Dancing Girl

Two weeks ago, Mira performed in her first dance recital.

I’ve been processing the events of that night and I knew I needed to write about it. The magic which took place, combined with the music, the energy, the sequins, the joy and the tears makes it difficult for me to put my feelings into words.

I could share with you about how 5 years ago we sat in a similar auditorium, watching Ellie, who was 3 at the time, perform in her first dance recital. I remember how beautiful she looked in her bright blue tutu and the sound of the cutesy Cookie Monster song they performed to, but I mostly look back at that day remembering how I felt. On the outside I was 7 months pregnant, uncomfortable and exhausted. On the inside, I had just been told the baby I was carrying would likely not survive past birth.

Or, I could share with you how, one year later, in stark contrast, I sat in that same auditorium, with a 10-month-old, healthy, happy, wiggly baby girl on my lap. Ellie’s tutu was rainbow and she danced to Bob Marley’s “Everything’s Gonna Be Alright.” A somewhat ironic song choice for what was about to happen.

An hour after her final bow and a car ride home later, I found Mira gray and lifeless in her car seat. I’ve written in detail about this traumatic experience, before, but now all I really remember is pacing frantically while on the phone with the 911 dispatcher and watching Evan perform CPR on Mira’s tiny body. Ellie, still in her tutu standing by MJ’s side.

Maybe you can understand how after these not so distant memories, my associations with dance recitals have mostly been negative. When we decided it was time to sign Mira up for an activity, something that was just hers, dance was the last on my list. But for Mira, it was her first. Eight months of afternoon classes, a room full of masked 4 year olds, and a very patient dance instructor later, it was time for the stage.

I could share with you about how, similar to my own emotions, everything started to fall apart a bit for Mira before her show even started. How I received a text from her dance teacher to come backstage and because I know my girl so well, I was guessing it was the combination of being tired, and from the sensory overload an experience like this entails, which lead her to quietly sob and ask to go home. Then, when I was pulling out every trick in my “mommy book” to calm her down, Miss. Michelle, her dance teacher, lovingly swooped her up so Mira could be successful and fully included with her class.

When it came time for her routine, Mira confidently marched out onto the stage, covered in pink sequins, her hair swept up into a perfect bun. She danced her heart out as though she had done it a thousand times before. I sat and watched and wept. Tears of joy, tears of relief, beaming with pride as she ran into my arms at the end of the show.

Every time I think we’ve “lost” her, she shines. Every. Single. Time.

I’m sharing with you how much I’ve had on my mind over the last few weeks and the emotional toll it takes on me to prepare for something like this.

Maybe my tears had nothing to do with inclusion and expectations and how having any kind of disability somehow makes milestones seem monumental.

Maybe my tears were just the same ones every mama sheds when they’re sitting in an auditorium, listening to music while they watch their baby transform into a little girl…our dancing girl.

Skip ahead to the 1 minute mark to see actual dancing!