ballet bitty.

she ran in. ponytail bouncing, the curve of her belly so round and delicious in that hot pink leotard. no fear. well, maybe a little. mommy, come with me, she said, torn between staying on my lap and joining the others at the barre. the floor length mirror lured her over, and she twirled, and twirled, and smiled.

and i smiled. with little tears in my eyes, i watched her bounce and bend and stand high on those tip toes, trying to keep those arms rounded and those toes pointed. the fear was gone and she was lost in the moment. we giggled as she galloped across the room, and i could tell that she thought she was floating, flying. her smile was so big her cheeks almost exploded. and my heart … it exploded a bit too.

blissfully unaware, she was, of any i can’t or what will they think? or they’re better than me. she was innocent, beautiful, brave. oh, how i want her to hold onto that. to show up to that first ballet class, sit at that table in the lunch room, raise her hand to answer that question. and not be hindered by the voices around her, but instead listen to that whisper in her heart that says, i am flying. i can do this. i am enough. 

into a circle! and the girls all grabbed hands. except for the little ballerina to her right. she tried to hold her hand once, twice and again. after 3 attempts with no response, she simply shrugged and put that empty hand on her hip as if to say, no worries! your loss. and i was thinking, yes! go bitty! and then i suddenly wondered if my empty hand would still be as confident and carefree. i like to think so, hope so.

she’s teaching me a lot, my little bitty. to try without fear, to celebrate myself, to not let the noise around me drown out my own belief in myself. to run into the room, ponytail flying, and stand on tip toes, arms stretched high, reaching …