En Pointe

Nahanni sat in my lap in a dance studio filled with parents and their kids.  Her hair was braided along the front, swept to the back in a lovely bun bedecked with flowers and sparkly barrettes.  Her eyes grew wide when the girls started to dance -- and I began to cry.

Here I was in this dance studio, weeping as a lovely young ballerina in an impossible blue tutu flitted gracefully before us.  Nahanni was rapt, her eyes following this young girl's every step, every fluttering movement of her nimble arms. And all I could see was my daughter.  Nahanni seems born to dance - she seems to have simply awoken in this life as a ballerina, so I couldn't help but imagine her someday before us all, doing this dance she seems to so love.  This lovely girl, dark haired, brown-skinned seemed like she could be my daughter some day in the future, someday far removed from now when she will have half completed her inexorable unwinding from me.  It is a proud thing to watch these girls who have worked so hard, and also to imagine the work of their parents, who must also be credited for their success.  For even if they never dance professionally, any of them - there is a profound beauty to the dance that makes me happy every time I see it.  When the two raven-haired sisters finally danced I could hardly believe that someday I will have two like them.  What will they be?  What will they love?


For now I try to live in the moment with them both.  Nahanni had another sleepover last night so I soaked up the wonderful evening with just Zola, remembering how lovely it is to have uninterrupted time with just one child.  How much she deserves as much love and attention as Nahanni got.  Tonight I held and rocked her, her hair soft as silk against my cheek.  I breathed in the smell of her, kissed her pink pearl lips a hundred times, tasted her with all my senses and I sang her little song.  It is a gift from the gods to hold a small, beautiful child in my arms again and know that she is mine.  I am very grateful.