I had a rare melancholy moment on Sunday night. Such sadness is fleeting but it hits hard. It strikes when I least expect it, just when I think I’ve got it all figured out. It’s a bumpy road we’re travelling and the moments that make me falter aren’t the ones I anticipated.
I had to email Poppy’s ballet teacher to let her know we wouldn’t be attending the new term after all. We did a few taster sessions just before the Easter break and it was everything I had hoped it would be. Imaginative stories woven by the teacher, engaging the little ones to move their bodies as fairies, polar bears and penguins! A few of Poppy’s friends started on the same day, and I sat with the other proud mummies giggling as we watched our girls find their dancing feet. Some took to it emphatically, joining in like they had been coming for months. Others, like Poppy, preferred to warm up slowly, watching the others first before carefully choosing which elements to participate in.
I’d ordered the ballet costume ready for the new term using some of Poppy’s birthday money and had planned to surprise the family member who sent it with a photograph to say thank you. It suddenly struck me that we won’t get to experience that picture perfect moment now. I know we’ll have plenty of other wonderful moments, but this one feels like an important rite of passage which has been cruelly snatched away just as we were approaching it. There’s a picture of me at age 3 wearing a black leotard and bunches in my hair on the front lawn of my parents house. I’ve always thought we would recreate it.
Poppy’s inherited our own love of music and dancing. From a really young age, she used to do a little shimmy whenever music came on, which had us all in stitches. It felt like she had no control over it, as if it was just her instinct as soon as she heard a tune. One of my favourite videos is of her aged 18 months happily collecting sticks at the park, when she suddenly stops and shimmies to the sound of the church bells ringing.
The tears have dried now. I’m finding writing therapeutic, just as I thought I would. Talking helps too, and I always feel better when I’ve blurted out my worries whether in person or on paper. I’ve said before that the words said in return don’t matter, but sometimes they are so special that they do. When I told this woeful ballet tale to my great friends last night, they made me see that we will still get that snapshot. Later than planned, but all the more meaningful for Poppy being happy and healthy. The tears still spring to my eyes when I think of Poppy dancing in the future, but they’re proud, happy tears anticipating the special moments to come, not mourning what we’re missing out on now.
We may not be attending classes for the time being, but we’ll be over here in the meantime dancing to our own special tune x