Yesterday Willa had her first ever ballet class. It was amazing. Not because she left her first 45 minutes of instruction as a pro of the plie, or able to do amazing arabesques. She wasn't.
My usually reserved daughter put on her new leotard, brought to her just before class by her dad as a surprise gift to celebrate her excitement over this fun adventure. She tied her new slippers (bought by her mom because the class listing said she needed them), and strutted into the mirrored room by herself.
I watched as she stretched and smiled at me through the glass wall. I watched as she swept her arm across her body, and then beam at the teacher. I watched her doing moves that can best be described as floppy chicken wing jumping. I'm sure in her mind she was graceful.
I know in my heart she was graceful. Because this kid has a habit of giving up on things she's not immediately perfect at. And there she was - flopping with elbows and hair flying everywhere - with a look of pure joy.
When class was over, she raced out of the room and hugged me, blurting out, "I love you, mom!" We're both very excited about the next class.
Thanks again, Maribeth, for telling me about the class, and for watching Henry during her first class. It was so nice to be able to focus on her and notice these things.