She sashayed. She plied. She jumped. She somersaulted. She wiggled. She giggled. She ran around the room with reckless abandon.
And then…she ripped one.
My sweet-faced, curly-haired three-year-old angel let it all go in dance class, literally. And not while the music was blaring. Not while their little bodies were in motion. She waited until prayer circle. When it was quiet. Eerily quiet. Those last few seconds after the instructor asks, “Any last prayer requests?”
Bwooooop!! “Hee-hee-hee I tooted.” Yep. That was my daughter. Our tiny dancer is a big tooter.
The other girls giggled, too young to know (or care), that public flatulence isn’t socially acceptable. A few of the older girls looked at her with what seemed to be…admiration. “Wow, that chick just totally farted and didn’t even care! OMG she laughed about it!” (Or whatever tween girls talk like nowadays.)
And while I have to admit I didn’t puff my chest and proclaim, “That’s my girl!,” I wasn’t embarrassed either. After all, gas happens. I’ll just have to teach her how to be a little more discreet and say, “Excuse me,” or better yet, “It was the dog.”
You see, I was a little hesitant to enroll her in dance class. And not just because of the cost. I worried about the teeny outfits, the sexualized moves, the over-emphasis on appearance and other negative stereotypes of the “dance culture.” But I’m comfortable with the teacher, and the only other student is my daughter’s best friend, so I decided to give it a shot. And she loves it. Absolutely loves it. We’ve only been to two classes, and I can already tell she’s really enjoying herself.
That’s what matters most to me. That she learns to enjoy moving her body and gains confidence by learning to perform. I just want her to have fun. I want her to enjoy being young before the weight of the world lands on her shoulders. For now, she’s carefree. She can let it all go in dance class and not give a rip.