My baby girl has started learning ballet. She has wanted to dance in toe shoes since she could talk, maybe longer. Just when she thought she would never get the chance, Santa brought her a leotard, tights, ballet slippers, and tap shoes for Christmas. With a tiny bit of my help, he enrolled her in classes at a lovely dance studio, where she will also learn tap.
We were the first ones to arrive for her first lesson. The class started back in September, so the other girls are ahead of her. She didn't let that slow her down too much. At first, she pretended to be shy and nervous about not knowing anyone. Once everyone had arrived, she was ready to meet everyone and take over the class. Her enthusiasm overflowed during the stretching games. Once they lined up to practice fourth position, she backed off just a little.
When the class was over, Ainsley lingered behind. Miss Lori, her teacher, walked over to her and gave her a big hug. "You did great!" she said. Ainsley's eyes welled with tears as she ran out of the studio and into my arms, where she started to cry.
"Oh, sweetie! What's wrong? You did so well?" I asked. She just nuzzled her face in my belly and sniffled. "Honey, I am SO PROUD of you! Was it a little scary being in there for the first time?" I asked.
She nodded her head a little.
"Was it fun, too?"
A slightly more pronounced nod followed. As I hugged her a little tighter, she whispered through her tiny sobs, "I want to stay and do it again."
My heart swelled in my chest and wrapped itself around her. This was pure joy, for both of us. Finally, she found something physical, something social, something beautifully expressive, something that is NOT related to Dora the Explorer or Star Wars!
And honestly, I could see it in her face that she loved it.
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