Monday, January 24, 2011

My Little Baryshnikov


It amazes me how much I love you. Before you were born, I worried. I worried that having two kids would overwhelm me (it did), that labor wouldn't go as planned (it certainly didn't) and I even worried that I might not love you as much as I love Rowan (I do. I really, really do). I couldn't really imagine how my heart could have that kind of love. But ever since you were born and your dad shouted out "It's a Boy" (much to my surprise as I'd been calling you Baby Charlotte for a good portion of my pregnancy), I have loved you. And though it doesn't seem possible, it seems like every day I love you even more.

You aren't quite like any other almost-three-year-old boy I know. You always choose cuddling and kisses over rough housing. Your favorite color is orange, but pink is a very close second. You have the most active imagination ever and could play pretend with Rowan and me all day (if only I could stand playing for more than a few minutes). Your favorite part of the day is picking up Rowan from school. You wait until Maestra Lake opens the door and run in. Rowan runs up to give you a hug. You are best friends. You love to be held, love to read books, love your family. You are the sweetest, most sensitive little boy I know.

So when I asked you several months ago if you wanted to do a sports class or tumbling, I shouldn't have been surprised when you said "I just want to take ballet". We had to wait until you were almost 3 and Miss Angie pulled some strings to get you into her class. So you took a sports class. And a music class. And a tumbling class. And kept asking when you could take ballet.

That day finally came last Monday. You wore some comfy clothes, grabbed your ballet shoes and tap shoes and I took you to class. You fretted a bit that I'd be dropping you off and not staying with you. Lucky for you, Rowan was there to hold your hand. I peeked in the window more than once. You were smiling. You were serious. You were really trying your best to follow Miss Angie's instructions. You were adorable. You can't wait to go again today.

I have to admit, I got more than a few odd glances and even some not-trying-to-be-rude, but still a little bit rude comments about signing my son up for ballet. And I want you to know that no matter what you choose to do, I will always be proud of you. You can be a dancer, an actor, a football player. You can become a CEO or a CNA. You can be gay or straight. You are my son, my perfectly unique little man and I adore you.

1 comment:

Gina said...

And I have to sasy thanks to Steph for letting us borrow Annie's old tap shoes. I replaced the laces in Tate's with elastic, but he's still totally sporting shiny black patent leather tap shoes!