Sunday, January 29, 2012

Tiny Dancer

{Lady Vi before her first Creative Movement class}
"She isn't a doll Emily". 

Well, that is news to me Jeffrey. 

Before I peed on the stick, I didn't know if I wanted to have kids. The moment I peed on the stick I knew I wanted to have a girl. Think of the dresses, the hair bows, the tulle, and there have been dresses, and hair bows and tulle. There will also be periods and boyfriends, but don't rain on my pink parade.

Today was Violet's first dance class. I have been waiting for this moment for a long time. There may or may not have been some *exaggerating* of her age to get her into the class, but she is a very mature almost-three-year-old and to make her wait another year would have been cruel and unusual punishment (for me). 

I was never in ballet. (Note transition from this being about Violet to this being about me. I, like any good mother, am obviously living vicariously through my daughter. Future Violet, if you ever use this blog post in a therapy session, you're instincts are right, putting you in dancing was a teeny tiny bit about me). I always wanted to be in ballet. We lived a smallish town and when we moved there the only ballet teacher was no longer accepting new dancers. What the cuss. My sister and I joined highland dancing, which we thoroughly enjoyed, but if we are honest, highland dancing is no ballet. Fancy people in large urban areas do not go to dinner and a highland dancing performance. So, because I could not be in ballet, Violet will be and she will love it. 

I am kidding about the last clause. But if she does happen to love it, I will be so happy.

You see, ballet classes are never before the crack of dawn, conservatories are never freezing cold and I have never heard of any head injuries from a pliée.

Yes, I have seen Black Swan. I think that was more of an Aronofsky thing than a ballet thing. 

I digress.

About twenty minutes before we headed out to class I told Violet to go and show her daddy how beautiful she looked. Of course he agreed but there were a few comments about how she would probably be the only child in a silk body suit with leg warmers and a top knot. In fairness to my sweet husband his comments did come after I begged Violet to pose for a twentieth photo.

I started to feel kind of guilty. The same feeling rushed over me that I felt after I straightened Violet's hair. What I am doing? If I lived farther South of the 49th parallel my daughter would be in pageants. I even took Violet's  leg warmers off before we went to class. It would be embarrassing if we got to class and all the other kids were in their sweats. 

My fellow ballet mums did not let me down. As soon as I stepped in the dressing room I knew I had come home. Every single little girl was wearing a bodysuit and all but one of them were cotton-candy pink. 

Of course I told Jeffrey this the moment we got home. Indignant I asked if he would take Violet to skating without skates or a helmet. Bodysuits and tutus are ballet equipment I said, and the other mum's think so too. Victory, I thought to myself.

"Great, the other mum's think their daughters are dolls too". 

I hadn't considered that.

1 comment:

  1. I say enjoy it - pretty soon she'll be picking out her own clothes :)