I am slowly getting introduced into the world of professional dancing. My four-year-old daughter has definitely been a dancer since her time in the womb when her not even fully developed legs would kick me so hard in the rib cage I would have to walk hunched over and apply a warm compress to ease the discomfort. As an infant she would rock her whole cradle when she was waking up from sleep. Once she learned to walk she would dance at every song, even commercials on the TV set and radio. Now, a talented four-year-old she has adorable choreography skills that she caters to all music genres.
Currently, she grabs my mother and I by the hand and tells us to “be quiet and don’t move” until her “show” is over, while she does her rendition of the “Nutcracker.” She has created elaborate dance moves for all twelve songs on the soundtrack. My daughter truly takes her dancing seriously and it is something she is truly passionate about.
Thursday nights I take her to her ballet class and I watch through the window at the front of the classroom how she leads the other girls into leaps and twirls and other ballet poses I cannot pronounce. I look at her and just wonder how quickly four years have passed. When I look into her hazel eyes that are hidden behind dirty blonde bangs that need trimming and thick lashes, I still see the baby I held for the first time at St.Joseph’s Hospital. Now she has started preschool and is mastering the art of dance. I never thought love would come in a bundle of body glitter and pink tutus but nothing makes me more proud than to see her smile as she leaps across the living room floor and tumbles into a perfect plié.
