A black leotard, a pink tutu, cute pink ballet slippers, and black tap shoes were on the agenda yesterday. My daughter has been harassing me for months to enroll her in a ballet class. So armed with a mission, we enrolled her in ballet class, purchased her gear, and she started her first class.
I am a mother, but I am not typically sentimental about everything my daughter does. Yesterday, I didn’t think I would have giant tears on my face, but watching my little ballerina made me sad. We ask this question so many times, “Where did the time go?” I really don’t know where it went. I know one moment I was feeding her a bottle, changing her diaper, and pushing her in a stroller. Now, she doesn’t need me as much. She picks out her own clothes, feeds herself, and rides her bicycle.
As I peeked through the window of her ballet class, she is twirling on her tiptoe and she has forgotten about me. She is enamored by the other little girls in her class and looks at her dance teacher with awe. I am heading to my car, feeling a little sad, the tear in my eye acknowledging that she is growing up. A part of me wants to stop this moment in time because every time she does something on her own, she is saying a little good-bye to me. It is all a part of the cycle, but it hurts.
I say to myself again, “Where does the time go?” and I notice a gray hair on top of my head, and look over to my Mom who is sitting on the other side of me, her head full of gray. I start the car, my mom and I discussing how sweet my daughter looks, and I catch a little tear in her eye too. I know, by looking at me, she is hurting too, wondering where all of the time goes.