I grew up dancing. Some of my earliest memories involve a tutu. My sister took her love of dance even further as she continued to dance through college and became a teacher. Needless to say, we've all been counting down the days until C was old enough for dance class.
Well, today was the day! She is taking a mini summer session for two and three year olds at Aunt Mallory's studio called Boogie Babies. It's four days for 45 minutes a day. They learn ballet and tap. It is pretty adorable.
So, we've been talking about this class for a while. We went to dance recital; we watched Aunt Mallory teach a class; she was getting so exited about getting to dance like a big girl. This morning, she woke up and said "I go to dance school!" After breakfast, she put on her tights and leotard with tutu and told me she needed her ballet shoes. The whole drive there, she kept telling me she was going to dance school.
Then we got there.
She put on her new ballet shoes. She spun around in circles while we waited for class to start. She followed the herd of baby ballerinas into the classroom and sat on her very own dot. I was really impressed.
Then, they closed the door. And I heard the cry that was unmistakably hers. She was screaming "Mommy" over and over again. I sat down on the couch outside the classroom and thought she would start dancing and be just fine. I texted with Mom and told her what happened. She assured me that they wouldn't just let her cry and that if it was bad enough, they would just bring her out to me.
The door opened. They brought her out to me.
She was sobbing and begging to go to my car. I tried to talk to her about how fun it was and that I promised I wasn't leaving, but she was too upset. So, the teacher let me go back in with her. She put on tap shoes and partially participated while standing next to me and holding my hand.
At the end of class, they each got a piece of candy. She skipped out of the classroom, eating her candy, and said, "Mommy, dance is so fun!"
We're trying again tomorrow.