So put your little hand in mine...

As sort of a follow up from the last post, Lilah Rose went to her second week at dance class confident and excited to show "Miss Amanda" all the things she'd practised so hard and was now (somewhat) able to do. We got there and she was the opposite of the week before. She was excited and impatient to get into the studio. A little one from her class named Genevieve sidled hesitantly up to Lilah and admired her French braids (I'd tried two small ones on the sides pulled into a pony tail to keep the wisps at bay. Again, no luck). Then something happened I've been noticing more and more with these little 4 year old girls. Genevieve smiled at Lilah shyly and reached out, putting her small hand in Lilah's. Lilah burst into a sunshiny smile and they walked hand in hand into the studio when called. I see it at the preschool as well. It's such a small thing, reaching for the hand of a friend. But in watching it, these children sometimes barely know one another. They find some small common ground - a love of the color purple, a passion for playing dress up, both being the somewhat more uncoordinated members of a dance class - and they put themselves out there to be accepted or rejected. I've seen a hand get jerked away and the devastation on the child's face. Lilah has been the extender more than once to a new girl in class. The two now are inseparable, walking hand in hand down the halls until separated to form a single file line. But to see this little angel at dance class, having known Lilah an entire 45 minutes of her life, be brave enough to reach down and hold her hand, I'm not ashamed to say I had a misty-eyed moment. I wonder how many adults would show the same bravery to a near-stranger, showing empathy in such a way that one would make physical contact.

When in the studio, I could see Lilah excited to show off. To her very obvious dismay, they worked on another totally new dance that involved no jazz hands, dinosaurs, or tumbling, but lots of footwork and French terms. I had brought my knitting to occupy my mind and am ashamed to say I completed exactly 12 stitches (I can knit over 100 in several short minutes while watching television). The little ones were placed at the barre and given a routine, the instructor calling out the position names in French. The words are beautiful and I could see Lilah mouthing them. They were told to keep their eyes on an imaginary picture on the wall in front of them.

"Your picture can be your mom, your dad, your sister, your dog, whatever you like."

"My picture is of my baby brother. I don't have one yet but I will soon!" chirped my lying little daughter. Miss Amanda told her how nice that was, and the other mothers clucked their wordless congratulations to me while I turned scarlet and knitted exactly one stitch.

All in all, the class went well. I did mention to Miss Amanda (who had several times gently chided Lilah for not paying attention or not listening to instructions) that the preschool teacher, pediatricians, and I were all aware of some gross motor areas Lilah hadn't mastered, such as sitting "criss cross applesauce" as was required in ballet. Drayton Avenue always lets the children modify as ability dictates to sitting with their legs tucked neatly to one side, or sitting ankles crossed. Keenly aware that dance routines required uniformity, I didn't want them to think Lilah wasn't paying attention. She had spent the whole week practising only to find that her class was doing something totally different that week. Miss Amanda thanked us for telling her and encouraged lots of home practice until little legs learned to bend the way they should.

Again, I expected Lilah to rebel or say she didn't want to go back. If I'm being totally honest, I almost wished for it. It put my teeth on edge and stomach in knots to watch the girls get chosen in order of "Who can be the best at _____" and watch Lilah picked last every time. But my child was grinning and showing off her stamp. She was thrilled they'd practiced a dance that involved tiptoes (she walks on her tiptoes primarily when barefoot, as do I) and had gotten to wear glittery butterflies on her wrists. 

"And Mama, Genevieve held my hand. She's my friend." 

I know Lilah's shortcomings as well as her strengths. I'm not the mother blind to them or thinking my kid's the best at everything. I don't want her to be a champion dancer; I want her to exercise, broaden her horizons, meet different kinds of people, learn new things, have fun, perhaps not trip over her own feet while standing still. I know she crawled later than most babies, and walked at 18 months. She's clumsy and bruised all over from falling or tripping. She can't coordinate her body as fast as her brain goes, struggling to pedal but coordinating fine movements like threading and beading, following cooking directions perfectly or cutting ingredients as needed. She shows zero desire to learn by memorizing or flashcards, still refusing to name colors or shapes but correctly choosing when asked to grab a crayon of whatever color. She won't write or draw anything that looks like anything except (on a good day) her name, but she's pointing letters out of words in the books we read because she thinks it's a game and knows their sounds.

Dano and I have talked about it at length. The fact is, in some areas she excels and in some she's behind most children her age. But he pointed out the kids in her class who had a harder time separating from their moms but were incredible creative minds, or the kids who could print their names beautifully but had a hard time using nice words or sharing toys, or the kids who were awesome little people but still had days they refused or cried when chosen to be the "Helping Hand" of the day. 

"They're only 4 and I don't think Lilah has any more to work on than any of them." He's great like that, and we want to give her until she's 5 to let her body catch up to her brain before we worry too much.

I'm a nurse so words like "hypotonic" and "dyspraxic" are worrying into my brain. After lots of pep talks with myself, I've come to the conclusion that I can trust Lilah. I can trust her to tell me if dance class isn't fun, if she feels pressured too much, or like an outsider because all the other girls can do what she can't. Her doctors and teachers all assure me that she won't graduate from high school unable to  spell, write, read, or do math. I have a child who asks to go to the pet stores on adoption days. She's afraid of dogs, but she likes to sit in front of their crates and talk to them, tell them someone will come along to bring them home soon, that soon they'll have a family and a yard. She holds hands with the new kids in class and tells us she wants to be their friend. Lilah Rose can spot a bad day on someone's face from across a room. I see her face in the window when I pull up in the driveway and she knows what kind of day I've had as soon as our eyes meet. She befriended the sweet autistic boy next door.

"It's okay if he doesn't talk a lot. We can still play, and he smiles at me. I know what he wants." She's inviting him to trick or treat with her because the thought that he might not be able to say "Trick or treat" worried her that he might not get candy. In turn, his parents said he's more responsive and verbal to Lilah than any other child he's been around. She was so thankful for going trick or treating downtown today that she did a bunch of chores without being asked, saying things like, "It's my pleasure," or "I'd be honored to take care of that," (I don't even know where she gets these phrases). She's polite, compassionate, and sweet tempered. If she never gets any better at dance than she is today, but makes friends and has a wonderful time, I don't care. It's hard for me to the point of physical pain sometimes, but whatever she's doing, she's obviously doing it right.

Oh, and Dano told me dance class today went even better than the last two, with Lilah finally able to sit criss cross applesauce without help. She told me all about it and said she was a good listener and didn't need to ask for help. "I did a good job, but the bourrée turns were quite difficult. I'll need to practice them for next week."

The arm of the starfish

Seemingly overnight, our lives lately have been plunged into this bizarre world of having a kid. I know I've had one for 4 years, but up until now her life was just a tiny extension of ours. She went where we went, ate what we ate, and wore whatever we dressed her in. Now we have her in preschool, dance, we're in a babysitting co-op with other members or former members of her school, and in a few short months she begins violin lessons.

The weekend alone she's had 5 playdates and dance class. I'm overjoyed that she's so social, but it's left her dad and I a little bewildered. The babysitting co-op is a fantastic invention. Each family has a pool of hours that they trade back and forth as they watch other sets of kids or trade away their own so the parents can have lives. They do home visits and each family is vetted before joining. Lilah is always really good at other people's houses. It's at our house she struggles sometimes, in her space with her toys she has a harder time sharing and wants it all to go her own way. I like watching her work things out and it's good for the occasional disappointment to flicker across her face when she doesn't get her own way.

Dance class was interesting. I felt this choking feeling in the back of my throat seeing her dressed in her little costume, identical to all the other little girls in black leather shoes and black tights and leotards. Her hair was braided into a crown pinned to her head in an (unsuccessful) attempt to keep the blonde wisps out of her eyes. Before we went in, her teacher Miss Amanda introduced herself and talked a bit to her. Lilah was uncharacteristically shy and quiet, not leaving my lap and taking deep yoga breaths to keep calm. She told me under her breath that she was very nervous. Once in the classroom, she barely spoke, keenly observing the teacher and the other little girls doing their moves and stretches. About half-way through she started to follow along. She was wooden and unsure, but smiley by the end and starting to get into it more. I really like the class. It's a combination class, ballet/jazz/tumbling. They're learning a Dinosaur Dance, starting like baby dinosaurs in eggs on the floor and ending with walking giant invisible dinosaurs around the room. There's some sort of butterfly dance as well. They walked like bears, slithered like snakes, and did somersaults. Lilah hadn't done any of it before and didn't know how to get her body to listen to her mind (this is a major issue for her in her daily life as it is). In addition to movement, they were taught to greet their teacher by name, and end class with saying goodbye to her formally in a line of tiny black-clad bodies. Accepting compliments and awards graciously and being a polite observer of other performers are also parts of the lessons. For performances, the girls wear the exact same outfits they practice in with the addition of a simple peacock blue skirt. It's very low key and while they do perform twice a year, there aren't any show-costumes or makeup put on the girls.

I was afraid Lilah would refuse to go back. I caught her looking vexed several times during class, or dropping her head to her hands to breathe deeply if she was overwhelmed. I wanted to go to her, encourage her, but the parents aren't allowed to interact with the students. In the studio, the instructors rule alone. No cell phones, food, talking, or other children are allowed. Surprisingly, at the end of the class when they were formally dismissed (each girl receiving a stamp on their hands for attending and participating), she ran to me and hugged me, eyes bright and big smile, begging to come back next week. As soon as we got home, she dragged out my yoga mat and has been practicing all of the things she saw but couldn't do. In under 24 hours, she's already able to do almost everything they went over in class. I couldn't believe how excited she was. From watching her, I'd have thought she was just intimidated and overwhelmed, but I can see now she was observing and cataloguing everything that was being done so she could try them on her own.

It's so strange for me, transporting her to preschool, dance, a friend's house for a movie night. She has a life of her own that has absolutely nothing to do with me. I felt like a starfish before, several branches from my body that were a part of me but moved independently - my life, Dano's, Lilah's. But now hers feels severed somehow. She dresses herself, has her own opinions about food, activities, and friends. It isn't a bad feeling. In fact, I'm overjoyed that somehow we've managed to equip her well for her own life out in the world. She handles new situations without separation anxiety and she has several tools for  dealing with her anxieties, observing quietly and yoga breathing, using her words when friends make her mad or don't play "her" way. Everything I worry about for her - kindergarten, her first overnight at a friend's house - she's proving herself everyday to be such a capable little one. She feels safe enough to act out with Dano and I because she knows we'll love her always and she can try out new or naughty things and gauge our reactions. Around other children and adults she handles herself like the sweet, polite, smart girl I know she is.

I caught her and hugged her the other day, telling her with a kiss on the head that she looked and behaved like a grown-up lady these days. She kissed me back.
"Yeah, but I'll always your little baby."