa and spring usually brings lots of rain and a fair amount of flooding. There is nothing creepier than a creek or river that has risen over its banks. Especially if there are trees standing in flood waters. What's worst is driving on a bridge over a flooded creek surrounded by trees standing in water.
Geesh.
I have to just look straight ahead and watch the speedometer to make it across one of those.
Of course, my kids love knowing this about me and rarely miss the opportunity to call out, "Look, Mom, invasive species" or "Oooh, look at all that water, Mom."
Yeah, it's loads of fun.
My water phobia was brought to the forefront of my mind last month before the ice thawed on Gray's Lake. It was warm enough for my daughter and myself to go for chilly walk around the lake. As we huffed and puffed (okay, she was fine, I was the one breathing heavily) we saw some kind of strange unidentifiable water bird far out on the lake.
What was it?

Without binoculars I sure couldn't tell. Melissa decided to move closer to try to figure it out and before I knew it she was out on the dock amidst the cracking ice. I, of course, stopped right at the shore line - even that was giving me the willies.
After a few minutes of persistent prodding she came back to shore, grabbed my arm, and pulled me out onto the dock.
It wobbled under my feet.
Instantly I was not only surrounded by water but by an intense panicky feeling of complete and utter fear.
Needless to say, I was no help in identifying the bird.
I managed to scurry back to shore in time to watch my daughter leave her perch at the very end of the dock and saunter back to shore.
There's one thing for certain; if you don't share a phobia, you have no ability to understand it in others.
You'd think my height-phobic youngest would be sympathetic.
She tried hard.

But I saw her grin.
We never did identify that bird.