Marley started her first ballet class. Seeing her hop around in a pink tutu, smiling her head off, makes my heart swell with pride like nothing I have ever felt before. I think she is the most amazing little dancer I've ever seen, with such an intense flurry of promise!
I stand on the sidelines, watching her spin around, with visions of top-notch dance performances in my head. I see her dancing the role of Clara in the Nutcracker, and getting invited by prestigious dance schools to attend their summer workshops. I see point shoes and pirouettes. I see Mikhail Baryshnikov tossing her into the air. (Is he still alive? Oh yeah, he guest-starred on Sex & the City.)
OK, reality check: she's TWO. It's not ballet, it's dance FUNdamentals. It's not Baryshnikov, it's Barney. They aren't spinning around to Swan Lake, they're jumping around to "Five Little Monkeys" with beanbags on their heads, making time for an occasional nose-pick. They don't know a demi-plie from Dora, a pas de deux from a number two.
Why then, all these intense delusions of grandeur for my little girl? I tell myself, I won't let her quit ballet like my parents did (spineless slackers!) and she will escalate into stardom! And I will be by her side, every step of the way, the dreamy stage-mom, who still looks like she is in her 20s!
Why am I so bananas over Marley starting ballet? Why does seeing her in a tutu give me such a thrill? Do you have a slightly crazy dream for your kid? Or am I just nutso?