Letter to My Daughter from MultiplesMommy

To My Beautiful Ballerina,
As I watched you dance across the stage last night, more poised and beautiful than any almost-six-year-old has a right to be, I realized with painful force that you, my darling girl, are a baby no more.

Gone are the days of your first recital, when you toddled across the stage, all roly-poly goodness, spinning the opposite direction from your neighbor and forgetting where to put your arms. You were so excited that year to dance on stage. The very fact that you were going to have a real, live tutu like a “big” ballerina was enough to make you giddy. You told anyone that would listen that Mama was going to put real lipstick on you. The energy and excitement was beautiful to watch, and the sheer cuteness of you in costume made me laugh with joy. I cried through your whole performance and shouted louder than anyone when you were done. I was so proud of my baby girl.

Last year you remembered a few more steps, and delivered them in a sweetly crooked preschooler fashion. Auntie M came to watch, and she sobbed to see you in your pink tutu and crown, dancing with a fierce concentration that was broken occasionally by giggles at the friend dancing next to you. You clung to me a little as I left you in the Green Room, then ran to chat like a teenager with your friends. Perhaps you were not poised or polished, but you were having a ball. I made you a ballerina cake to celebrate your success, and it was all you could talk about for months afterwards.

And then came last night’s performance. I did not expect that much, I’m ashamed to say, having watched the disjointed practices you conducted at home, punctuated by “hmmm, I’ll just do four of these ‘cause I don’t remember how many we’re supposed to do” and “aaaahhh, I don’t know what comes next!” Sure, I watched the dress rehearsal, dutifully recording your efforts on film, but rehearsals are always a disaster. So when I settled in my seat last night, your sister on my lap, I expected another endearingly amateurish performance. But, my girl, you blew me away. The memory, as I write, brings tears to my eyes. You have achieved grace. Granted, only a glimmer of a smile showed through your focus and concentration, but unlike the other little girls, you held yourself like a ballerina, executing each step with determined precision. You spun. You sashayed. You pointed and tapped, and all the while you held your arms in a graceful curve in front of you. You are almost six, and you are a real ballerina. And though it makes my heart break just a little and tears fill my eyes to say goodbye to your babyhood, my first-born beauty, I am so incredibly, amazingly proud of the girl you have become. I love you so very, very much.

Your Loving Mama