G was so ridiculously excited for the first day of ballet class. From the moment I told her to get ready for class; to the arrival at the studio and the purchasing of her ballet shoes; to the moment she walked out onto the dance floor, her eyes were simply lit from within with an eager energy. I won't even try to describe her radiance as she got her first taste of the positions and followed along in the various skipping and leaping whatnot. (I had to leave the room with crying Z, who insisted on getting up on the dance floor as well, so I missed some of the action.) Turns out her friend Francesca is in the same class, which I suspected might be the case even before I saw her and her mother.
And turns out, G was the only little ballerina in purple – I got her leotard at consignment – everyone else was in a delicate ballerina-pink. I don't think she noticed as much, however, as the fact that she was the only little ballerina not wearing a tutu. Yes, she'll be scarred for life. But I tell you, when I took ballet lessons one year as a kid, I remember getting to wear the tutu only at our recital and for pictures, so I told G (before I saw the other students) that she'd have to work hard in order to earn her tutu. Now, I'm secretly scraping together enough money to get her one before the next class. Hopefully in purple.
