Veronica started ballet school this morning.
As with all new things, she was very nervous and shy in the beginning. We were the first ones to arrive and she sat solemnly on the bench while her teacher fitted her for ballet slippers. Vera wouldn’t utter a word, no matter how many questions her sweet instructor used to try to engage her, and it was all I could do to not crawl inside her head just to hear her nervous little thoughts.
Finally the other students began to arrive and the teacher led Veronica into the room. We had talked all about ballet school through the holidays and into the new year and I knew once she got in there, and once her one of her friends arrived, she would begin to open up, and she did. Juliette and I watched from behind the viewing window as Veronica sat in a circle with the other little ballerinas to stretch. Within minutes she had an expression of pure wonderment and happiness on her face.
As a mother, I continually find myself on the other side of everything. Over and over I seem to be standing where my own mother stood, and in those moments I can feel her flood through me. In flashes I revisit my own tap and ballet classes, the ones in which I so frivolously giggled at the bar with my friends while the other moms watched on. Doing it over again from this side is like getting to walk back into those memories all over, while simultaneously getting to step into my own mother’s shoes, an experience I never fail to relish.
Through all of this I just end up feeling my own mother’s love for me come swelling up around me all over again, and it is something I never expected to find again.