Swimming with Betsy - the dream vs the reality

We arrive at the swimming pool, and pay. We walk to the changing rooms, and Betsy helps me to get her changed into her swimming costume. We walk up to the lockers, put our stuff away then head to the pool. As we get nearer I notice the splash pad right at the bottom, with lots of water sprinkler thingys (technical term). We walk down to it and Betsy is overcome with sheer joy and runs around splashing and grinning her little face off.
After a while we go to the pool, Betsy kicks her legs and shrieks with happiness, smiling at the other swimmers. When its time to leave we get our stuff and go back to the changing rooms. We both get dried and dressed in a civilised manner, then go back to the car, super chuffed at the gay old time we have just had.

Betsy is in meltdown mode before we have even left. I dared to put her swimming costume on her to check it fits, and it becomes very clear that she detests it. Whip it off of her and throw whatever I can see around the room that we may need into a bag as she howls at me. Arrive at swimming pool. Put her down to pay, which she takes as a golden opportunity to try out the automatic doors, meaning I have to run off mid payment to fetch her back. Struggle to hold her and our bags as I head towards the changing room, cursing her under my breath for refusing to walk. Get us both changed in super quick time as she is whining at me in protest. Shove all of our stuff into the bag, get to the lockers to find I have no change. Sh*t. Chuck it in anyway and hope there are no thieves about. Arrive at the splash pad. Betsy hates it (there's a surprise) and goes to great lengths to avoid being showered in what must be acid judging by her reaction, not water. She claws at me in a desperate attempt to stop me from putting her down. Give up. Go to the pool. She hates it. Jump about with her and talk in that ridiculous high pitched voice all parents bring out in times of crisis with their child. Get nothing from her except the same death stare she is also dishing out to anyone else she sees. The stupid voice, along with a lane divider, mildly distracts Betsy from the fact that we are in the swimming pool of doom. Carry on like this for a while then get out. Get stuff from locker and go back to changing room. Clearly planning this the whole time we were in the pool, Betsy unleashes a reign of rage upon me, screaming and screeching in my face the whole time I try and do anything with her. Concerned everyone within a 5 mile radius may lose their hearing, I bribe her with a biscuit. It works, but I know I only have a 2 minute window in which to get myself sorted before she realises what's going on and I suffer a fate worse than death. Decide to ditch the drying stage, no time, and frantically throw my crumpled from being screwed up in the bag clothes on, gather up our things and emerge a stressed sweaty mess. March out, declaring that we are never going swimming ever again!

The fact that's she's only been swimming a handful of times in her short little life could be a contributing factor to this whole awful ordeal. She's not done herself any favours however if she wants this to change!!