ballerina

She has had two lessons

and once I get passed the nostalgia that takes me to my time at the dance studio,

I struggle with wrapping my brain around the fact that my little girl is big enough to be in ballet class.

In typical E fashion, the statement of her outfit and the stamp on her hand a the end of the lesson makes Wednesday a red letter day for sure.

But I just can't believe this is my baby....

The pale pink leotard and tights against her buttery soft skin is quite a sight.

My stomach lurches when I see those sweet blonde hairs against her sun-kissed skin, considering the life she has ahead of her, and the grace in which I pray she can take it on. She is so innocent and sees the world with such joy, I am constantly on my knees, asking for guidance to help her to keep that zest for life.

Oh, sweet girl, how I love and adore who you are and who you will become. If the arsenal of "who you are"  includes ballerina I will love and support you with each passing day, and I will always be moved by that pale pink leotard on your buttery soft, sun-kissed skin. With blonde whisps swept off your neck but tickling your temples, and the bulk of your hair in a sideways bun clinging on for dear life on the back of your head.