So apparently it’s almost the end of the term?
I only found out about this accidentally when I took my daughter to her ballet class and saw all the other mothers gathered there to watch their little princesses perform. You see, at the end of every term there is a ballet watching day for us parents to know that our children are actually learning something when we part with our hard earned cash. Actually, there might have been an email about it at some point, but the contents of the email never made it onto my diary which means that it left my mind the moment I read it. As do most other things. Baby brain doesn’t leave you when the child exits your body, if anything it gets worse as they get bigger.
Now, for this little story to make sense, there’s something you should know about my middle child. She has not once, as in never, ever performed for me. Not at mothers days for the last 4 years and certainly not for ballet watching days. Not at home, I can’t get her to stop performing at home.
But today was going to be different. I could feel it in my bones.
Before the class started she was happily playing with all of her friends, then they got their ribbon sticks and made a little circle. The music started and they waved their ribbons in the air like the just didn’t care, it was truly so sweet to watch. The next thing, the music changed slightly and they had to hold their sticks in front of them and skip around the circle.
The first time she went around and made eye contact with me, she let out a little shout and pointed to the door. Like I should leave or something. But I thought she was joking. The next time around she did the same thing and then I knew.
It was going down.
All the way down. To funky awkward town.
When she came around again she suddenly threw her sticks to the ground with a loud crash, let out one of her characteristic ear splitting screeches, ran and threw herself into my arms where she proceeded to keep screeching and freaking the hell out.
Now me? I knew it was coming. It really was only a matter of time. The rest of the mothers though? You had to see their faces. The absolute shock etched onto each one of them was pretty much priceless. No one could figure out what had actually happened, it just erupted out of nowhere like a dormant volcano.
So I ended up watching 8 other little girls do their thing while my own child (and only one I actually wanted to watch point her toes) was curled up into a sweaty ball on my lap. I couldn’t help but think that I would have just been better off sitting in my car reading (as I usually do) instead of trying to be the supportive Mom I’ve always wanted to be.
By the end of dancing she was right as rain again, laughing and singing and carrying on the way she usually does – with much joy and an infectious giggle. Like nothing had even happened.
Do kids ever make sense?