I have to be honest: I am not one of those mothers who, upon getting the girl news from the ultrasound, starts imagining her little girl in tutus. To me, that kind of thing teeters too closely to the whole Princess circus that SO makes me cringe. But that’s just me. I decorated MB’s nursery in blue. I am contrary. I get this from my father.
Even when people started mentioning the possibility of Mary Bullock one day taking dance, I got kind of prickly. Really? With the recitals? And the outfits? And the make-up all over their faces? No, thanks.
But then of course, I have a real child, not a hypothetical one, a child who is starting to have real interests [insofar as a not-quite-three-year-old can have an interest, which basically means she talks about it a lot and squeals when she sees Angelina Ballerina].
And then there’s the leotard. If anything will make the mother of a baby girl’s heart melt, it is the sight of her in a leotard, tights, and ballet shoes.
Today at lunch she sidled up to me [she’s always sidling up for something at lunch, because she hates to sit in her chair] and whispered in my ear: Mama, you want to see my first position? And then she stared at her feet, which were not really in first position, but I could see where she was going with it.
I’m sold. Ballet here we come.
But don’t worry. There will be no tutus.
Unless she wants to wear a tutu.
Then we’ll talk about it.
But there will probably be no tutus.
Unless she turns out to be a dancing prodigy and her teacher says we have to wear a tutu.
But I’d prefer no tutus.
And definitely no make-up.