Growing Up

Last week Isis had her very first dance recital. It's a very hard thing for a parent to not only watch their child step onto that giant stage, but to also nudge them a tiny bit in the direction of, you can do this.

The night prior to the recital was the dress rehearsal.  I loaded up Isis in her tights, costume, and ballet slippers with her hair tightly pulled up on her head.  She didn't look four to me anymore. I wanted to cry but I didn't because I needed to be strong for her.  I didn't want her to sense there was any need to be scared or nervous.



As we drove to the high school she was quiet and my stomach was crazy.  I was choking back tears and throw up at the same time.  I kept telling myself this was only the first of many many recitals or ball games or whatever activities our children might choose.  This was only the first.  This was going to happen again.  And again. And again. I was so nervous for her.

After stopping by the bathroom we headed toward the giant auditorium.  I bent down to help Isis with her slippers and she watched all the other dancers heading in.  Then she whispered to me, I feel like I want to go home.  My stomach sank and I wanted to tell her I was thinking the exact same thing.  I wanted to tell her we could go home and that she didn't have to perform.  I wanted to rescue her. Instead I fumbled over words I can't even remember and somehow coaxed her inside.





It's a funny thing growing up.  And I'm not talking about my children.  I'm talking about myself.  Each time one of my children reaches some new stage or some new milestone I am forced into some new element of parenting.  I thought I was done growing up, then I had kids.

It's hard knowing when and how hard to nudge your child into something a little unfamiliar.  It's not easy saying, My job is to protect you and love you and nurture you, but the best thing for you right now is to go out there on that stage. It's always been interesting to me that children are born so dependent but then depend on you to let them go.



The following night Chris and I sat in the dark auditorium waiting for the curtain to open. And it did.  And the music started. And my tiny dancer was smiling and dancing and actually having fun.  She had done it.  She had felt a fear and she had met it and she had overcome it.  It would have been easy for me to scoop her up and take her home.  But that would have been the easy way out, for both of us. But putting my fears aside and pushing her into her own, made us both grow up a little that night.