I have a confession to make.

The moment I found out that I was having a girl over three years ago, I started picking out ballet shows and tutus. In fact, I think I may have started thinking about my career as a dance mom the moment I hung up my own pointe ballet shoes all those years ago.

My niece, Brihannah, made me a dance aunt several years ago, and I have spent years gushing over her talent from afar. She is a natural, and it warms my heart to share that feeling of buying a new pair of pointe shoes and sewing those ribbons on.

For a very long time, dance was my everything. I breathed dance. Even now, there is nothing quite like the feeling of my feet moving across the smooth dance floor as my reflection in the mirrors bounces off the glass. I may have hung up my pointe shoes many years ago, but that feeling of freedom has never left my heart. Occasionally, when I’m home alone, I’ve caught myself busting a quick spin across the dining room with my mind back in the studio.

Last year, Jessilynn wanted nothing to do with dance. She kept demanding she wanted to play football instead, so honestly, I had made peace with the fact that she was not going to be my dancer after all; but this fall, something blossomed inside of her and she begged to be in dance class. Of course, her best friend from daycare starting class may have played a huge role, but regardless, I had my dancer at last.

I’m trying my best to keep my cool and not be the psycho mom glued to the window while she is in class once a week; but so far, I’m not able to pry myself from the glass.

Jessilynn had her first recital on Sunday, and my goodness, this momma was on cloud nine.

There were doubts that she had thick enough hair for a true ballerina bun, but trust me, if my Southern roots know anything about hair, it is that enough hair spray and teasing can give anyone thick hair.

When I was finished, that bun barely fit through the bathroom door.

She was on point and ready to go.

The good news after nights and nights of practicing with the practice video was that I knew the dance really, really well; but the bad news was that I had realized my beautiful, clumsy little toddler has the attention span of a squirrel.

We sat squished in the auditorium waiting for her entrance. It was a packed house.

Then the moment finally came — she was third on the list to perform.

She pranced out onto stage and stared out into the audience. Tears gushed down my face. This was our moment. She was my dancer.

There were no tears on stage, she didn’t make a run for it, and she even broke out a few of the dance moves we had practiced, so all in all, it was a dance mom win, right?

Folks, I’m truly living my best life over here. There is no joy in the world quite like the joy I have felt living the world of dance with my daughter. I have no doubt that the memories we are making right now as I shove pins into her hair and tease like there’s no tomorrow

Like mom, like daughter, as my momma always says.

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