Ann had asked me each day for a week prior to her first class when she was going to get to go dance. Every morning I would tell her just how many days she had left to wait for that special day. She was so excited she could hardly stand it, but not me, I was nervous.
My nervousness has nothing to do with Jane. I knew she'd be fine. She is wonderful in new social situations. I was worried about me. Somehow I had convinced my 31-year-old self that I was going to be somewhat of the oddball at the dance school. I pictured the other mothers dropping their children off at school with perfect poise and grace. The soccer field I could handle, but a dance studio!?
Sure enough, my ever klutzy self managed to nearly trip before we made it out of the parking lot and into the building. Somehow the straps of the backpack Jane was holding as she sat in the umbrella stroller managed to get tangled in the stroller wheels. I tripped, but didn't fall and Jane was just fine. After a brief moment of taking Jane out of the stroller and untangling the straps, we were good to go.
We walked in the building and found Ann's class. She walked in without so much as a look back. I glanced around and noticed that most of the other moms were indeed just like me. Some of them even had a crazy toddler with them. (Though I didn't notice anyone else with two younger children in tow.) I even ran into a mom I recognized from story time last fall.
Sure, some of the moms might have been former dancers who knew the different dance positions. Yet, I have a hunch that some of them might have also been stepping out of their comfort zones for the sake of their children. After all, it's what we do starting from the moment we know we're having a little one.
Here is my big girl who is getting so tall. She isn't quite 5 and yet she is taller or as tall as most 5-year-olds and some 6-year-olds.
I love you, Ann!